Not Far From Death
Warren Worthington III was tired. Not physically, as that would be impossible for him. It had all begun when his father, Warren Worthington II had secretly perfected the Mutacure formula. He had gotten it down near perfectly except for one flaw- the single flaw that had made his life hell; the single flaw that had made him an outcast.
Physical mutations like Warren's and Logan's could not be cured by a chemical method. They needed to be torn out of the mutant's body, and transferred to another mutant, whose body could hold it. His father, taking ideas from one of Magneto's original machines, the Mutator, had been able to create a device which had been able to perform this seemingly impossible task. However, as both he and Logan were against ideas such as "Mutant curing", they flat-out refused.
Both he and Logan outlived all their friends by a long, long time. Logan, due to his seemingly unbeatable healing powers, and Warren, with his vast supply of antioxidants, which arrested his aging process. Logan, who had already been alive since the Second World War, became tired of his immortality and agreed with the transfer process. Warren readily accepted to take Logan's curse upon himself. A few years after this process, Logan died peacefully. And thus, Warren lived on.
He, being the last mutant alive was cast out from society in general and was forced to live alone, in the ruins of a country that was once known as "Vanuatu". The only contact he had with the society was military contractors and occasionally a distraught history teacher begging him for some answers. Eventually, every single friend he had ever had died. Something he had long foreseen, but something that still didn't hurt less.
After a hundred years after this point, he started hearing rumors… rumors of a zombie apocalypse.
Evidently, it had sprung from one of his father's misguided attempts to reintroduce mutations in mankind. Even though all the good mutants had peacefully agreed to take the Mutacure, the ones against mankind had still remained, though the original ones like Magneto and Mystique had died off long ago.
So, Worthington Jr. had decided it would be a good idea to create a "Mutagen", an artificially synthesized gene that would introduce genetic mutation to the point that they could recreate mutants whose powers were on par with Alpha mutants like Jean Grey. Feelingless ones equivalent to androids, to avoid the second coming of the Phoenix, ones that would obey Worthington's every beck and call. Also, he gave them the power to introduce this gene into others through the process of biting. Obviously this had backfired, as the gene had been a complete failure. It had granted the test subjects near immortality, but had not provided them a healing factor, but had slowly killed all the skin cells in their body, giving them a rotting appearance. The first generation still had retained their mind, however, after they interbred, they brain cells in their spawn died until they were left with only one thought- "assimilate".
It was time for the Angel to return.
As he first soared into the sky, he felt an elation spread through him- he had forgotten what it felt like to fly. That was until he realized he was in trouble… his entire back was aching and he was falling. He regained his senses just before he hit the ground and flew back off. He seemed to be having some trouble flying, something he hadn't experienced even the first time he had ever taken off. "Must be the excessive weight from the adamantium skeleton," he thought. As he had adapted to it, he paid it no heed, not knowing that it would be his undoing… not that he wouldn't welcome it.
He accelerated to near light speed, his body only holding together because of the healing factor of his. As he flew over the ruins of once beautiful nations, he was surprised to see the insanely huge horde of zombies that had amassed, walking in an unorganized crowd. It was an amazing sight to see, despite the fact that it would spell the death of any normal human being. Seeing a horde of walking dead with rotting skins was totally worth it.
He finally got to someplace where he could help out. A small group of humans were huddled in the centre, surrounded by a fire which they had apparently lit themselves, to protect them from zombie attacks. Apparently these zombies had not lost their self preservation instinct. It was the most n=base thing after all. Even the smallest of the bacteria had it. Even an idiot like Loga… We are getting sidetracked here.
The people looked extremely distressed. The fuel for their protective circle of fire was running out. The flames were weak and kept on spluttering and nearly went out a few times.
The Angel descended upon the horde of zombies like an eagle diving down to kill its prey in a single, fell swoop. As he hurtled down towards the zombies, he allowed his metal claws to come out- a byproduct of the curse that he had willingly taken from Logan. The metal of his claws flashed as he cut through the entire horde surrounding the people. He shouted at them to hurry on.
The zombies kept on coming. It was as if the need to assimilate everyone in sight had finally overridden their instinct for self preservation. There was blood everywhere, as he flew through the horde, twisting, turning and slashing his way through every being he could find. He turned back and sighed in relief. The people had escaped.
He had had enough. He barely suppressed the bile that was rising in his system. He did not wish to be a part of this anymore. He had never thought what Logan had felt while killing people. Of course, he had killed people too, but those people were always guilty of some evil deeds. These were innocent people, who had been tainted by his father's stupidity.
As he flew above the hoard, suddenly, his entire back exploded with excruciating pain, as his whole body went into a paralytic state and he fell down, right into a waiting horde of zombies.
Sins of the father shall be visited upon the sons…
He fell down, knocking out more than a dozen of these creatures. As the remaining horde neared him, he thought of all he had lost- Psylocke- the girl he had loved- and all of his dear friends.
Indeed, Warren Worthington III was tired of living. He smiled as his last thought flashed through his mind. Perhaps he wasn't far from death at all…