Dissolved Girl

by Herrlichkeit

There is a story passed between the members of Blackwatch--the story of the man who captured and killed the last runner without aid from anyone else. That night was quiet, and the blue sky hung heavy over Two Bluff, Arizona.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of Prototype.

-Most of my works are written to be read with some form of song. The song, if one is chosen, will always be listed at the beginning of the story.

Song Used: Dissolved Girl by Massive Attack

The sun had set, and the cold blue light of the moon filtered over the world below it. The clouds that hovered before it were illuminated by its touch, but also cast shadows beneath. The scene would have been eerie, given the circumstances. A soft blip on the screen of the device told him where It had gone; a radar sweep gave a constant feed of information directly to his earpiece—contamination levels had skyrocketed in the small town until the life had been choked from it. He glanced down at the corpses strewn on the street. The smell of rotting flesh filled the air, but it was the only thing. The rest of the night was silent as could be.

He knelt by the body of a woman—It had hit her as It passed. The disease had spread quickly and violently, rotting her skin while she still lived, driving her mind into madness. He had shot her—she would have died from the disease anyways. The test screen crackled as he swept it over her, snarling to life as it detected the signature of the particles. He stood quietly, ghosting across the asphalt in the shadows of the building. The runner had fled to a clutch of tall structures grouped together behind a chain link fence.

His gaze flickered up to the name, which had fallen into the shadows cast by the night—Two Bluff Kindergarten. His breath swept out in a sigh and he leaned his back against the wall, peering around the corner. And there she was—she knelt amongst the center of a Hopscotch row, clutching her blue rags around herself. His gloved hand reached for the gun at his hip, and though he cocked it slowly, the soft click must have been heard. The runner jerked, her eyes snapping to him in alarm. Hidden as he was in the dark of the night she still found him—he could feel the weight of her gaze steadying on the place he stood.

Tears streaked her face, coursing anew as he stepped from his hiding spot. His alarm was blaring now—a sound only he could hear in his earpiece. He had found her, but he was faced with the same realization he always faced when things like this happened. Shooting a raging, dying woman was one thing, but the runner hadn't even attacked him.

"You're going to kill me now, aren't you?" Her voice was a whisper, and she slowly stood. A breath of fear was in her eyes, deepening the lines of her face and the shadows of her eyes. He reached up to click something into place on an instrument he wore. The alarm went off—he had never needed it to find her after all.

"It's my job," he stated quietly. She didn't hear the regret in his voice; the discomfort with the job of being placed to kill a human being. He hadn't leveled the gun or moved toward her—but all she knew was that one way or another someone was going to die.