April 15, 1943

"The Asylum"

Near Breslau, Germany

Mitra stumbled towards the rusted gates of the Asylum, drenched in sweat. A makeshift bandage was on his shoulder, doing little to stop the flow of blood from the bite wound the zombie had given him.

The guards kept their weapons leveled until Mitra produced an identification card that belonged only to members involved with the project. The head of security nodded and signaled to let Mitra through. The gates crawled open as the guards parted for Mitra to pass.

Mitra collapsed into the arms of the nearest guard, feeling nautious and ready to throw up. The bite was throbbing, waves of pain were flooding his nervous system.

"Get him inside!" the head of security ordered.

In minutes they had Mitra in bandages, giving him morphine and examining his wound.

They set Mitra in the barracks, giving him an empty bunk and extra pillows to prop him upright.

The security chief and several other leaned in close, listening intently to Mitra's account of what happened at der Riese.

"So how did they get loose?" the security chief asked, afraid that he himself had not taken the appropriate precautions.

"I don't know. But it wasn't on accident, sir. Their individual cells all opened at the exact same time. I don't think its a coincidence that they all broke out in the same exact moment."

"Neither do I, Mitra. Have you heard from anyone else who survived?"

"No. No word from Maxis, Richtofen, or any of Kruger's men. I think it's safe to say that they didn't survive the night."

Mitra's words echoed in the small space, making the five men around him silent as the night.

"There were reports over the radio, actually. The Americans bombed the countryside of Breslau. Destroyed it." another soldier spoke up.

Peter. he must have had his men bomb it to contain the incident.

"I want to speak with John. I know he is here."

"Of course. I'll tell him you're here." one of the men jogged back toward the main building.

John was in the radio room, squaking at his contacts on all fronts, demanding information. His face was bright red, his voice growing hoarse from shouting orders and receiving bits of information from different people.

That's the hardest part of my job, John reasoned. I only get a little bit from my contacts and have to put together a rough picture from it. For a spy, I really do hate puzzles.

The radio operators knew better than to stand in his way, letting him run around and following orders without question.

The security man burst in.

"Sir. I-"

"WHAT!" John turned and screamed in his face. John was also drenched in sweat and looking weary.

"Whoever or whatever is running this universe has just brought a shitstorm down on my operation. Do you know what that means?" he demanded.

The soldier stayed silent.

"It means trouble for me, soldier. It means millions of taxpayer's dollars to cover damages and keep people quiet and snuff those who won't keep quiet. That is what I'm dealing with right now. There had better be a goddamed black hole about to suck us up and nothing less important for you to to interrupt me right now. Now spit it out!"

"Sir, there's a soldier here who survived the incident at der Riese. He identified himself as Mitra."

John couldn't believe it. "Is he hurt? Is there anyone with him?"

"He came in here with a wound on his shoulder, but he'll live-"

John grabbed the soldier by the collar and shoved him against the switchboard with incredible strength.

"What kind of wound?" John whispered.

"He said he was bitten, sir."

John took a step backwards, his eyes hollow and his mouth hanging open.

"You fools," John whispered. "You've damned us all!"

Then there was an inhuman scream outside, followed by a few slightly more human ones.

Immediately, John started rushing around, tripping alarms and destroying documents in a mad rush.

"All personnel, evacuate immediately! The zombies have breached the perimeter! I repeat, GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!

"Spread out and cover the perimeter from outside the fence. Whatever you do, don't let them escape!"

John heard bursts of gunfire and screams of terror as his men were ripped apart by the growinghorde. But John had a plan in place for this.

He made his way to the power room, shoving past groups of soldiers and terrified scientists running for the perimeter.

John drew his .45 from his waistband, ready for action.

He glanced left and right of the power switch in front of him, making sure the area was clear of the undead.

He finally grabbed the massive switch and yanked it down, hearing the humming of the generator disappear in an instant. He did this so that the main gate could not be opened from the inside or out. However, this switch didn't control the electric fences around the perimeter, as those would be vital in the next hours.

Suddenly, a zombie charged him from the left.

Before he could open fire, the beast swung its clawed hand downward, severing John's left hand at the forearm. It was still curled around the power switch when he reeled backward.

John turned and emptied his entire magazine into the beast, the high caliber bullets tossing it aside.

He screamed in pain as blood sprayed onto the floor, dampening his boots with hot red. The thing had actually taken his hand off!

He ran full speed down an escape shaft that only he knew about, nearly falling down the ladder climbing one-handed.

He lost his hand, and his hand was still attached to the power switch, but he would survive.

He would survive.