Prologue
This was a collab between me and NotQuiteHuman01 but due to him randomly deleting his stories and farla's review that nearly drove both of us from the site I decided to go it alone and basically well remind him why he should continue with his fics and if you are a fan of his please mail him and tell him he should continue.
The moon shone down on the ice cold tundra of the Polar Regions. It glinted off the edges of team galactic base ZZ4545. The research centre that to those who didn't know, didn't exist.
The goings on of the Lab seemed so humdrum to those who had been working there since it had been built and thanks to the Team Galactic retirement policy 'you'll stop working here when you're dead' would continue to do so for many years to come. Were considered playing god by some, to John it was just his day job, clock in at nine, mutate something new, quick visit to the decontamination chamber, clock out at five. It was strange how something so horrific could so easily become routine. A psychiatrist might remark on how the adaptability of the human mind means that morals change on a whim when survival was involved, to John it just made cashing his pay check so much easier.
The normal dull feeling of mild detachment to his work gave no impression as to what was to come, as he took his usual place in front of the same old control console with the same old assistant writing down the same old data about the same old experiments, he couldn't help but wish for something more, something exiting, to happen. A wise man once said "Be careful what you wish for"
As he heard the first sirens he followed protocol and headed for the containment units waiting for the warnings to be blared out of the speakers and tell him just who had screwed up this time.
"Alert! Alert! Containment field's offline" blared the siren on the wall as the soles of professor john Rogers slapped the walk ways over the containment cells, in time to see each of the cells go offline one by one. As he saw the shambling mutated figures crawl out, he turned, he ran. This time it was no simple fire drill or a corrupt file in the system dropping two tons of breakfast cereal on the test subjects. This could kill them all.
"Get the doors closed their loose" he screamed to the guards. He watched the doors close slowly as the guards slowly slid them shut. John slipped through the gap left by the doors. The doors slammed shut behind him.
A guard turned to him "go we will hold them for as long as we can" he said fear clear on his face.
John ran legs burning but he ran on terror giving him fresh energy. A tearing shriek made him stop. He turned to see a fist pushed through the solid steel of the door.
"Aim" yelled the guard as with another shriek another hand was thrust through. With a crack of bone the hands transformed into twin claws that ripped open the doors. Through the rent glowing red eyes could be seen.
"Fire" yelled the guard.
Howls of rage emanated from the door as bullets smacked into the flesh of what was beyond. John ran toward the last door before the main Computer Processor, if anything happened to that all of the labs computerised defences would be disabled and the creatures would have free reign of the lab, and anyone in it.
John spun round as he realised the rifles had stopped and saw a scene of horror, violence and gore. The guards lay burnt, their bodies twisted and mutilated into horrific shapes that made the bile rise in John's throat. John threw himself through the door and slammed his fist onto the door shut button. His fingers clattered on the keyboard activating the emergency shutdown system. He saw the bar scurry hurriedly across the screen skittering and juddering along.
He heard scraping behind him and glancing back he saw a rent had appeared in the door and a disfigured hand had shoved its way through the gap. It started to change getting thicker, he reached for the gun rack, rifles of all shapes and sizes were stored there. He only knew how to fire one and that was a pistol. He grabbed two and pointed them at the door they felt heavy and were midnight black. They were designed for one purpose only, killing. He was going down he'd take as many as he could with him. The hands found a grip on the edges. Blood trickled down the side of the door. It was ripped from the wall and hurled away. Silhouetted against the light was something that once may have been a Charazard now it was twisted and mutated. John opened fire screaming in defiance a wordless prayer to any and all gods he could think of, he didn't care which one saved him as long as he lived. The Charazard thing barely flinched, before tentacles lashed out and plucked the guns from his shaking hands and encircled him. John screamed and fought but the tentacle's squeezed all the harder chocking his airways. Spots started to swim in front of his eyes and he could feel his body go numb. He struggled for mere moments before bones and organs were crushed and he finally lapsed into unconsciousness.