Waking up had never come easily to Tom. It was always so much easier to wave the day passed from the seclusion of his sheets. Sure eventually he would drag himself to his feet for the sake of food or alcohol, but for a few hours, he allowed himself this state of bliss. He laid in bed, a sharp chill harassing his exposed face and hands, and suddenly his pillow felt too solid, his sheets too thin, his mattress too sturdy. And then there was a gun to his head.

He couldn't even crack his eyes open before the questions began. "Who are you? Did someone send you? What was that thing?" Tom really wished he was back on that park bench. He slowly rolled over onto his back, looking up at his interrogator with lidded eyes and bitter apathy. "Mornin'."

The man above him was stone-faced, his entire demeanor saying 'I have no time for your shit so don't push me'. Tom couldn't care less. However, he did pick up on a faint snicker from somewhere behind him. Tom did his best to assess the situation in his groggy state. Clearly, there were two men, at least one armed. He was in a random bed, in a tiled room. The ceiling was lit by more LED fluorescents, and at the foot of the bed, Tom could see a very large, very bulky, steel security door.

Tom wanted to sit up and get a proper look around, but any movement seemed to be a movement too many at the moment. Upon feeling around the bed Tom realised he had slept on a concrete fixture that was jutting out from the wall, similar to a modern cell bed. No wonder his entire body ached, one hand, in particular, throbbing harshly. It was logically a cell, a cell with armed guards. Tord had a hell of a lot of explaining to do. Another glance at the soldier made it clear he was growing impatient.

The stranger grit his teeth. "Look, I can't relax until I know what the hell is going on and Red Leader still isn't conscious to tell me. You're the first one awake so you need to give me some answers. This doesn't have to be hard."

Tom was almost tempted to pull the sheets back up and go back to sleep. "Aren't you going to introduce yourself before you start harassing me?" Looking at this man he felt he should know him from somewhere. The red and blue uniform and parted bangs were familiar.

"Patryck. My partner is Paul."

There was a "Hey." from out of his line of sight.

Tom groaned, slowing sitting up as not to aggravate the dude with the gun. "All I know is Tord brought me here to help me" he accented "help" with air quotes. "And then, in true Tord fashion, drugged me and dumped me here. If you can fill the blanks I would appreciate it."

The soldier wore a look of disbelief. "Fill the blanks? Oh, I can do that. My partner and I walked in on a goddamn monster mauling our Ge-" He cut himself off, trying to calm down. "Our comrade, and then 20 minutes later while we're finishing up cleaning up its mess, it turns into you. Does that make things any clearer for you?"

Tom could have laughed. That was the type of bullshit he would expect from the producers of 'Insane Zombie Pirates From Hell'. This guy can't be serious. But still, Tom felt a nagging feeling in his gut as links started to appear from the days he lost time and the various similarities between them- there always happened to be a news report on damage to buildings in the area. He had seen reports zoom in on too-huge paw prints and, that day back in Hyde Park... "Honestly, no."

Patryck pulled the gun from Tom's head, convinced he was not about to have any trouble from the detainee. "You really don't remember? It feels like turning into a monster should be something hard to forget."

"Apparently I've made a habit of it." He deadpanned.

He squinted as he tried to look around a bit more, his groggy mind yet to adjust to the light. He eventually looked back at Patryck with a half-asleep, half-incredulous expression.

"A monster." He mulled the news over. It was hard to pull his thoughts together. Some of him was decided that this was his head fucking with him and he was actually passed out in Tord's lab, or even back in the park. The part that dealt with aliens and fish people on a weekly basis wasn't so sure. "You said I was mauling him. Is the fucker dead?"

"No."

"Damn. Maybe next time."

"Okay, you are in a really serious situation so I think you need to stop making jokes and start giving us answers."

"Who said I was joking?"

Patryck lifted his gun again.

"Okay okay, if you've gotten the hard-ass soldier introduction out-of-the-way, I'd appreciate it if Tord would show his face. I came here for answers, not whatever the hell this is."

The second soldier finally came into Tom's line of sight. He seemed considerably more relaxed than the first, which was hopefully a good sign. "If you want Lawson you've got some waiting to do. He's still under the knife."

Surgery? I did that much damage? Cool.

Tom turned to the more reasonable of the two. "Okay. Obviously, Tord hasn't been working as an inventor for the last eight years. So where in hell am I?"

"A military base."

Tom stopped in his tracks. "... Of course. "

At the news Tom did a double take, only just recognising the red and blue uniforms both men wore. And then recognising the men themselves. "Hey, I know you. You two are... all over the news. Like every day. How have you not been arrested yet?"

"Because believe it or not people support the Red Army. There's a reason the zombie outbreak was so short, or why most major conflicts in Europe and Asia have died down."

Tom snorted at that, not believing it for a second. "One more question. Can I get out of bed yet? I don't know about you but for me, this entire conversation has been sorta downplayed by how stupid it feels."

Paul nodded, putting down Tom's clothes on the counter nearby. "We got them washed for you, had to take the flask though. If you want a drink you have to get it from the mess like everyone else."

"What sort of bullshit rule is that? How have you not mutinied yet?"

Patryck huffed. "Because it's an unlimited supply as long as we don't take it out of the mess, that's good enough for any man. It means Red Leader can keep a better record of his men's well being and such, it's what's best for the forces overall."

"Oh god, you sound like a communist. Is this an entire army of communists?"

Paul laughed. And didn't answer his question. While Patryck walked over to the door, holding it open for his comrade. "So, you going to behave? We can give you a tour if you return the favour and give us some answers."

"That's so lame." He pulled himself from the sheets and threw his hoodie over his head, confident he wasn't going to be in danger the second the fabric obscured his vision." Fine. I'll come with you, but not without my flask back."

Patryck didn't respond, shutting the door behind him as he gave the man some privacy. Tom was severely wishing he had just gone back to sleep after all. He didn't know if be could be bothered to deal with all this bullshit. An army? Tord in a hospital? A god damn monster? And who the hell was this Red leader they kept mentioning? Tom had only heard the name in news reports, and none of it was ever exactly positive.

Tom put on his hoodie slowly, checking the door with a glance before using the small window of opportunity to check out the room. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, cameras, secret buttons or switches, anything classically Tord that could clew him in. He didn't believe what Paul and Patryck were selling for a second, and a hidden fog machine full of sleeping gas, or maybe a conjoined door leading into a bear cage, would really help to confirm Tom's suspicions.

Of course, he found nothing of the sort. He could say one thing for definite though. This army had really nice washing detergent.

He didn't want the soldiers getting suspicious so he reluctantly turned and reached for the door. Paul pat Tom's back as he came out of the room, to which Tom pulled away glaring daggers. Paul put his hands up mockingly, clearly sitting on more than a few snarky comments.

Patryck began to lead them down the hall, But Tom chose to wait as Paul lingered, wanting to keep the men in front of him in clear sight. Paul ignored him, pulling a cigarette from a box, but seemingly content to obey the law and keep it unlit. It was odd to Tom that, as a man who was breaking many laws, Paul would draw the line at that one. The soldier smiled under Tom's scrutiny and began to stroll ahead as well. Any man or woman they came across stopped to salute the two, greeting them with "Sirs." or "Sergeant." or just a nod. It was certainly a surprise to find out these two were highly ranked. They gave off the vibes of lackeys or sidekicks to Tom.

"So this is the red army huh? What the hell does Tord do here? He's a soldier?"

Tom noticed that Patryck seemed a little on edge. "Yeah, he's higher up the ranks than any of us though."

Tom was only half surprised, Tord had shown his knack for war back at Hillary's camp. "Really? How far up? What the hell did he do to get higher than you two?" His hangover clouded mind struggled for a moment. "Come to think of it what even is higher than a sergeant?"

Paul answered for Patryck, who was, unbeknownst to Tom, growing a little uncomfortable. "It's not really our place to answer, just be patient and Lawson can talk to you himself."

Tom grumbled as he followed behind the men. He needed his flask back. There was a steady thrum creeping into the back of his head that served as his hangover early warning system. It was the last straw that set him on one goal. And to begin he would have to give these two the slip.

Paul and Patryck were content to chat icily as they lead him round the corner, another man in uniform greeted them as he passed and offered Tom a smile. God this was weird. Tom had been in the military, and so far this place looked nothing like an arms base should. It reminded him more of a secondary school, complete with motivational posters on the walls and a uniform that was better suited for Orléans Park School than an army.

Tom didn't feel good about this, Paul and Patryck didn't even seem to be paying attention to him, but he knew better. The were upholding a relaxed air to put him at ease, but these were trained soldiers. He had seen for himself when they were gunning down zombies on the news. They had looked like something from a movie, working together in such sync that they were able to work in extremely close quarters. The risk of friendly fire was ridiculously high, and yet they never once got in each other's way.

With that sort of skill in the field, Tom had very low hopes of sneaking off undetected. But of course, he didn't give a shit. At the heart of it, he had no reason to be here. He had been drunk and idiotic when he agreed to come, and now Tord wasn't even around to explain anything. He knew he was getting out. The real question was what would happen after. Despite everything, he couldn't return home. Both his anger and his pride wouldn't allow it. He chose to hold on to the high hope that finding temporary housing would be easy. It was probably wishful thinking.

For now though? He was going to get himself drunk and see where it takes him, it had been proven fail proof in the past. Pat and Paul were already turning the next corner, and as Tom caught up he found them waiting for him outside another blank door. They ushered him in silently.

Tom stood in the doorway as the other men made their way inside, admiring the sea of stock before him. The sudden shift in temperature made it clear that it wasn't just a storeroom they had just entered, but the site's mass refrigerator. The store-room was almost as large as Tord's lab, lined with row upon row of metal shelves. Each loaded with all an army could need, from spare clips and rounds to rations and water. And a suspiciously large supply of bacon in the frozen section. It looked like a supermarket for villains.

"Yeah, I'm getting some alcohol."

He followed Paul and Patryck quietly, looking around them at the man they were approaching. He was taking stock at the time but seemed only slightly annoyed at their interruption. Before Paul or Pat could greet him, Tom jumped the gun.

"Alcohol." He instructed, holding out his hand.

The man looked at him suspiciously, before sending Patryck a questioning look. Patryck shrugged in response and the Quartermaster walked to the far side of the storage, reaching into a pantry. He brought Tom back a bottle of Carlsberg, something that Tom took offense to. Looks like hard liquor is prohibited on site. He huffed but accepted it with obligatory thanks. Popping the cap and swigging it down with relief.

Whilst he drank, the other men attempted to discuss something privately. Paul leaned against the counter, watching Patryck work. The report they came to collect was a simple one. "How is Project Sierra developing?"

The quartermaster didn't seem pleased with his findings. "I'm sorry to say there's been little development in actually finding the objective. But as you know the asset has been re-established so that's one hurdle out the way with."

Judging by Pat's expression he did not know. "Wait, the asset?" He glanced over to Paul, who in turn subtly tilted his head behind them. Patryck followed the gesture to where Tom was obliviously swigging beer on the other side of the room, head thrown back and eyes closed in relief.

He turned back to the other men, mouth open in a silent drawn out "ohhhhh".

It took a few minutes for the discussion to get anywhere useful, and two more bottles for Tom for the buzz to begin, by which point Paul had cut him off from the stock.

To say Tom got irritated at that would be obvious, but the warmth of tipsiness would be enough for him for now. So he stayed put and fiddled with his empty Carlsberg, running it from hand to hand. God he would kill for a moment alone to get his shit together. Or just a moment alone to shit. Actually, that suddenly seemed perfect.

He turned to the small group and called out with a wave. "Hey, I really need to piss!"

Patryck sighed, clearly unwilling to leave this discussion behind just because Tom had been stupid enough to down three pints in four minutes. Paul looked between his partner and his charge, and knowing that Pat would be more than capable of finishing the report without him, squeezed his comrade's shoulder and volunteered himself for toilet duty.

"Come on then."

They left the way they came, and Tom inwardly berated himself for not taking note of the directions the first time. Paul insisted on coming into the bathroom with him, which, whilst Tom couldn't blame him for it, was still a huge setback. If Tom was getting slight secondary school vibes from the hallways it was full-blown in here. Compete with scribbled messages on the mirror and a hygiene poster on the far wall above the hand dryer. Paul leaned up against the sink counter, fiddling with an unlit cigarette almost longingly.

Tom carefully cast a glance around the room as he made his way into a cubicle, happy to notice that there was a grate on the far wall, at knee height. The sound of the lock clicking into place was bliss. It meant he finally had a proper moment to get his head together and plan. It turned out Tom had actually needed to go, and his alcohol fogged mind decided mid-pee was a perfect time for small talk.

"What's Patryck's problem?" Tom called out over the cubicle wall, making Paul jump before shaking his head at the drunkard's behavior.

"He's is just worried about Lawson. Once we know he will be okay, Pat will warm up to you."

Tom shrugged, and the clatter of liquid on porcelain wavered. "I don't really care either way, I plan to be out of here before he has time to."

Paul chuckled "I wouldn't go saying that too loudly." Tom went back to peeing, and Paul went back to rolling the cig between his fingers.

He dropped it when there was a violent crash from within the only occupied cubicle. The sound of urine cutting short. Paul spun around, startled by the noise. "Tom? You okay in there?"

Tom groaned, scraping his hands down the door in an attempt to steady himself. He stumbled in the confined space, his lowered pants not helping the situation.

"S-Something's wrong. I think it's happening again." He called through gritted teeth. He attempted to stand again and smashed his side into the porcelain toilet.

"Oh shit. Shit shit shit." Paul looked around frantically, trying to think. God, why did Tord have to be unconscious? He turned back to Tom's cubicle with panic. "Okay Tom, just erm... try to fight it off, I'm going to get Patryck and go find help."

Tom sat uncomfortably lodged between the toilet seat and the cubicle wall. Painting heavily and suddenly feeling far too big in the small space. A growl ripped itself from his drawn back lips. Even from his tipsy state, Tom knew it must have sounded forced, but it got the message across. "H-Hurry."

And then Paul was gone, the bathroom door slamming loudly behind him.

Paul was dashing for the store-room with the same amount of desperation he felt on the day of the zombie outbreak. The scene that played out was sort of like exaggerated Deja Vu. He burst through the doors, men, and women turning with a start to stare at the noise. He stormed over to Pat with determination and worry, before grabbing his partner by the arm.

"Pat! Tom's turning into the monster again! You got to help, I don't know what to do!" Patryck sprung into action. Grabbing his rifle from beside the table and following Paul out of the room.

They were in no sense of the word prepared for this. Paul could see it now, the massive creature tearing its way down the halls, ripping into any poor sods that happened to be in its way. Tord would wake up to a dozen body bags and a lost asset, as there was no way they would be able to leave Tom alive after such a breach in security. Red Army protocol would require them to execute him, and it might not even get that far. Tom could die in their attempts to stop him. This was going to be hell.

Tom had started to feel claustrophobic in there. But of course he was a small guy, and supping out of the side of the loo was easy enough. He unlocked his cubicle with a shit eating smirk and whistled as he marched over to the vent he saw, never happier to be living out a Hollywood cliche. The grate came off easier than he expected, and god it really was starting to feel like a Hollywood storyline. Regardless, he applauded his own genius and shimmied into the vent.

All in all, dragging yourself through a vent system isn't nearly as cool as the movies made it out to be. The air tasted of dust and was uncomfortably warm on the back of his throat. Tom hadn't been in there five minutes before he decided he wanted out.

Kicking out a vent cover was also a lot harder than in the movies. Nevertheless, he knocked the bolts out eventually and shimmied his was out of the small opening. Vowing never again to attempt that particular escape plan. He sat on the linoleum for a moment, catching his breath as he stretched out his legs. The room was similar to the lab he'd first entered, except for the fact that it was in perfect working order and slightly smaller. As good a place as any to start looking for a way out.

He stood with effort and dusted himself off as best he could. The room, like much of the rest of the base, had no windows. Instead, the walls were lined with lab equipment he couldn't name and symmetrical doors. He began pacing on the left side of the room, trailing one hand along the worktop beside the wall, and taking some degree of smug pleasure as the glass and paperwork clattered to the floor. Every few meters he stopped to try the door next to him. And then after affirming it was locked or a closet, he continued on his sweeping march, bulldozing equipment lazily.

Eventually, he lucked out, the door he swung open leading out into a hall. A quick glance around confirmed he was alone, so he abandoned his mess and marched forward. He was absent-mindedly counting the tiles beneath his feet when he turned a corner. Almost falling over when he spotted the backs of two men. Swiftly he changed direction, and at the next crossroads he found, he faced the same situation. This continued for a good ten minutes, by this point even a drunken fool could realise something wasn't quite right.

He took up a more serious approach to the situation, clearly, he wasn't planning to stroll out leisurely anymore. And with the too-convenient placement of guards. He had a very strong feeling akin to a sheep being corralled by a shepherd's dog. This feeling didn't leave, even as he was cornered, the only way forward being an inconspicuous set of double doors. It wasn't till he entered the room that he fully realised, he had been played.

"Ha! You really are an idiot. "

Tom didn't know whether to laugh or groan. This was just his luck. He turned slowly from the door, hands slipping from the handles as they clicked shut. His gaze followed the trail of wires and beeping heart monitors to a bandaged lump of a man sitting across the room.

"Tord."

Looking at the mess of gauze it was hard to comprehend the pain he must be in. Tom looked at Tord the way a child gawks at the decapitated corpse of a fox on a train track. He was revolted, and a little sympathetic, but he still had the urge to find a stick and poke at him with it for shits and giggles. "Holy m-" he cut himself off before that old habit slipped out "shit. You look like ...shit. "

Tord's expression mimicked his appearance. His head lulled as he tried to get a better look at Tom, it was clear even that involuntary movement was causing him discomfort. He gave up on adjusting himself and let his head drop back to his pillow.

"You've outdone yourself this time Tom. It's incredible how you managed to ruin my life within 20 minutes of being involved in it again."

Tom didn't reply straight away, instead, he focused on the propped up Ipad that just so happened to be displaying the feed's of multiple security cameras, and the pager sitting beside it. That bastard.

He instead, shrugged. "I refuse to take the blame for that." He said gesturing broadly at Tord. And then he paused, contemplating what was wrong with this scene. "I expected you'd be angrier."

"I am extremely morphine high right now." Tord sighed. "Give me a day and I'm sure I'll be jamming the muzzle of my carbine in your eye socket. You should probably consider yourself the luckiest man alive." There was an awkward silence for a moment. Tord broke it with his musings. "You know, you have ruined my life with one action, crippled me. You all but ate my arm. I think the only reason I haven't cracked your head open is that I've invested in you. I can't let eight years of experimentation go to waste." He fiddled with the gauze on his arm as if itching to get up and go for Tom. "So I'm willing to continue to try working together, you get peace of mind, I get my results. For your own sake Tom, don't make me be the bad guy."

Tom rolled his eyes at the last sentence. "Pssh. you did that yourself." And then the more glaring parts of Tord's statement hit him. "Wait you did what to me!" Eight years of experimentation. Fuck. If Tord was taking credit for this monster bull shit, then Tom had no doubt left in his mind that it was true. Tord had experimented on him. Just when Tom thought he couldn't hate the man more than he already did.

Tord huffed, his foggy head clearly not picking up on Tom's anger. "Trust me it's a vast improvement. By all rights, you should be thrilled."

Tom, in turn, wanted to scream. In any other situation, he might have actually been excited by the idea of monster powers, but.." you did it to me! Why the fuck would you- What is wrong with you ?!"

Tom crossed to Tord's bed, his expression more pissed than hurt. He drew his fist back, his jaw clenched tight and knuckles white from the strain. Hadn't Tord done enough? How did he manage to come back into their lives for one week and throw everything up in the air again? He couldn't contain his anger, nor did he want to. "Why are you such an asshole ?" He threw the fist at Tord's face.

Tord groaned, cradling his jaw with his one hand. Looking over at his assailant with disgust. "Fucking hell Tom, can you stop throw bitch fits every two minutes?!" He rubbed at his jaw, body turned away from his old roommate.

"You are not helping your situation. All you're achieving is making me want to kill you faster." He used his position to his advantage, reaching for his page with his own back as a visual shield. "When I'm not on the verge of a medically induced coma we will talk your position over more thoroughly, but for now I'm just going to alert the forces that have gathered outside the door and savor the sight of you getting your face slammed into the floor. It's been fun."

Tom watched Tord slam his hand down on the pager like a deer in car headlights. "Oh, you fucker ." He dove for cover as a battalion of men filled in through the doors. Tord did his best to look regal in his current state, and despite it all, was able to uphold that air surprisingly well.

Tom knew with the utmost urgency that he needed a weapon. He could hear footsteps approaching, one of the ballsier soldiers closing in on him. Tom waited until the last possible moment, poised and ready to strike. He could only hope he was strong enough to take the man's gun. The poor sod didn't even have a chance to say more than "on your feet-" before he had five long gouges across his face. Tom stood shocked. He was frozen for a moment, staring at his outstretched hand and the five freakishly sharp nails that had come out of nowhere. But then he snapped out of it and pulled the rifle from the man's grasp. He fired a few rounds near the left group's feet, sprinting for the exit as they jumped out-of-the-way. He was almost to the door when someone caught the scruff of his hoodie. He gagged, the fabric pulling taught on his throat. He spun round and swung for the woman, relieved when she stumbled back and his hood fell from her grasp.

He made it to the door and threw it wide, dodging through and into the empty hall. The sound of clamoring footsteps carried closely behind, and he was already feeling the sudden adrenaline rush wear off. His sneakers screeched as he sprinted down the polished hallways, desperately looking for a door that wasn't the default gray. He needed to leave. To warn Edd about Tord. The soldiers were much fitter than him, but he had desperation on his side. The primal need to hide was stronger than any order they could follow, and Tom managed to stay ahead.

He burst down a 20m hallway, all but smashing into a wall as it abruptly turned to the right. He could have cried with relief of what he saw, at the end of this hall was a set of blue double doors, and through the small port windows, he could see trees. It was the final stretch, and he bolted for it like it was the metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel. He smashed into the doors, both of them swinging open widely from the force, and making way for him in the dirt. He refused to stop, clamoring to his feet with stubborn determination.

He was standing with the dust of a London road beneath his feet. The sun hit his face with a gentle warmth, filtered only in a few sparse places by the oak and willow trees. The only problem was, this courtyard had a roof. He was still in the base.