Title: The Genesis Strain
Author: fury grrl
Archive: Just ask first
Rating: R - language, violence, and gore
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: Something far worse than death is unleashed upon an unsuspecting world. My homage to Dawn of the Dead, Resident Evil, and survival horror in general. Pairings will become apparent as the story unfurls.

Author's note: I don't like writing accents - despite all good intentions, they invariably become mangled. This fic will therefore be free of them, just so you know. Also, for those of you waiting on updates for either 'A Series of Observations' or 'Trial By Fire', please be reassured that I haven't abandoned them - or you. New additions to both should be available shortly.


Prologue: Countdown to the End

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
June 25th 1:42 p.m.

Graydon Creed, tired of waiting, pulled a gold cigarette case from the inner pocket of his designer suit jacket, and flipped it open.

"You shouldn't be smoking down here," a voice admonished, making him turn to seek its source.

"And you should learn how to tell time, Trask. I've been standing here for ages," Graydon countered, seeing the familiar form of his business partner and fellow mutant-hater step from the private elevator he himself had ridden in more than ten minutes ago.

"You could've just gone ahead yourself, I would have caught up."

"Shit, you know how productivity goes down the crapper when that guy gets irritated. He says he wants a meeting with both of us, so that's what we give him," Creed replied sourly - only to bark out a short laugh a half second later. "I gotta admit, though, that guy's got balls - giving me orders. If it wasn't for that genius I.Q. of his, I'd have fired his ass long ago."

Trask, more envious than admiring of man they were discussing, refrained from commenting, and started to move down the corridor, his ally a step behind.

"So what do you think he's called us down here for, anyway?" Graydon continued, popping a cigarette between his lips and sparking it up with a lighter that matched the case. "Think he's got something to show us already?" The expectant gleam in his eyes belied the bored tone he projected.

Trask debated the question internally for a moment before responding. "I wouldn't put it past him," he said mildly, "but I suppose we'll find out soon enough."

The walk to the main lab, always a lengthy one, had never before been so silent - or so Trask thought as the stillness seemed to deepen the further they progressed, prompting him to mutter, "Where the hell is everybody?"

Graydon, mind on other matters, merely looked up at the sound of his companion's voice, blank expression saying he hadn't been paying attention.

"We haven't seen anyone since we got down here, and it's as quiet as a tomb," Trask went on, the glare he turned on his partner vaguely accusing. "You didn't tell him he could send his team home early, did you?"

"Who? Me?" Graydon scoffed, exhaling another puff of blue-tinged smoke. "And waste time better spent on finishing the project? Why would I do something like that?"

"Well, there's got to be some explanation for this," Trask griped, his gesturing hands indicating the empty corridors and rooms devoid of activity.

Graydon just shrugged, seemingly unconcerned.

The two men approached the double doors that led into the main research area and, when they pushed past them, found themselves bathed in near darkness. A single small desk lamp shining wanly from a nearby work table offered the only source of light.

"What the hell is this?" Graydon muttered, crushing his half-finished smoke beneath his heel, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of life.

"Unbelievable," Trask grated, crossing his arms against his chest angrily. "What did I tell you? He's sent everybody home!"

Movement a few feet ahead stirred the darkness.

"An apt way of putting it, Mr. Trask." An amused voice slithered out of the shadows, making both men start. "But as usual, not entirely correct."

Graydon frowned, but it was Trask who spoke. "Is that you, Essex? What the hell is going on down here?"

"Science, gentlemen...nothing more, nothing less," was the soft response.

Graydon was surprised to feel a flush of gooseflesh prickle along his skin at those innocuous words - surprised, and irritated. "Quit playing with me, Essex," he shouted, growing warm with anger. "You turn these lights on and get your ass over here, or so help me -"

Laughter, low and delighted, drifted out of the gloom, cutting the rest of Graydon's words short.

"Mr. Creed, there's no need for idle threats," the voice chided when the laughter subsided. "Especially when I've asked you and Mr. Trask here for a very special purpose."

"What do you mean?" Trask demanded, his curious nature overriding his annoyance. "Does this have anything to do with the toxin? Have you managed to perfect it?"

The shadows shivered again as a figure materialized into view a few paces away.

"Beyond my wildest dreams, Mr. Trask," the person gurgled happily.

Graydon let out a relieved breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding when he was able to clearly make out the form of his Head Scientist. "Well, Christ, Essex! Why didn't you just say so?" he asked, grinning. "Let's go on up to my office and you can tell us everything."

Essex moved towards them like a wraith, his feet making no sound as he approached. "Oh, I can do better than just tell you, Mr. Creed," he said, the lone light not only revealing his smiling face, but the gleaming stainless steel of a needle held in one hand. "And we don't need to go anywhere for a demonstration...right here will do just fine."

Graydon blinked at the man in confusion, realizing too late that the syringe was intended for him.

Dr. Essex struck swift and sure, stabbing the many inches of cold metal deep into his employer's neck, depressing the plunger with a flick of a button. As Graydon's mouth opened in a soundless scream, the needle still buried in the soft tissues of his throat, the doctor turned his attention to a shocked Bolivar Trask - now inching his way back towards the doors.

"Mr. Trask, please join me. I'm sure you'll find the results of my work very interesting."

Trask spun on his heel and ran for the doors, a shout of abject fear issuing from his lips when he realized they were locked.

"Ah...it begins," Dr. Essex murmured approvingly, his eyes now watching something on the floor.

Trask, despite himself, followed the doctor's gaze with panic-filled eyes, a gasp of horror squeezed from his lungs when he saw his business partner and what had been done to him.

Graydon was convulsing wildly, his limbs shaking with seizures, his rolling eyes showing their whites, bloody bubbles gushing from his mouth. The skin not hidden by his suit was slowly starting to blacken and crack, while various fluids, viscous and foul-smelling, began streaming from ears, nose and eyes.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Dr. Essex remarked conversationally, his head cocked thoughtfully as he observed Graydon's death throes.

Trask, on his knees and vomiting noisily, didn't have the means to reply, so Essex continued.

"Far more exciting than your original idea of a toxin specifically designed for mutants, and with far greater potential, wouldn't you agree?" He gazed down almost fondly at his employer - now oozing a yellowish pus-like substance from the fissures spider-webbing his mottled skin.

"W-what the h-hell are you talking about? Anyone can do what you - you just did," Trask blubbered, bile dripping unnoticed from his chin. "A-anyone can k-kill a man."

"Kill? Really, Mr. Trask, you can be obtuse." Dr. Essex chuckled, dipping his hand into the pocket of his lab coat and extracting another needle. "What I have achieved greatly outstrips the banality of death...as you yourself will discover in just a moment."

At those words, at the sight of the needle, Trask was undone by fear. He started crying - pleas, promises, and imprecations all babbling from his quavering lips as he tried to crawl away.

Essex frowned and made a clucking noise, advancing after the slowly fleeing man. "Obtuse and ungrateful," he complained with a shake of his head, planting a foot in the middle of Trask's back and pressing him to the floor.

"W-why are you d-doing this?" Trask sobbed wretchedly, unable to move.

"For the same reason you and Mr. Creed wanted the toxin in the first place," the doctor replied, stabbing the syringe between Trask's shoulder blades.

"To play God."


Fifteen minutes later, Dr. Essex took the elevator from his blood-splattered sub-level lab, and emerged, cool and composed, on the first floor of International Pharmaceuticals. He strode down a carpeted hallway with tasteful corporate art hanging at regular intervals, passing smartly dressed people who were completely ignorant of what went on in the 'basement', and eventually found himself in the tidily kept shipping office.

"Yes, Dr. Essex. What can I do for you?" inquired a young woman seated behind a desk, her bubble gum pink nails pausing over the computer keyboard she'd been typing on.

"A shipping form, please," Essex said with a smile, taking a pen from his shirt pocket.

The girl nodded and fetched him one, returning to her interrupted work while he filled it out.

"That should do it," he murmured several minutes later, laying the completed sheet on the woman's desk.

She glanced at the paper, her eyes widening slightly when she saw what he was requesting. "Wow...Chicago, New York, Miami, London, Amsterdam, Tokyo, Sydney..." She looked up. "There's at least a hundred hospitals and clinics here. You need something shipped to each of them?"

"By tomorrow," Essex confirmed.

The girl gave him a skeptical look.

"It's a direct order from Mr. Creed and Mr. Trask."

At the mention of company's co-owners, the girl blanched and quickly reached for her phone. "Consider it done."

Essex merely smiled his gratitude and headed back to his lab, his special shipments requiring some alteration before delivery. He stepped into the elevator and swiped his clearance card through the reader, waiting for the doors to close before pulling a small vial of amber fluid from his coat pocket and holding it up to the light appraisingly.

"Soon," he cooed, fingertips caressing the slim vessel almost lovingly. "Everything will end."

He laughed in his eagerness and his mask of humanity slipped a fraction, baring unnaturally sharpened teeth and eyes that gleamed with a faintly reddish hue, his countenance altogether sinister.

"Yes, it will end...and the greatest experiment this world has ever known will finally begin."