Seven :::
They're Inside Us Already
It's been several hours since the… meeting had ended, and Hans is still bitter over it to no end. Alone, sitting behind his desk in his office, Hans' mind continues to replay each word that Admiral had breathed. It was like the man was taunting Hans, making him feel more like a fool and out of control of the power invested in him. Hans feels that his pride had been bruised, smothered by that mysterious Systems Alliance Admiral. Before the meeting had begun, Hans didn't know what to expect. He did however wanted to be shown equally respected for his hard work of keeping this project off the books as much as possible. But now, with that arrogant Admiral—whoever the hell he was supposed to be, Hans finds it difficult to process that this man was the individual his CEC superiors wanted to report to, then he can't take the organization serious.
"Who does he think he is?" Hans contemplates aloud, snatching up a piece of tissue and wiping it over his sweating face. "I've done everything in my duty for this corporation—for Humanity, and this—"
Catching himself midsentence, Hans realizes that he's ranting off to himself… again. A habit he hasn't quiet shaken since his adolescents.
Blowing an exhausted sigh, Hans leans forward on his elbows crisscrossing his arms on the desk and sinking his head between his arms. These months have been murder on his mentality—keeping track and order of operations on Titan Station along with the tight lid of obscurity for this project… even he's amazed with himself that he can process rational thoughts still. Though who is he kidding, Shiala did all the mental work, literally. All he did was bark orders at her, acted rudely too her sometimes too. A piece of him regrets that notion of it all. Maybe he's just giving in to his bigotry towards aliens, he always felt weirded around any of them, often times without knowing. Yet Shiala is different, well, to him the Asari is. Maybe when all of this is over, Hans will get over his xenophobia and plan an escape from his Human-centric enclosure.
That sounds like an idea, he muses picking his head up out his arms.
Taking a peek at the holographic clock sitting nearby, Hans realizes that he should get on prepping those two subjects for transport. For now, he has to set his self-esteem aside and continue with the tasks handed down to him. Though he reminds himself, that he's doing this in favor of the Concordances, not for that Systems Alliance bastard. The Admiral's pickup group will be arriving in the next eleven hours or so. Although the logistics of Titan Station's transportation is one of the finest in the Sol System—possibly the galaxy, Hans bolsters, it still doesn't hurt to have things set up ahead of time…
…Breaking him out of thought, a warm substance lands on his hand. It's blood. Confused, Hans only stares at it when three more drops hit the same spot, running down his knuckles. Touching his nose, Hans' draws back his hand where he sees his fingers coated from tip to palm in blood.
"My… God!"
Jumping up from his chair, sending it falling back to the floor, Hans snatches tissue after tissue from the box smacking them to his face in an attempt to stop the relentless bleeding. Both hands pressed on his face, Hans rushes over to his bathroom, tucked behind a sliding door left to his desk, opposite to the vista displaying Saturn. Keying the door open, the lights spring on the instant Hans dashes over to the sink, where he inspects his image in the mirror hanging over it.
Peeling the tissue away, now soaked thoroughly with crimson, Hans' pulse elevates when he sees a river of reddish dark blood flooding out of his nostrils, dripping from the peak of his chin and falling into the sink bowl.
"SHIT—SHIT—SHIT!"
His bloodied hands trembling, Hans turns the faucet on cuffing his hands over the steam of water and splashing it over his face. Water flies over his head, stains his uniform, spilling over the sink and onto the marble floor. Saturated blood spirals down the drain with a continuous effort… the bleeding isn't stopping.
"Son of a—"
Hans throws the mirror cabinet open and begins a frantic search for anything to stop the bleeding. He knocks over pill vials, soap bars and anything else that stands in his way to the medkit nested at the back of the cabinet. He grabs hold of the medkit handle and yanks it out.
His heart pounding frantically, Hans attempts to rush out the bathroom where he finds his quick step intercepted by a bar of soap. He instantly loses his balance, falling backwards, arms flaring until the ceiling fills his vision. It's the last thing he'll ever see.
"Oh Shi—"
In a fraction of a second, a crunching, squishy sound pierces Hans' ears. He didn't have a chance to feel the intense pain of his skull smashing against the sink nor the snap of the vertebrae in his neck.
Aiden Richardson hates his fellow correctional officers. He felt a rush of relief come over him when Strummer, his supervisor and a jerk-ass at that, sent him on terminal duty outside the 'synthesizing farm.'
Strummer, like most guards in this place, have been working here for years, from what Aiden had picked up. They told him stories of their jobs—some dumb, others downright sick about the numerous prisoners they were tasked in watching over. Strummer and his goons for guards had imprisoned aliens, from Turian bandits, Batarian slavers to even a Drell at one point in time. The Drell, Aiden believes they made up, that species hardly ventures out their home star system. However, the cruelty Strummer and his uniformed gang of dirty correctional officers had committed on the alien prisoners, Aiden doesn't believe they made up. After seeing firsthand how they treat their own race, he could only image what sick and twisted shit they did to those aliens.
Now Aiden isn't a stranger to seeing some shit. In fact, he's seen plenty in his twenty-two years of living. Before arriving on Titian Station, and finding employment in the Concordance Extraction Corporation, Aiden was a member of the Blue Suns. He wasn't anyone special in the mercenary band: just another deadpan kid with a gun and jacked up with unfulfilled ambition. Since the age of nineteen to his twenty-first birthday, Aiden ran with the Blue Suns, operating heavily in the lawless Terminus Systems. One of three Humans in his entire band, he never felt so much subtle racism and isolation in his life. Most of it came from those four eyed bastard Batarians. Not all of them are bad, Aiden reminds himself, bottling his prejudice. Just the aliens he seems to run across.
It's been little over a year since Aiden had contact with any of his former Blue Suns. He was surprised though, when he received an I.M. on his personal extranet account from an anonymous sender who informed him of his band's demises on Omega Station. Apparently, they had joined a coalition of other mercs just to hunt one guy… that one guy happened to have friends… badass friends.
A random laugh escapes Aiden's gut, as he mans his post behind a horseshoe shaped kiosk, starring at a monitor detailing multiple surveillance cam footage of this section of the CEC wing. Most people find monitor duty boring as hell, yet for Aiden, it's an escape from strolling down the prison holds where they hold the people who survived some 'outbreak' that occurred on a series of starships across the galaxy.
Aiden doesn't have a clue as to why he along with the other guards were tasked in escorting the prisoners from their cells to that room that reminds him of an Old-Earth lethal injection room. He also can't explain what part the Asari has to do with it all. Only that he finds the alien attractive, though he keeps this strongly to himself.
Speaking of the green vixen, the Asari comes strolling down the corridor, passing in front of Aiden's vision. As much as he tries not to, Aiden finds his gaze hooked on the Asari. Something, some angelic aurora seems to shroud the alien, like most of its kind, they always take the breath right out of Aiden's chest. He doesn't know why he likes this particular species so much, maybe it's their near human appearance, exotic skin tones or it could just be some fetish he's stumbled into.
His eye still captured by the Asari, Aiden's heart almost leaps out his chest when the alien looks his direction—right at him.
Quickly, he makes himself look occupied, placing a hand to his cheek, pressing his face into the translucent, holographic monitor, trying to find his eyes something else to stare at. After a while of playing nonchalant, Aiden adjusts his vision, starring pass the monitor and to the dark, empty corridor beyond.
Blowing a sigh, Aiden eases the tension in his shoulders and gut, leaning back in the chair. It's one thing that he has some sort of small obsession over Asari, though he's never worked up the courage to ever speak to one. Unless he's hammered beyond apparent reason on booze or drugs, then he feels like a Krogan with a colossal dick.
Time goes on for Aiden and now he is beginning to feel boredom and fatigue set in. The Asari is long gone and hasn't passed down his way in nearly two hours. His desk time shift will be ending in another hour or so, and then he can hit the gym for a short while and then catch some shut eye for a few hours.
The monitors have remained relatively empty of activity, spare of some officer workers mingling in the main atrium catching a smoke break. Aiden can use a cig right about now.
Sliding a hand off his cheek, Aiden releases an extensive yawn, stretching his arms up for the ceiling. Relaxing out of his stretch, Aiden scratches at an eye while keeping his other trained on multiple screens on the monitor. Shifting his focus off the mingling officer workers, Aiden's attention lands on the vid-pixel at the top right corner of the monitor where he sees…
"The fuck," Aiden swears under his breath, sitting on the edge of his seat, squinting his vision on the square image depicting surveillance footage of a utility corridor. Aiden taps the square, enlarging it over the monitor.
Whatever it was, it just left the camera's field of vision.
Unconvinced that it wasn't nothing, Aiden listens to the small voice in the back of his head and follows after the strange figure he saw.
Minimizing the square, Aiden brings the monitor back to its original slat: showing the numerous security feeds of the Southeastern Wing. His eyes scan the rows of surveillance footage when he catches the oddly humanoid figure stumbling through another corridor. But that can't be possible, this corridor is literally on the opposite end of the wing.
"No…no," shaking his head, Aiden tries to make sense on what he's seeing.
A sudden rush of paranoia penetrates his body from out of nowhere. The sensation that someone is watching him forces Aiden to twist and turn in his seat, taking stock of the barren corridor around him.
Slightly calming down from his panic induced episode, Aiden sinks into the leather of the chair, gripping the armrest with an iron grip. His right hand hovering over his holstered sidearm. For whatever reason, Aiden feels fearful for his life, almost like something terrible is going to happen to him any—
—From down the hall, the sound of a door slamming causing Aiden to literally jump in his seat. In his right hand, he grips the handle of his sidearm. He can hear the swish of his own blood rushing by his ears in the backdrop of the suffocating silence. Aiden's eyes dart on either sides of the corridor, awaiting anything to show up and try something.
His finger itches at the trigger of his weapon, eyes and ears sharp. Aiden's attention flows back down to the monitor where his eyes enlarge on the security feed showing him sitting at the desk… with an odd creature standing directly behind him.
A heaviness from hell chocks the life out of Aiden. A wheezing breath following the stink of rancid breath assaults his nostrils. Petrified with fear, Aiden sinks deeper into chair, feeling the creature's hold tightening around him.
Then, a burst of adrenaline kicks in and Aiden launches up to his feet screaming at the top of his lungs when his gaze becomes locked on the creature's twisted face. The thing unleashes a growl at Aiden of which he vaults over the desk falling sprawled out on the floor.
The creature lunges over the desk after him. Aiden raises his sidearm and, while screaming hysterically with his eyes closed, unleashes a volley of rounds for the creature. Aiden doesn't know how long he was firing but the gun clicks empty, and by the time he opens his eyes, the creature is no longer there. All his shots had hit the wall in a sporadic spray.
"Wh-what…?! How..?!" Aiden's mind draws blank as the extreme panic expels from his mind and body, leaving a stinging numbness where the fear once occupied.
"What the fuck…?"
Aiden's attention flows to three guards, all with weapons drawn stumble upon him in a heaping mess of fear and piss on the floor. The expression written on the guard's face in the shadow of their caps says it all as what Aiden is wondering now.
"The hell happened, Richardson?" One of them asks while the other two just remained just as dumbfounded as Aiden is.
Shaking his head, Aiden can't come up with a rational explanation. What he just saw—smelt—tasted… it didn't make a lick of sense.
"Why did you discharge your weapon?" The same guard asks, creeping ever so closely towards him.
"I… I saw something," Aiden tries to explain, his voice shaking hard. "It was in the monitor, It was in corridor A—and then it-it was… it was someplace else and—and then it was behind me and…"
The guard just nods to everything he says, while at the same time reaching to take Aiden's weapon away very slowly. "It's alright son, you'll be alright, okay? You'll be alight."
Before Aiden can react, the two other guards pounce on top of him, pinning him to the floor. "NO! What are you doing?!" Struggling under their combined weight, Aiden ultimately loses where the guards turn him over onto his belly and begin bounding his wrist together.
"Oh no—no—no—no—no—please!" Aiden begs. "No—please! Stop—please!" The restraints tighten upon his wrists. "Don't do this, please!" Aiden continues to beg, the side of his face pressed into the rough feel of the carpet, "PLEASEEEEE!"
"Director Tiedemann?" Gloria, the Director's receptionists calls for him while gently knocking on his door. Gloria has been feeling a bit apprehensive ever since the Director got out of that classified meeting of his. Ever since, he asked not to be disturbed, yet Gloria couldn't put a pin in her suspicions when she has heard her boss' sink running for the pass two hours. Suspicion had transformed into concern which turned into something wrong setting in Gloria's stomach.
"Director Tiedemann, sir? Is everything alright?"
This time, she is able to hear something fall over. Unsure as to what it is, Gloria can't hamper her ever-growing anxiety. Reaching into her skirt pocket, she takes to hand her all-access keycard, holding it over the receiver which grants her access to the door. Usually, this is something Gloria would never chance, but this is an unusual circumstance.
Pushing the door open, Gloria hesitates upon entering the Director's office. The sound of the sink really hits her ears now, which gravitates her attention in that direction. The bathroom door is left open, prompting Gloria to swallow her modesty and step into the Director's personal office space.
She creeps towards the open bathroom door, not sure if the Director's inside or not. Just as Gloria is going to call out to him, she finds her words stopped in her throat. She instantly halts in her step, slapping both hands over her mouth as a way to quell a scream from coming out.
There is blood everywhere in the bathroom, coating the sink, a puddle of it on the floor, yet still no trace of the Director at all. Shaken beyond belief, Gloria stops herself from investigating any further and turns and tries to make a run out of the Director's office. Only that her path is intercepted by the most terrifying thing she's ever seen in her life.
"Oh my God!" She hollers scooting far back away from the thing until she crashes into the desk behind. "Guards—Guards help me! HELP ME!"
The ghoulish, Humanoid creature advances on Gloria pinning her on top the desk. She doesn't ever have a chance to put up a fight as the thing takes a chucking bite out her neck, severing her jugular vein wide open and spewing blood that very instant.
She chocks and squeals on her own breath, the pain so unbearable she cries out for it to stop. But it doesn't. She is unable to do nothing as the thing bites into her flesh over… and over… and over again until finally, her suffering ends.
A/N: Sheesh, I know, gruesome chapter. But I updated faster than you thought huh?
P.S: If you're wondering how Hans or the colonists on the Normandy died and got infected without an infector around… that will be discussed as the fic unfolds… (hint: the title of this chapter…)
Until the next chapter… ;-)
