He liked the birds. The flaps of their wings was...comforting. It was naught more than a steady, slow beat to his hyperactive senses. Every feather shifting, every rush of air, every scent: it was all so clear to him. It was as if the small birds were trapped in a slow-moving section of time, unable to escape and only amusing the boy with their futile attempts to escape the small room so slowly. He was watching them with interest, aware that he too was being watched. But not by the birds.
Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet. His eyes remained fixed on the small winged creatures. There were two, both of them trying to escape the same, futile way. As he walked towards them, their panic became so evident he could smell it. Nevermind the fact that they had started screeching madly, their wings pumping harder as they now clawed at each other in a frenzy. The bigger one would seem to have the advantage, pinning to smaller's wing in his talons and clumsily dragging it about in the air.
The boy stifled a giggle.
Slam. The smaller pidgeon hit the wall.
Slam. Again, flesh met white steel.
But just as he expected to hear a third, screeches and muffled thumps brought his attention to the fact that the situation was changing. The smaller bird had pecked out the larger's eyes and now tore at it's throat, it's shoulders, it's skull. There was a puff of feathers as the stuggling masses hit the ground. Still, the child approached, his expression one of innocent curiosity as he stooped down to carefully cradle the survivor in his hands. The small pidgeon had won. But not without a price.
It bled excessively, it's wing torn akwardly out of it's joint and hanging loosely by several strands of muscle. There was a wound that let the precious crimson fluid leak from it's skull. The boy's gaze was a sympathetic one as he lightly brushed the head of the bird, collected the blood on his hand.
A little unnerved by the sudden alien presence on his hands and curious as to what it meant, he stared at his reddened palm with a fascinated intensity. His tongue darted out from his mouth and licked the mess away. Infatuated with this new, yet familiar taste, this forgotten texture, the boy returned his deep brown gaze to the bleeding creature in his hand. His grip moved to the pidgeon's throat.
Tightly he squeezed, ever observant as the creature squirmed and kicked at open air, desperately flapping it's good wing and giving choked cries of pain. It's screeched got higher and higher pitched, until they died out and nothing more than desperate rasps remained. After the sudden sound of blades sinking into flesh, there was silence.
Something warm dripped onto his hand, slowly leaking down his arm. He lifted the limb to inspect it. There it was again! The liquid! It was red and warm.
It sort of tickled.
He withdrew the five biological knives from the bird's flesh and let it clatter to the floor like a discarded toy. The long, thin blades that now replaced his fingers were like a whole new infatuation to him. He busied himself with the blood, wiping it over the floors and walls, on his clothes and face. He let out a childishly amused laugh, then went flying into the wall opposite him without warning, beating his bloody hand against it.
"Jesus christ!" The man jumped back from the window, his heart now racing much faster than it had been moments ago. Watching that...that thing 'play' with his birds had been terrifying enough. Now it screamed like a banshee, dark eyes wide and staring forwards with such intensity, it was as if he could see the scientist who observed him behind the wall.
"Whoa there, doc, calm your horomones." A rough hand grabbed his shoulders and shoved him back down into his chair as he tried to slow his rapidly beating heart.
"My horomones are perfectly calm!" The doctor explain shrilly, trying to block out the shrieks of the boy no more than two feet away from him. "You can't look at that and not get a little..." There was hesitance. "...Nervous."
"Sure I can!" The uniformed soldier stepped forward and smashed the barrel of his gun up against the wall, right at the boy's face. It did nothing more than give a solid 'thump' as it met it's target. The child's mouth snapped shut and he scrambled backwards. He scurried into the far corner, picking up the bleeding pidgeon on his way and turning his back to the wall. The squirts of blood told the two men he was obviously 'playing' some more. "You just have to show this freak who's boss."
"Yes well, I'm not nearly as barbaric as you."
"Maybe you should be." The larger man let out a chuckle and moved back to stand at his post by the door as the frail-looking other buried himself in the texts on his screen. The boy was silent, nothing by the occaisonal spray of blood indicating he was doing anything at all. Once, the thin man glanced at the bloody room and grimaced. He wasn't paid enough to do this.
Still, he forced himself to look over the endless pages of data. Every figure, every word and every letter had to be known inside-out. He was to write reports on the subject's behaviour each day, record activities, actions and habits. Rarely anything went wrong during this time, but there always had to be a soldier posted there. It was something to do with protocal and whatever. The thin man never had the nerve to bother with protocols. As long as the brute-men did their job, he would do his.
"Oi, four-eyes." The doctor sighed and lifted his gaze, flicking a nasty stare back at the man who'd just brought up a childhood nickname. He pushed his glasses up by nose, a habit he couldn't help when reminded of their presence on his face.
"What?!" He snapped, only to have the soldier redicrect his attention to the room with a wave of his hand.
"Is that normal?"
He turned back.
The boy stood in the center of the room, face smeared in blood. His clothes were no more spared, splatters going this way and that, a noticable stain on his collar. His dark eyes were fixed on the wall that seperated the two from him, narrowed meanacingly as his breathing obviously quickened. Plagued with caution and weak nerves, the doctor rose to his feet as if he were being stared down by a wolf.
"No..." He breathed, backing away until the solider's hand once again met his shoulder.
"Doesn't matter though." He barked, even though his tone failed in hiding his unease. "We're not allowed to leave our posts. Just get back to work."
"I think we should get someone in here with a sedative."
The boy was screaming now, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides in a rythmatic, violent manner, blood dripping from his knuckles. He would scream until breathless, swallow as much air as possible, then start all over again. The soldier was hesitant.
"He might just be mad I scared him off, is all." The large man waved a hand dismissively, before returning it to his rifle. He tried to hide how tightly he gripped the weapon, and how sweat had begun to gather at his forehead and neckline. The kid did make him nervous. But never would he admit that to some whimpy little geek in glasses. "Just get back to work!"
Jumping like a startled cat, the man scrambled back over to his computer, doing his best to ignore how the boy's screams had gotten louder. His eyes frantically scanned the data imputting itself on the screen.
"What the..."
"What the what?!" The soldier's unnerved condition became clear as he snapped back to the sudden outburst.
"The subject is showing increased levels of adrenaline, his breathing rate is so irregular and fast...anyone human would've passed out by now. He's always showing concentrated increases of blood in his hands, feet and torso." Like a professional at work, the man listed what he saw outloud. Though most of it only came through as mumbo-jumbo to the man who was paid to shoot.
"In english!" He snarled.
"I really think we should get a seda-" He froze, eyes wide in shock as he stared down at the screen.
"What?!" The man demanded. There was nothing but silence for a long while, the soldier's full attention was on the doctor. "What were you saying, four-eyes?!" Still, he received no answer. He stormed up to the man, grabbing him roughly by the shoulder and giving him a shake. The action sent the man's head toppling sideways, clinging to place by a single strand of flesh. "My bloody..." He turned his attention to the boy.
His hand was up, but everything from his forearm on was missing, his hand gone from sight and replaced with an odd looking dark mist. He pulled his arm back, a split second of shine giving the soldier a glance at an ultra-thin blade, so long and thin it had peirced the wall and completely severed the scientist's head while being near impossible to see.
In a blind panic, he began to shoot at the wall, only to have his bullets bounce pathetically off the wall. He turned to leave, only to feel a sharp, blinding pain dig into his lower back. Then slowly, he could feel the pain travelling upwards. He could feel his spinal cord being slowly sliced in two.
Several seconds later, the man's head split open and he clattered to the ground. The boy turned back to his pidgeon and tucked it under his arm, before making a quick motion with his free hand. That dark mist had returned, his hand dissapearing.
Part of the wall fell down out of a neat, cut-out shape. The boy moved through this small opening, only to have his hearing assaulted by the noise of a shrill, repetative alarm. He could hear faint footsteps and yelling.
"It's coming from containment zone 7!" He heard one saw as he moved towards the door, small smile adorning small features. "All hands report!"
"Man the defenses!"
"Ready the turrets!"
"It's PARIAH!"
"PARIAH has escaped!"
"There he goes, shoot him! Shoot him!" The night was illuminated by the rapid fire of bullets tearing through the still air. They chased a shadow around a corner, before the gunfire stopped and flashlights kicked on. A team of four stood isolated in an alley, silence behind them and awaiting them ahead. They had their orders. There was no turning back. So, lead by the top-ranking officer, the four crept into the alley. One of them let out a disgusted breath at the squish of infected material beneathe his boot.
"Come on out, Germ, don'tcha wanna infect me?" One of them called as the searchlights on their guns scanned every inch of the alley, quick to dart around corners and illuminate niches.
"Shh!" Someone hissed. "Do you hear that?!"
No one heard anything.
"He's definately still here. Split up. Gregors, Murke, keep going ahead. Wilson and I will take this alley. Yell if you spot him."
"It's not a him." A soldier growled, but who it was no one really cared to identify. They obediently split up into their pairs and proceeded slowly down their appointed allies.
"Bloody freak." Wilson snarled, tracing the rooftops with his flashlight. "It's because of abominations like him we're in this mess."
"Just shut up and do your job, private." The commanding officer made a point to scan the nooks and crannies of places between and behind dumpsters or piles of trash. He heard an odd noise come from his left, something like a gag or a choke, and flashed his light in that direction.
"Sir?" His light illuminated his fellow soldier Wilson.
"You hear that?"
"Yeah. I think it came from up there." He motioned up to the rooftops. The commander followed his solider's point. "But then again..." Blinding pain assaulted his gut, a tearing, ripping feeling that pushed through his flesh until it burst out his back. He couldn't cry out, blood slowly filling his throat made that impossible. "I could be wrong."
He felt himself being pulled in, a feeling of being ripped apart becaming evident as he was forced closer to his fellow soldier. He choked out once more before everything went dark.
"HELP!"
"What the fuck?" Gregors turned on his heel.
"Was that the sarge?" His partner asked.
"Sounded like it."
"You think they found it?"
"One way to find out!" They both sprinted back the way they came, taking a sharp turn and quickly moving to locate the source of the call. It didn't take long until their flashlight shone on the back of a dark-suited soldier, hunched forward and coughing in obvious pain.
"Sarge!" Murke darted to his captain's side, instantly concerned for his long time friend's health. "Sarge, what happened? Was it him?" The man's hand suddenly shot up and gripped the younger officer by the throat, lifting him off the ground as he stood slowly.
"Holy shit!" Gregors opened fire, the first click of his gun attracting the unwanted attention of the creature as it's head turned towards him. He didn't stop shooting until his round had emptied. When he did, he'd wished he'd stopped sooner.
Before him hung the bloody corpse of Timothy Murke, flesh torn apart by bullet wounds and head hanging lifelessly to one side. In the next three seconds, the corpse was thrown savagely aside and a black, whip-like thing shot forward, burying itself between the remaining soldier's collarbone.
"Z-Ze-" He barely had the time to blink before the thing pulled out and left him to clatter to the floor.
Tendrils crawled around the last man standing, obscuring him for only a moment before causing the soldier to vanish completely. Someone new stood in his place, dark attire blending with the now lightless alley. He let out a scoff, casting his gaze upwards at the open sky. No doubt someone would be here soon, but by the time they would arrive their target would be long gone.
With this thought of elusiveness in mind, the young man leapt high into the air, coming to a perfect landing on a roof ledge. He cast a semi-thoughftul gaze down to the pile of corpses below before shooting forward, aiming to string together a long line of buildings into one, multi-levelled pathway across the city.
Dear Alex,
A large gap over a two-laned street was covered with practiced ease. The streets were empty, only the occaisonal soldier littering it's walkways and corners. It was too dark to accurately identify him from his height, so he was not at all worried about being spotted.
I have no doubt about what military sources are saying about you. You really are a hard man to find.
The hooded figure skidded to a halt, debating on which way would get him to the waterfront fastest, the higher route or the one closer to the ground. Each had it's advantages and disadvantages, mainly in the presence of helicopters. He really didn't want a fight to start unless he'd been the one to initiate it. Otherwise, he wanted to avoid most conflict. He chose the lower route.
It's been a long time since I've sought you out. Usually it's you coming to me. However, in light of recent events I can understand why you wish to remain relatively below the radar. But I beleive this is in your best interests. Meet me at the morgue as soon as you can. It's about Dana, among other things.
He grabbed the edge of the roof and flipped himself over it, letting his feet come in contact with the wall and loosening his grip so that he slid down the roof at a controlled pace. He hit the floor in the shadows of the same building he'd decended, making a decent effort to keep his footfalls silent as he crept around the building. Sure enough, two marines had posted themselves outside the morgue enterance, talking and mumbling to each other about the current state of the city.
They lifted their heads as he approached. He lifted a hand and gave a little salute. The two stood at attention and returned the salute, letting the Blackwatch soldier walk right on by and into the morgue.
When the door had shut behind him and he was well down the hall, he let his form shift back to normal before pushing open a door whose green paint had been chipped with years of rough handling. A black plate was mounted just below a cross-wired window, with white writing describing head worker and location.
Dr. Bradley Ragland
Morgue
As he entered the metal office, a dark-skinned man lifted his gaze to him for only a moment, identifying him, then returning to his work. There was a mutated corpse of...something...under his scalpel, which seemed to be occupying most of his attention.
Alex Mercer stood silently for about a minute, before his impatience took over and he broke the concentrated silence.
"Well?" He demanded, tone sounding slightly more eager than he would've liked. Once again, he received a glance from the elder man, but not a word. Instead, he lifted his free and pointed with his thumb to the door behind him. Alex wasted no time in crossing the room and following the doctor's directions. The room he entered was not much different.
It, like the morgue, was also made up of metal walls. It had a desk in the corner of similar make, it's surface littered with two laptops and several papers and books of varying thicknesses. The walls were littered with several posters outlining human atonomy and subjects of the like. However, the being of most interest in that room was the young woman seated on an aged couch that had been pushed at an akward angle into a corner.
Her short brown hair was ruffled, obviously left ungroomed for quite a while. Her cheeks seemed stained red, eyes half-opened as she stared blankly at the floor. A thick wool blanket was draped over her bare shoulders. She'd been changed into something of a patient's outfit, likely to ensure she could be properly examined.
But her gaze did not lift at the man's enterance to the room, despite the way he stared in wonder and suspicion at her still form. He was hesitant for a while before taking a few steps towards her. At this, her eyes lifted to meet his.
"Dana?" Alex crouched down, that lightened stare following him as he came to eye-level with the fragile-looking girl. She just stared. When she said nothing in response to her name, he decided to try once more. "Dana?"
"You're not Alex." The man blinked in surprise.
"I-"
"You're not my brother."
"Dana, I-"
"You're just some thing with his skin." Her words, though not entirely untrue, stung to hear all the same. He wasn't sure why it hurt either, it's not like she was just spitting hateful insults. She was more right than not. The man wisely chose to ignore this fact, leaving the subject untouched.
"Are you alright?" Alex asked with a sigh, standing once more as his initial fears of dementia had been calmed. It still took her several seconds to reply, her voice quiet and broken.
"Fine." She said, drawing that blanket tighter around her as a comfort, her head turning away. Dana said nothing more, obviously quite comfortable with letting an akward silence envelop the room. Uncomfortable with this situation, Alex chose to remove himself from the bitter presence and leave the girl to her thoughts.
"Let me know if you need anything." He said as he turned to walk away. He hesitated for only a moment, pausing long enough to say, "I'm sorry," before leaving.
"She's been awake for the past week." As Mercer stepped into the main room of the morgue, Ragland turned to face him. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and set the scalpel down on the table before folding his arms across his chest in a habitual manner. "She started asking questions. Why she couldn't leave, where you were and what had happened to her."
"Figures."
"I'm not so good with young women, Alexander, especially not ones with the potential to get so...loud and angry. I eventually told her everything I knew."
"Yeah."
"...I take it she didn't react well to seeing you."
"It doesn't matter." Alex waved a hand and shook his head, making a point to move further away from the office door. "What else do you have to tell me?"
"Well," the doctor turned back to the table and leant over his subject, clearly not at all bothered by the subject change. "It's about the infected..."
He had Alex's full attention.
"They're...evolving again. There is a new strain, one that's immune to Bloodtox and seems to be deducting from a host's mental capacity in order to increase their physical abilities. These new infected are stronger, faster and all themore viscious. So far, the only cases have been discovered in southern Manhatten, but there are military whispers that it's moving northeast."
"You mean it's making a come back?"
"Yes, the virus is taking a fast turn to develop better defenses. I think it'll take about a month for it to travel further up north, but that's not the worst of it."
"So, what is?" The hooded figure was a little irritated at the suspenseful pause.
"Well, those who are currently infected are immune. This new strain only spreads to people who are clean of the virus."
"So in other words, it's specifically targetting the survivors?"
"Indeed. And the rate with the current Infected is tricky. About 25% of them somehow take Bloodtox in as a cure to the virus, but one they're cured, they prove an easier target for the new strain to infest."
"Then Manhattan is doomed?"
"Well, that's what I thought."
"Until?"
"Until I overheard a military broadcast over classified stations. Apparently, PARIAH is loose in the city." The mention of the name brought a sting to the young man's head. He let a hand wonder to his forehead, pressing his palm into his skull in hopes to dull the pain. Memories flooded back into his mind, many voices whispering different things, all of them involving the name...
"Pariah may be the final purpose of all life on earth."
"I want access to Pariah."
"34 years old and he barely ages. He's just some freak in a kid's body."
"Keep him isolated, beyond top-secret."
"All I know is that it would be very bad if Pariah and Zeus ever met face-to-face."
By the time the memories and pain had faded, the doctor had resumed talking.
"It makes sense to beleive that like Elizabeth Greene, Pariah is able to create new strains of the virus and infect others, so it's natural to assume that he, like Greene, is the head of this new disease. I think if you can take him out, you might stop the spread of this virus, like you did with the first one."
"Makes sense."
"But can you do it?"
There was another pause after these words, one that seemed to show Alex's sudden curiosity as to why he was being doubted. He'd stopped the first one, hadn't he? He'd even taken on the mishappen Supreme Hunter and survived. It was because of him that Manhattan still stood. But instead of pointing all this out, he simply narrowed those icy eyes of his and growled out a straightforward question.
"What's got you doubting that I can?"
"The military, for one. They're still working on new ways to pin you down and capture you, even kill you if they can manage it. Bloodtox was just the first step on a tall ladder and remember how much that burned." Ragland paused before continuing, probably making sure his words sunk in. "Since the death of Specialist Cross, they're probably looking for new people to 'deal' with you. On top of that, from what I've heard, Pariah is nothing like Greene. He was borne of the virus, he had perfect, unchallenged control over it. I think it's safe to assume he'll make Greene look like a low-class amateur, especially seeing as you have not yet come to full terms with your abilities."
Each point of the doctor's was valid, but it was not like Alex Mercer to dwell on facts that might hinder him. Acknowledging their presence never hurt, but never would he actually let them distract. He'd come to learn to do everything in stride, face things as they came barelling towards him with whatever murderous intention they may have. Worrying about minor details would slow him down, something he couldn't afford.
"I'll manage." He said, ignoring the look of doubt he received from the doctor. He turned towards the door. "Thanks for looking after Dana. I'll come back to see her in a while, don't let her leave yet. It's still..." Pausing, he contemplated what the girl might think about him controlling what she does. "...It's still too dangerous to send her back out on her own. I'll come back." He opened the door, shoulders clearly weighted by the burden of an unspoken hurt.
"Alright. Be careful."
"I make no promises."
With that, he was gone.
'Allo mates. Just summin' I whipped up and might come back to as a side project, 'cause I dun really expect too many folks to have interest. Which means, if y'all are decent enough to click that 'submit review' button and tell me what you think, I may be motivated to write more, y'know? In short, please do click that button. If you had the patience enough to read it, at least tell me what you think? ^-^ I promise I don't bite.
...Hard.
TOODLES~
