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[PROTOTYPE]: Reborn	By : ShinaRyun Category: +M through R > Prototype Series Views: 3341 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
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Corporal Thornson sighed to himself as he eyed the monitors before him, his soft chin cupped in one gloved palm, a wistful look on his doughy face. “Join Blackwatch,” he grumbled to himself. “We pay more than the Army, and we’ll train you better, too. Better at being a goddamn mall cop,” he spat. He had been less than pleased when he had been demoted from sergeant to private after transferring into Blackwatch, and even less pleased when he had discovered that he would be assigned to guard duty. He understood that it was Blackwatch’s way of hazing the recruits they took from the armed forces…giving them shit positions among their ranks, denying them access to the serum which would turn them into elite supersoldiers, limiting promotions and officer candidacy, etc.
That knowledge only provided Thornson with an annoying, insatiable itch to scratch at as he stared at the monitors linked to several dozen of the fort’s security cameras. Late in the evening, his screens squirmed with people moving through the fort, the central doorways and main hallways choked with soldiers and staff trying to get home or back to their barracks, while others moved in to take up the night shifts. Thornston’s eyes were keen and well-practiced after several years of surveillance work, but his resentful boredom to the two soldiers who casually entered through the main gate, mingled into the living traffic and then broke off to disappear down a service stairwell. He started to notice when they broke away from each other and picked up speed, starting to jog through the stairwells.
“Thornston!”
“Sir!” Thornston replied sharply as his superior officer slammed open the door of his claustrophobic booth.
“Everything clear?” the lieutenant barked.
“Like the invisible man with a crystal cup in a glass house, sir.”
“Har har,” the lieutenant muttered. “Think you might give me cancer with jokes that bad.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Damn right you are. Keep an eye on the cages…I’m heading down for some target practice, I’d hate for you to miss the show.”
“Yes, sir,” Thornston replied. “Hope the zombies tear your fucking heart out,” he spat under his breath once the door closed. Following orders, he turned one of his monitors to take in live feed of the infected cages beneath the fortress, shaking his head at the sight as he muted the audio feed. He did not need to hear the inhuman screeching and raspy gurgling which came up from the four concrete pits set into the fort’s foundation, or the flinch-inducing scrape of fingertips worn to sharpened bones scraping over the thick steel bars of the cages over the pits. He could practically smell the ungodly stench within the room; he had smelled it once, when he had been put through Blackwatch’s training and indoctrination programs, and he would be very happy if he never had to smell it again.
Within the cages, writhing and shambling and banging themselves frenziedly against their prison walls, were more than a hundred infected former citizens of Washington state. Any outbreak was contained with a prejudice of nearly Aryan severity, Blackwatch’s goons crushing whichever infected they needed to and taking back any that they could capture alive, to be brought to the closest fortress for training purposes. Officially, there had been fewer and fewer outbreaks every year as Gentek and Blackwatch continued to refine their technology and methods of fighting the Mercer virus.
Unofficially, outbreaks had been slowly and steadily increasing each year nation-wide, though their numbers were still low enough for Blackwatch to contain. That, however, was information that did not need to be made public.
Thornston didn’t like the infected, and thought it to be very strange other Blackwatch soldiers seemed to enjoy spending time around the cages; some of the elite soldiers claimed that they liked to relax around the cages, saying that the constant screaming helped them to remember the horrors of NYZ, keeping them sharp. Thornston, like a number of other unmodified soldiers, thought that the elite’s were simply crazy. That other unmodified troops like his lieutenant tried to spend an inordinate amount of time around the infected was even stranger to Thornston’s eyes. He had occasionally seen some playing a kind of game around the cages, daring each other to see who could stand the closest to the swiping forest of outstretched arms and grasping claws that reached through the cage bars; these idiots in particular, Thornston loathed on general principle.
As the corporal pulled up his view of the cage room, he saw that one such moron was already there, standing so close to the cages that Thornston was sure he would get kneecapped. Transfixed for a moment by the sheer insanity of the sight before him, Thornston’s eyes lost focus on the other monitors, his ears momentarily numb to the muffled series of violent thumps outside his door, and the wet, slithering hiss that followed. He just stared at the foolish soldier on the screen before him, gasping when he saw the soldier walk from the cages to the room’s control center and start throwing the release levers. As the dented steel bars slowly lifted up and the infected within tried to mob the edges of their pits, the corporal fumbled for his radio, tuning it to his lieutenant’s frequency and speaking hurriedly.
“Lieutenant?! Lieutenant, come in!”
“What?!” came the lieutenant’s reply, though it came from the security room’s doorway instead of from Thornston’s radio, the officer throwing open the door and standing expectantly in the doorway. Thornston whipped around in his seat to stare at the man, blinking rapidly in surprise. The officer wore a smirk that Thornston had never seen on his face before, its’ alien presence as disturbing as the man’s inexplicable appearance.
“Uhhh,” he managed to say before he got his wits about him and gestured at the monitor. “Sir, there’s a soldier down there who just unlocked all the fucking infected. We need to send a detachment down there, ASAP!”
The lieutenant’s smirk grew as he stepped closer, looming over Thornston as he looked at the screen. Infected were already shambling out of their pits in a jerking, riotous horde, making for the doorway and stairs leading up into the main body of the fort. Loose from the tightly-enclosed cages, they appeared legion.
“I can’t see, corporal…can you turn up the resolution?”
Thornston just stared incredulously for a moment, wondering how the lieutenant couldn’t see the small army on the screen, before he turned and started rapidly adjusting the monitor’s settings, speaking without looking at the lieutenant. “I think I can-UUGH!!”
Thornston garbled a scream and jerked forward, then shakily looked down as sudden, unbelievable pain lanced through his body from behind. His legs burned for a moment, then went horribly numb; he heard a hollow roaring, as if he had a seashell lifted to each ear, and a loud, repetitive dripping sound. He tasted copper, and realized that he was drooling blood.
The reason became clear once the simple shock of what he saw passed: there was a gloved fist sticking out of his chest, fit through a hole in his body armor, smeared with blood and flecked with what could only be called chunks of other matter.
“No, corporal,” a queer, high-pitched voice husked in Thornson’s ear, cutting through his pain and confusion. “I don’t think you can.” The fist sticking out of Thornston’s chest twisted, opened, withdrew from the ruined hole in his armor and slithered through his chest, making the corporal groan in agony and spill more blood down his chin. He coughed sharply as he was suddenly twisted around in his chair, sending a spray of blood across the chest of the person…of the thing that had killed him. It wasn’t a man, of that Thornston was sure; his eyes bulged with chthonic fear as the thing’s flesh slithered and writhed horribly, sucking up the blood that covered it, making the thing smirk and lick its’ lips before it spoke mockingly down to him.
“You’ve got some red on you,” it purred, lifting that lethal fist and cocking it back. “Lemme get that for you.”
Utterly terrified, Thornston would have begged for that fist to fly towards his face even faster than it did, but he was too close to death to speak even before Fritz mashed his skull to pulp with one punch.
Fritz smiled and grunted in pleasure as his punch sent the security guard flying back into the machines he had watched, the force of his blow turning the man into a wrecking ball of dead weight that destroyed the terminal. The Evolved didn’t let the man rest there for long, however, quickly picking him up and consuming him entirely to find out what he knew about the fort’s security. A rapid search through his memories yielded the few shiny nuggets of information he needed, leaving a sharp grin on his face once he reviewed them.
The crackle of his radio brought him back from his introspection. “How’s things on your side, sweetheart?”
“We’re clear,” Fritz answered, chuckling into the mouthpiece. “Just ate the one guy who kept an eye on the cages, and found out where the other guards are. This sector’s blind, but once the infected move too far the others will raise hell.”
“Of course. Best get moving then, eh? These guys sound hungry,” Horst said before going quiet, the sounds of the snarling infected coming through loud and clear.
“On my way,” Fritz answered, already running out of the security room before kicking open the door of a stairwell and vaulting down towards where the infected were surging up from their holding area.
Horst, meanwhile, was standing still in the cage control room where he had released the infected, taking in the view through the room’s small windows. Humming to himself, the Evolved walked to the door and casually pulled it open, revealing two infected behind it who had been banging zealously against the portal. The two shambled in at once, reaching for Horst hungrily, drooling blood from their broken-toothed maws.
Being trapped in a small room with the only exit blocked by enemies would be a nightmare for most people; for the Evolved, it was close to paradise. Horst snarled savagely and met the infected advance aggressively, his eyes bright as he lashed out with a kick that lifted one infected off the floor and sent it flying back the way it had come. The zombie hit the far wall of the cage room with a sound like a truck crashing into a cow, painting the wall in a wide spatter of gory blood and killing it instantly.
The second infected was far less lucky. The wind shear from the first infected’s flight had knocked the second against one of the control room’s walls, easy prey for Horst. The growling Evolved slammed his right hand against the back of the infected’s neck and grabbed tightly, holding it still as his left hand crunched into its’ back with all the energy of an overcharged jackhammer, breaking through vertebrae and ribs like sugar crystals. Crushing the thing’s neck in his right hand and pulling its’ body against his own took barely any effort at all, as did consuming it while it screamed its’ last.
With its’ mind long-destroyed by the Mercer virus, there was nothing to learn from the infected but a slightly deeper understanding of the virus’s predatory nature and inherent need to consume. What the infected could provide the Evolved with was much simpler than information: they provided camouflage.
Outside, the infected were pushing higher up the stairs into the main body of the fort, their sucking, gasping moans and animalistic growls filling the air, along with the repulsive stench of their wildly mutated flesh. Horst could not yet hear screaming, but it was only a matter of time.
“And we’re off,” he said into his radio, chuckling.
“I’m well aware,” Fritz replied. “Hold that thought.” A muffled growling transmitted over the radio, followed by two wet, meaty thumps and a moment of static before Fritz’s voice returned. “Got my disguise, so where do you want to start?”
“Anywhere,” Horst growled as he watched the horde of infected swarm up the stairs. “Work your way towards the hanger, and try to consume a pilot or two. Want to grab a few zombies and start knocking out more security rooms? They won’t be able to coordinate an effective defense if they can’t survey the infected.”
“Better idea,” Fritz replied. “The guy I ate knew where they keep their data banks. I knock those out, and nothing the cameras see gets recorded. Cut the hard-lines, and they’ll probably short out.”
“Make it happen, sweetheart,” Horst said approvingly. “Let me know if you need any help. Otherwise, I’ll meet you in the hanger in five.”
“Good hunting,” Fritz husked before Horst dematerialized his Blackwatch disguise and took on the form of the infected he had consumed. Bulky armor and black fatigues dissolved in a heartbeat into bloody rags which barely contained a body that had been badly malformed, ravaged by the Mercer virus and showing the injuries it had sustained while locked in its’ cage. Bloody rents appeared over Horst’s chest, showing the yellow-white of diseased bones, and his back pushed up as the spines of his vertebrae elongated and pushed through his skin. Chunky bites gouged themselves out of his arms and the backs of his hands; as he felt his cheeks wither and pull away into a half-rotted rictus, he felt that most of the bites had been self-inflicted.
None of the wounds hurt, because to Horst, they did not exist. They were simply a façade, a remnant of the body he had taken, nothing more. They did not bleed, even though in multiple places veins and arteries had been visibly severed. The injuries were simple, definitive proof that the Evolved were masters of disguise, and while he certainly was not a wolf in sheep’s clothing, Horst nonetheless felt a moment of child-like glee at hiding in plain sight.
He quickly joined the mob which was pushing into the fort, carelessly shoving bodies aside in his eagerness, trying to make his lunging, rushing gait look remotely similar to the movements of the infected around him. He reached the top of the stairs and was off like a shot, turning down a hallway with reckless abandon and a guttural roar on his lips, echoed by the slavering host that followed him. He led a group of infected down the hall to the first set of double doors that he could find, crashing through and skidding to a stop inside, looking around quickly.
His roar turned into a predatory shriek as he finally saw Blackwatch soldiers, every one of the dozen in the hallway staring at him with equal parts shock and horror, frozen where they stood.
Someone screamed, and the scared-stiff freeze melted into a fire of activity as each soldier snatched for his sidearm, while the infected behind Horst pushed through the opened doors three at a time. Horst didn’t bother waiting for the slower zombies, lunging at the closest wide-eyed soldier just as the man brought his pistol to bear. He was dead before he could get off a shot, his head slamming into a wall, the rest of his body hitting the floor like a sack of bricks that squirted blood obscenely over the ceiling and floor.
Horst didn’t spare the man a second thought, already leaping for his next victim before the first stopped twitching. There were too many warm bodies ahead of him to care about one corpse behind him, and after ten years without committing murder en masse’, he was too thirsty for blood to let one corpse sate him.
Someone finally managed to start shooting while Horst was ripping a handful of miscellaneous giblets out of his second victim’s chest, putting a few rounds into the mob behind him and sending one bullet whistling into Horst’s head. The Evolved’s gnawed-open mouth split into a mocking smirk as the small-caliber round hit his mutated form, then pinged away into the wall as his flesh dented minutely from the impact before stiffening rigidly in split-second reaction. Another bullet followed the first, whizzing into his side and deflecting away to bury itself in the ceiling.
Fritz had evolved to be faster, but Horst had become tougher. Short of taking a direct hit from something much bigger than a pistol, Blackwatch’s soldiers didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of even scratching the powerful mutant. The growing hail of gunfire that was cutting down infected in one’s and two’s didn’t even faze Horst, the thrill of combat compelling him to leap at his panicking prey with abandon.
Away from the growing conflict, Fritz could barely contain his impatient excitement as he ran towards the place where his victim’s memories said he could find his target. He knew that his task was vital to the success of a greater mission, but that knowledge granted little succor when he could already taste blood in the air. Fritz was hungry, starving for violence that had been beyond his reach for a decade, and now while his lover bloodied his claws and took skulls, he had to run and look for a room full of unappetizing electronics to destroy.
Please, Fritz thought to himself as he vaulted down a set of stairs, let there be someone inside I can dissect.
Moving with carnivorous urgency that almost betrayed his lack of humanity to the people he passed by, Fritz quickly managed to reach the room he sought without running anyone over. He had been tempted to do so, but leaving a trail of half-broken bodies in his wake would have aroused more suspicion than the pleasure would have been worth. His furious pace came to an abrupt halt at the secure room’s door, however, where he discovered that the biometric lock which held it shut would not accept any of his usual keys. Even with the form of the Major who he had impersonated at work, the door remained shut, making Fritz grip his chin in his fist contemplatively as he reverted to the form of a standard, unmodified Blackwatch trooper.
Damn thing’s too thick to break through quickly…there’d be a hell of an alarm if I tried. Think! How do you open a door when you don’t have the key?
“Hey!” Fritz blinked and turned around as a furiously authoritative voice behind him broke him from his thoughts. Standing behind him with a righteously angry look on his face stood a Captain, one who wore a patch on his shoulder indicating his residency in the fort. He seemed to be just a trifle annoyed.
“Are you the dickless fuck who’s been tearing down my damn halls? What the hell is your problem, private?! Explain yourself!”
Fritz looked at the captain, then at the door before him, rationalizing that perhaps the DNA of an in-house officer would provide him ingress. Smirking, he called over his shoulder as he flexed his hands in readiness. “Caught a bad rash from your mother last night…keeping a breeze over it’s the only thing that keeps the stinging down.”
The captain’s face darkened from red to deep purple as he stomped up to Fritz, one hand reaching out to grab the Evolved by his body armor and yank him closer. “You sonofa-!”
Fritz killed the man before he could finish, swiping a fist up between their bodies to connect with the captain’s chin in a vicious uppercut, pulverizing his jaw and most of his teeth and sending his head back fast enough to snap his neck. Six seconds later, with the captain’s memories floating around his own mind and his appearance settling fully around Fritz’s body, the Evolved put his hand into the biometric scanner and heard the door unlock.
Inside, the room was dark, cold, and small, the large stacks of computer banks making it feel like a cyborg’s crypt. The smell of heated plastics and electronics reminded Fritz acutely of the home he had recently left to burn to the ground.
“Sir!” yelled a lieutenant who was overseeing a pair of busy technicians, snapping a quick salute as Fritz approached.
“At ease,” Fritz replied with a wave of his hand. “Just checking on things in here…seems some of the higher up’s are concerned about security, and about the safety of our surveillance database.”
“No need to worry, sir…these data banks could take a bullet if they had to. The tech’s make sure of that.”
“Is that right?” Fritz asked.
“Yes, sir,” one of the technicians answered, standing from where he was working at an access port. “Guaranteed never to overheat, crash, lose power or drop their connection. Frankly, sir, it would take a damned army to crack these things open.”
No sooner had the technician finished speaking that a klaxon began to sound, echoed by dozens more around the fort, filling the small room with alarming noise and making all three of the humans inside whirl on Fritz with confused expressions. “What the freaking hell is that, sir?!” one of the technicians screamed over the sound of the alarm.
“A damned army,” Fritz shouted as he grinned and willed himself from the body of the captain into that of the infected he had consumed, his commanding uniform melting into the abominable body of a flesh-eater. “And I’m the commander in chief,” he rasped as his face took on a grotesque visage, freakish and mangled, with blood spilling out of deeply-sunken eye sockets every time he blinked.
One of the technicians screamed. The other fainted dead away, falling bodily onto the lieutenant as he fumbled for his gun. Fritz was upon him before he could clear his holster, grabbing the lieutenant’s head with both hands and violently twisting as he jerked up. There was half a moment of resistance before bones, flesh and skin gave way to Fritz’s strength, leaving the man’s horribly agonized expression in Fritz’s hands, along with the rest of his detached skull. The primordial fear on the conscious technician’s face was enough to make Fritz cackle madly as he started swinging the severed head like a club, not stopping until it, and the heads of both technicians were little more than pulp.
Consuming all three bodies, Fritz had the exact weakness of the data banks before him pinpointed within moments. Thirty seconds later, all of the camera in the fort lost their connections to the central data hub and shorted out, having nowhere to store the graphic violence their glass eyes witnessed. Effectively blind, the fort’s commanders could only guess at the progress of the loose infected by the dozens of radio messages coming in, many little more than screams or inarticulate pleas for direction that shorted out moments after they began. Blackwatch regularly trained its’ soldiers in base defense against infected, but as Fritz and Horst both cut their own paths towards the hanger, they could tell that their enemies had forgotten how to deal with Evolved.
The two mutants took this advantage to its’ absolute limit, breaking ahead of the main pack of infected to leave whole hallways soaked in blood and littered with the dead and dying. Reports from all over the fort of crazed infected tearing off limbs and ripping out guts kept the commanders second-guessing themselves until all that could be done was to call for reinforcements. When Horst and Fritz saw their prey start to retreat, they both figured that the commanders had called for an organized defense of the fort’s center, and both cut for the hanger unimpeded.
Horst nearly fell over laughing as he rounded a corner and saw Fritz approaching, recognizing the other Evolved immediately despite his disguise. “Zombie christ, sweetheart, you look like something that got burned off of a whore’s pussy!”
Fritz laughed and shook his head, blood dripping off of him faster than he could soak it up. “Still looking better than you, baby…you look like a reject from the pet cemetery!”
“Ha! Good one, sweetheart…don’t suppose that rapier wit of yours skewered any pilots on your way here?”
“As a matter of fact, it did! Asshole was trying to hide in a bathroom, if you can believe it.”
“Maybe you just scared the shit out of him,” Horst cackled.
The Evolved’s giddy laughter turned louder as they approached each other, their macabre disguises making their bloody, hooting embrace appear utterly horrible. They could not care less; they were blooded, they had fed, and they had instilled the basic terror common to all prey when confronted by predators. As far as they were concerned, there was nothing that could put down their high spirits.
The storm of high-caliber gunfire that greeted Horst as he opened a side door into the hanger sufficiently dampened his mood, throwing him back against a wall with a curse.
“Those damn kids playing their music too loud again?” Fritz asked dryly as he dodged aside and threw himself flat against the wall, watching as tracer rounds streaming through the open doorway turned the wall behind it into swiss cheese.
“Something like that,” Horst answered as he did the same, stealing a glance around the corner of the doorway and chuckling. “I’d say ten of them. Must have flown in two squads when they called for a retreat.”
“Fantastic,” Fritz muttered. “Suppose we’ll just wait for one of them to come see if we’re dead, then?”
“I’d rather let them provide us with a distraction,” Horst said with a shrug, ducking down as a bullet punched through the hanger wall and nearly took a chunk out of his left shoulder.
“What distraction did you have in mind?” Fritz asked with a raised eyebrow. A deeper voice inside the hanger nearly interrupted him with a cry of --“Grenade!”-- before a metal canister the size and shape of a softball bounced through the doorway between the two Evolved.
“Something like that,” Horst said casually, nodding towards the small bomb.
“Scheiße!” Fritz hissed as he swept a foot down and kicked the little ball back the way it had come, earning him one very surprised shout from within the hanger before it went off. A thunderous explosion, a bright flash and a small cloud of black smoke gave the Evolved freedom to move without being shot at, whipping around the doorway and sprinting into the hanger towards their new enemies.
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[PROTOTYPE]: Reborn