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Anomaly viii

The Food Chain Falls

The three scientists felt horrible. Three people were dead and one boy, by any means barely legal, was the cause of it all. From what Eric could pry from the uniforms, each victim was devoured. It seemed Robert's appetite had increased. As the trio sat down, they had absolutely no idea how to deal with the situation. Robert was a patient; he had escaped and was killing and eating people. He was a killer, cannibal, but he was still a patient. What were they supposed to do? Shoot him dead, or capture him to try and find out what was wrong? Questions buzzed around each doctor's head, teasingly poking at their brains. It was Eric who finally spoke.

"We need to tell a uniform," Frank and Karen stared at him, questioningly. "Robert is a patient, but I don't think the Hippocratic Oath stretches this far." Frank frowned. He didn't like it. When he made his promise, he never thought he would be in a situation like this. He hated to admit it, but Eric was right. When Hippocrates wrote the oath, Frank was sure that he never thought this situation would never appear. A patient was killing the doctors who were helping him, examining him, feeding him; over all taking care of him. Somewhere, however, Frank also wondered if Hippocrates was yelling at them from the heavens above, screaming "you bastards, help the poor child! Don't kill him!"

So the three sat there in a silence that screamed. They wanted to help - oh, God, did they want to help! - But how? None of them had combat training; Frank was certain Eric and Karen had never handled a gun. The only people who could help would be the uniforms, but they had no idea if they would believe three scientists. Frank expressed his concern and Karen gave a harsh laugh.

"I don't give a fuck if they toss us in the loony bin! I'll feel safer if there's at least one person who can fire a gun." Karen's hand went to her throat and began to play with the small golden chain that hung there. Frank shook his head.

"Karen," he sighed, "If the uniforms don't believe us, they'll probably release the lock down, and Robert will go out there and kill." Frank waved his hand at the walls, feeling annoyed.

"Right," Eric stood. "We might as well tell them. The worse that can happen is they don't believe us."

"No, the worse that can happen is that they think we killed those people." Frank corrected.

Telling the uniforms was easier said than done. The majority of the security refused to talk to the scientists unless it was absolutely necessary; and as adamant was the trio were about trying to convince the uniforms the matter of Robert was "completely necessary", their words fell on deaf ears. What? Did they think they were joking? That as soon as they raced out to save the day, they'd fling Silly String at them? Oh, ho ho! Did you see the look on his face? Priceless! Ho ho, oh! All hope seemed lost, and the three thought that they would soon bare witness to the Massacre at DES HQ. It seemed all they could do at this point in time was to sit and wait. And pray they would survive the lock down.

Was this wrong? To feel so much energy, so my excitement, killing another with a life? Robert didn't know. He felt no remorse. He felt glee, anticipation and hunger. Oh, sweet Lord, did he feel hunger. Not to eat, but to kill. To survive. He felt a primal drive to kill those who would pose a threat. And those men with guns surely posed a large threat. The scientists here also were a threat. They could catch him, again. Lock him away.

That would do no good. They had to go. All of them. Everyone had to die. So, why didn't he feel ashamed? Robert hadn't the foggiest, but that wasn't going to stop him. A single man, wielding a gun, stood alone. He looked tired, uninterested. Weak. He looked weak, and Robert knew he would be able to take the man out.

He tapped against the air vent's wall, gaining the man with the gun's attention. He straightened, gaze turning toward the sound. Robert scuttled down a way, past the vent grate and waited. The man readied his gun, and approached the grate. He took out a laser and slowly removed the bolts. Once they were gone, the grate fell and the man pointed the gun at the opening. When Robert didn't appear, he slowly stepped forward, dropping his guard, and weapon.

His scream carried through the air vent, as his blood splattered along the floor and wall. By the time the other guards showed up, Robert was already heading down the vent. He would pick off those who posed a danger to his survival. He would kill them all, one at a time. He needed patience.

Patience. Patience.