Second

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It did not take long for Connelly to realize that this was more than just a hospital. The floor he had been on was in too much disarray for there to be a hope of clean clothes, so he had been forced to search on another. Opting to take the elevator – he didn't want to know what lurked in the stairwell- he was surprised to see that he was on the top floor, at least according to the buttons. He pressed the one that led to the first level basement, which, according to the sign on the side of the button panel, was where the laundry was done. He had been surprised to see that besides for the standard things one would expect to see listed in a hospital, such as 'LABS' and 'LOBBY', there were also different departments listed, such as one would find in a bureaucracy; in other words, a good portion of the building was office space. The was also a floor dedicated to WEAPON DEVELOPMENT, which Connelly decided would be a good idea to check out- he had managed to rip off a leg from a folding chair in case he ran into another thing, but he wasn't sure how long that would last him. If worse came to worse, he figured he could always use his claws.

Leaning against the wall of the elevator, Connelly fingered the side of his neck. While still examining himself in the mirror, he had noticed something black there, located right under his left ear. Craning his head sideways, he realized it was a tattoo- a serial number proclaiming him to be 7H84K. There was also a small metal disk-like stud on the cartilage of his opposite ear; he hoped to God that had also been given to him. He didn't want to think he had been one of those jackasses who wore a single, shiny earring in their ear and a half open bright pink shirt who tried to prove they weren't gay for wearing said shirt and earring by partying hard and sleeping with a slew of women and being a general all around dumb asshole.

In truth, looking abnormal did not bother him so much. He considered it to be being born with a weapon attached to himself, and he still had his sanity- at least, he thought he did, though the image of himself tearing away at the putrid human flesh was still fresh in his mind. In any case, he was certain he wasn't as affected as the other thing he saw. Hell, compared to them, he was fucking Bill Gates and George Clooney rolled into one. Brains and looks.

And in any case, what if there were no humans left?

It was certainly an unpleasant thought, and one he'd rather not dwell on. He had at first hoped to meet another in the hospital, but it quickly became apparent that everyone else was gone- they had either been killed and half eaten, if his observing skills were any good, or had fled. It was too bad; he had a lot of questions for the people who worked here. Although holding no personal memories, he understood what everything was; what objects were called, how an average life had been before, even culture trends. But besides for his name, he knew nothing about himself- where he lived, who his friends were, nothing. He hadn't even remembered what he looked like until the mirror. If he tried hard, the only thing that came up were emotions and feelings- anger, at times. Fear. Pain. Confusion- though that quickly faded, replaced by something more potent; hunger. Hunger and the urge to destroy. And yet even through that there had been an undertone of- could it be…loneliness?

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open, revealing a dimly lit, concrete hallway. Connelly stepped through the doors, his weapon making a clang as it hit the floor. A pair of eyes watched him from the shadows.

((()))

Besides for a huge, standard laundry room, there also appeared to be a sort of…sterilization room connected to it. From the looks of it, metal hooks would dip the clothes in a vat of boiling water, or perhaps another chemical cleaning solution from the smell of it. The hooks and vats were not rusted, and there was even some excess liquid on the floor; it hadn't evaporated yet. The building had definitely been abandoned recently. There also seemed to be a miniature laboratory in a small, attached room with no door. Exploring further, the boy noticed that adjacent to the door hung a huge, metal rack that took up the entire wall. Sealed plastic bags lay neatly organized in piles on these shelves. There were tags on shelves in front of every pile, assumingly identifying what they were. Connelly did not recognize most of the things written on the labels, which, besides for some sort of proper scientific name or another, carried such titles as (Witch), (Smoker), (Boomer), (Common), and (Hunter). Connelly did not know what the fucking hell that type of bullshit was supposed to mean, and so ignored it. He sorted through the different piles, unable to clearly see their contents. Picking one up warily, he did a double take when glancing at a strip of tape slapped carelessly on the middle of the bag- written on it was a serial number. Fingering the side of his neck thoughtfully, He now searched through the piles with a purpose, row by row, until finally finding the one with his written on it; 7H84K.

It was in the pile labeled (Hunter).

Observing the bag carefully now, he finally determined that it was clothing, not human organs or something that would leap out and attack him if he released it. A single claw quickly reduced the plastic to shreds, and an outfit of clothing spilled out; a gray hoodie, though slightly torn, still looked both comfortable enough and wearable. There was also a pair of dark jeans, a pair of beat up sneakers, socks, boxers, and a midnight blue T-shirt that spelled The Midnight Riders in gothic letters. Whoever they hell they were.

Tearing off his hospital gown, he quickly dressed, hurriedly pulling up his pants and slipping the hoodie over his head. Wearing it somehow gave him a sense of security. He attempted to put on a sock, but decided it was useless- his hind claws ripped right through it. He settled for simply jamming his bare feet into the sneakers, although he probably didn't need them. The calluses on his feet were extremely thick. Satisfied, he was about to leave when something glimmered in the light and caught his eye.

Leaning closer, he saw that it was a small, pewter cross on a chain. It must have fallen out of the bag without him noticing. The design was simple, yet intricate- in the middle, where the sticks crossed, was a flat circle with a hole in the middle, resembling a flattened donut. Each of the four legs that came out from the circle was thin at first, but as it reached the end it bloomed outward. There were indents on each leg, filling up most of the space and following the lines as they curved out. Almost hesitant, the boy flipped it over to the back. What he read made it feel like it hurt for his heart to beat.

'Love from all of us', it read.

He wanted to cry, but found that he couldn't.

((()))

Making preparations to leave, Connelly had already filched a med pack he had found lying on one of the tables. The weapon room, unfortunately, needed some sort of card authorization, but he had found a sturdy metal baseball bat lying next to one of the corpses. It would do its job better than the chair leg, in any case. And besides for an obvious taste for human flesh, he found that he could eat normal food as well- at least, the food he found in one of the nursing stations. It was a bit stale, but overall edible. As he neared the exit, he figured he might as well raid a nearby vending machine. Raising the blunt of the bat, he speared it into the glass casing, shattering it. What he was not expecting was for a high-pitched alarm to go off.

"What the hell type of building rigs their vending machines?" He roared, angry at the attention that the alarm would bring him.

Sure enough, the creatures –the things that had been watching his progress all along- apparently got over their wariness of him and attacked in swarms. They were fast- faster than one would expect from things that looked so sickly. Connelly didn't even have time to think before they were upon him. They screeched as they grabbed for him, tearing at his clothes, at his flesh. Overwhelmed, he didn't even have time to swing at them with his bat. One of them- perhaps the leader of the pack, for he was the biggest- shoved himself forward to the front. His white eyes gleaming, he let out a wail before raking his fingers down the boy's cheek. Blood spurted out, yet the swarm suddenly hesitated, for less than a second, confused by the slightly infected scent they sensed through the sweetness.

This was all the time that the hunter needed. With an animalistic growl, he smashed the leader's head into the broken machine, its skull instantly imploding and smattering brains into the crowd. The stench of freshly drawn blood, infected or not, put the swarm into a frenzy. They began tearing at each other, diseased flesh easily sliding off bone, tendons snapping, muscles tearing as they began biting into each other like a school of starved sharks. Connelly, half dizzy from his fall and smell of bloodlust, let out a bloodcurdling screech before tearing into the crowd.

The only thing that mattered was to kill. Falling onto the closest one, he bit into its neck, crewing into its windpipe until blood filled its lungs and it stopped screaming. Tearing a good portion of its throat away, he continued to dig in with his teeth until they scraped bone. Snarling, he attached the next one, extended claws puncturing its ribcage. Forcing it to the ground, he tore at it, breaking and extracting rib bones as well as flesh. He would have continued if another hadn't tried to grab him, and he leapt at it, missing its throat and instead biting into its jaw, bones crunching. As he pulled back, half of its face came away. It let out a shriek of pain and he slashed his claws across its throat, his hypersensitive hearing vexed by the noise. Suddenly remembering his bat, he hefted it with slippery fingers, bashing into heads, into legs, into chests. Every time seemed too easy, the bones automatically giving way to metal.

At last they were all finished, either a victim of his bat or each other. Idly licking a claw, he glanced down and swore loudly, realizing that his once clean hoodie was now splattered in gore. It was a light color, too, so it especially stood out. Grumbling, he picked his way over to a restroom, where he tried in vain to wash it out. He worked quickly, in case more of the things came to avenge their brothers. When it was halfway decent and didn't look like it was going to get any better, he wrung it out until it was mildly damp before slipping it back on. He figured the sun would probably dry out the rest. He also washed the blood off of his face and neck, even daring to scrub his teeth with his finger. His claws, on the other hand, were practically begging for him to lick them clean.

Humming to himself, he snatched one last candy bar from the machine before stepping outside. Taking a bite out of it, he surveyed his surroundings, before pulling his hood up over his eyes, noting that he still hated sunlight. Then he ran, as fast as he could, leaping the fence in a single bound in an effort to get as far away from that place as possible. He never looked back once.

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AN: I tried to develop Connelly's personality a bit more in this chapter. Don't worry, the story will start to pick up soon!