Biohazard Chapter 2- Knock Knock, a prototype fanfic

1405 Hours

Lompoc, California

Vandenberg Air Force Base

60 Meters Below Ground

Control Room and Observation Deck

General Pratchett stood stoically in the middle of the command center with his hands behind his back. The blue glow of the screens surrounding him and his personnel shined across his scowling face, highlighting the wrinkles of his face. His subordinates were busy typing on digital keyboards and passing data through secure channels, but on the main screen in front of them was the live feed of a Blackwatch Transport Helicopter making its way over the summit of foresty hills and towards the restricted area.

"Who the hell authorized this?!" he demanded to know in his gruff voice.

Everyone in the room jumped at the sound of his booming voice.

"No one from here or Command, sir." one of the technicians replied swiftly.

"That's what I thought," Pratchett said.

No one- not even the brass- is allowed within the confines of this Air Force base without the approval of the General himself. No one gets his approval- ever.

"Have you tried to make contact with the vessel?" Pratchett questioned.

"No, sir. We awaited your permission to act." another technician explained.

The video feed zoomed into the cockpit of the approaching Blackhawk showing that there was only one passenger, the pilot himself: a white male in a Commander uniform without the standard gas mask.

"We never travel in less than four." Pratchett said to no one in particular. "Open a frequency."

He always hated the uniform. It was a symbol of the enemy, a reminder of how low he has to sink to complete his missions... and it was always so damn hot. But he couldn't deny its uses. It got him out of New York, onto a secure air base and a private heli to get to the most secured location on the planet. It wouldn't be long now, he was only a few miles out and the long stretch of forest and winding roads ended before him at the isolated Vanderberg Air Force Base.

Get in, kill all inside and get out, that was the plan. If the disguise held up this would be as simple as crawling up the chain of command, dismantling the projects inside then finding the Pariah child and ending him. If it didn't hold up there was always the direct approach. His grip tightened on the cyclic stick as he pushed it forward for more speed. He was almost fidgety with anticipation of what would come next when he'd touch down. Months of pain, anger and fighting would be over in one day- one final conflict to end them for the rest of his life.

As the forest beneath him opened up to the view of the base and the expansive ocean in front of him, a great and powerful pain exploded in the back of his head and shot forward to his sinuses. He shook his head for relief and just as quickly as it came it ended.

"What the fuck was that?" he asked himself in a nasally voice.

The headaches he's been getting recently were less intense than this. It burned, like fire behind his eyes. They were usually accompanied by faint images and hallucinations. This one was new, reminiscent of a migraine. He hasn't had one in months. If he could even get them anymore was questionable. But he knew where it came from. The closer he gets to the child, the worse these mind attacks will be, all the more reason to hurry his way inside.

Just then his radio called out.

"Attention unknown aircraft. You are in violation of our restricted airspace. Turn back now. Over." a female voice said.

He picked up the helicopter's radio to respond.

"This is Sergeant Wilson of Blackwatch, requesting landing. Over."

"Sergeant, all personnel who wish to arrive at this facility must do so through our secure permissions program, we-"

"I am from the NYZ deployment unit. My intel on tango primaries must be given to the higher-ups at this facility. Waiting would jeopardize our mission as the situation could change. Over" he interrupted.

There was a long pause.

"Why didn't you send your intel through our commlinks, Wilson? Instead of taking a 3-hour flight you could have broadcasted it to us in 3 minutes. Over." an older male voice asked.

He furrowed his brow. Something wasn't right. He needed to persuade them quickly.

"Our communications were damaged by the infected. Again, this intel is time sensitive. Waiting for repairs would set us too far back. Over."

They wouldn't buy that and he knew it. He was getting closer to the base, only a mile to go by his estimation. If this went downhill he could most likely ram himself into one the towers and continue from there. It'd be messy, but at least he'd be inside.

Pratchett was leaning onto a workstation with a microphone to his face and his finger hovering over the transmission button. On the main screen was a digital voice analyzer that was scanning Wilson's voice and a graphic displaying his deployment info. His voice matched what was on file, but the NYZ deployment information listed Wilson as Missing In Action.

Pratchett pressed the button. "It seems you're mistaken, son. Your commlinks work fine, so do your data transmissions. It even says here you're MIA. Over."

He released the button and looked over at a technician to his right who was waiting for his approval.

"Do it." Pratchett told him.

The technician then typed in some coordinates and flipped a switch.

"It seems you're mistaken, son. Your comlinks work fine, so do your data transmissions. It even says here you're MIA. Over." the man on his radio said.

He ground his teeth tightly in anticipation for what was coming next. Out in the distance on a hill covered in trees a pillar of smoke was rising high into the sky, then it changed it's trajectory and began moving towards Wilson's helicopter. It was a missile on its way to take him out of the air.

"I'm coming for you, motherfuckers- all of you!" he roared into the radio with his natural voice. His hair, face and uniform shifted into his regular jacket and jeans, with his Caucasian features becoming African-American and his face twisted in anger.

James Heller, knew it wouldn't be easy. He knew an impromptu trip to a Californian Blackwatch locale would send up many red flags, but this is where he needed to be. Where the story needed to end. And if they thought a single rocket was going to take him out, was going to stop him from tearing out their throats, they were wrong.

The missile collided with his helicopter, exploding it less than a mile away from his target, sending the wreckage into the foliage below.

"What is that?!" "How is that possible?!" "That thing is coming here?!" they asked each other.

They saw as their missile struck the vessel and as the remains fell into the shrubbery. Pratchett stood in agitated amazement. His fist came crashing down on the desk he stood at, denting the metal and sending the resounding bang echoing throughout the control room. Everyone around him stopped their shocked blabbering and focused on their commanding officer.

"I want a team sent to that crash sight! I want everyone on high alert and a message sent to the New York branch that one of there fucking monsters is at my doorstep! If he gets passed that treeline I want the Big Boys sent in! He is not to make it on our concrete! Do you hear me?!"

"Sir, yes sir!" They responded and jumped to their duties. Radio signals were sent out and operations were deployed.

Pratchett made his way to the metal door that was the exit. If that thing was coming here, coming to kill them, then he needed to prepare another layer of defense. He needed to get below ground and deploy some of their new inventions.

1415 Hours

Lompoc, California

Vandenberg Air Force Base

2.5 Kilometers Off-Base

Topside

The pain of fire didn't have the same sting that it used to. What was once a searing dance of stabbing heat was now more like annoying pricking needles on his skin. Heller pushed forward off the ground, raising the burning wreckage of his helicopter off his back. The charred metal landed with a thud behind him, embedding itself in the black scorched dirt. The tendrils of biomass composing his skin and clothes reached over one another to smother out the tiny flames that were eating at his shoulders and neck. They settled back together and reshaped his form, healing all damage he had gotten from the crash.

The air around him was thick with blackened smoked and much of the treeline was on fire. These weren't things he'd need to be concerned about, however getting his bearings was. The missile caused the heli to spin down making him lose the direction of where the base would be. Just a hard leap upwards and he'd know where to point his frustration.

Just as he was bending his legs to jump the crack of a gunshot rang out from the brush as a rifle bullet bounced off his cheek. He looked in the direction the round came from and saw the faint blue glow of helmet goggles.

"Target still active." a voice failed to whisper into his radio.

Heller's temples pulsed and his vision dissolved into an orange wave that rippled across the trees and along the grass. In an outward ring, the wave spread far, outlining hundreds of trees, large tuffs of shrubbery, a carpet of grass and roughly two dozen male figures each carrying military grade weaponry taking cover behind tree trunks. His sonar showed that he was surrounded and that each rifle was trained at his head. His vision returned to its normal state and he balled up his fists.

"What do we do now?!" another voiced fearfully asked?

If the soldiers blinked they would have missed it. It wasn't a movement just a thought that set the change in motion. Bones quietly dislocated and became elastic, skin rearranged itself into shining serrated chains and muscle became dense, tough rope with Heller's forearm forming into one solid hook-blade. The whipfist, as it was named, was created and Heller held it behind him in attack formation.

"Open fire! Open fire!" the commanding officer screamed.

His command was followed with the roar of fully automatic gunfire. Heller swung his arm in front of him causing his whipfist to elongate and shred anything and everything in front of him. Tree trunks exploded into splinters and several torsos were separated from their legs. Blood and bark fell onto the forest floor causing some combatants to scatter, lest they be crushed by the falling timber.

He kicked behind him with a grunt sending the wreckage that had him pinned from before somersaulting into another soldier, smashing his head between the metal and a large rock. He swung his arm again in an upward motion, bisecting another foe who thought his thirty foot distance would keep him out of danger. Bullets continued to be fired, but his movement kept most from contacting. Those that did ricocheted harmlessly off his skin and into the woods around him or found the flesh of the other operatives.

"C'mon you bastards!" James mocked as he cut through more trees killing several more soldiers.

Bullets sparked off the back of his shaved head and then the repeating click of the hammer announced that the rifle was empty. Heller turned to meet his foolish attacker head on. The soldier dropped his gun and pulled out his sidearm pistol in desperation. He opened fire point blank into the angered infected man's face to no avail. It was with ease that James grabbed the soldier by his throat and flung him several dozen yards over the treetops. His screams echoed far and became distant until they abruptly stopped, signaling that he made contact with something solid.

The few remaining gunmen spread further apart and continued to fire. Heller pressed on with his rampage slicing a soldier down, jumping to the next, smashing his head into the ground then beheading another. Soon there was only one and he wasn't feeling very confidant of his chances at putting Heller down. With his comrades dead around him he tried to radio for assistance.

"Team Bravo to Throne! Team Bravo to Throne! Requesting backup, requesting-"

He looked down and the hooked blade that murdered his mates was now coming out of his abdomen. In the next moment, he was off his feet and being pulled backwards at an alarming speed. Heller reeled him in with the whipfist and let his catch collide at full speed with his body. In an instant multiple tendrils latched onto the soldier, broke down his uniform and flesh and absorbed every ounce it could of his being.

Private Dave Miller was his name and now Heller was viewing his entire life in a blur of images and soundbites. Every uneventful patrol mission, every disgusting food ration, every training session was now his experience. Heller got every little mundane detail and the not so mundane.

"Miller, fall in! We are the first response to the tango at the crash site." his ally informed with a a finger pointing to the humvees the troops used to catch up to Heller.

"Hell yeah, I've been looking for some action!" Miller replied in excitement.

"Me too, brother, me too. If we can kill this fucker, they might let us into the E-Code Program." An image of nude men being injected with a red goop jumped into his mind.

"Then what are we waiting for?"

'E-Codes? They made more super soldiers?' Heller thought to himself. 'Now I gotta kill them too.'

Miller's memories told James that his destination was to his left. He didn't have a lot of useful information in his head but he had to walk these parameters multiple times, so his keen sense of where he was on the base was an asset. With a mighty push, he leaped over the treeline and the landscape began to transition from forest to dirt road. He landed next to the humvees that squad used to get to him and jumped upwards again. He broke tree branches on his way down and landed with a powerful thud.

The dirt road opened up to a concrete strip-way. The base in front of him stretched across from the hills to his left about a mile to the hills to his right. Water towers stood tall in front of the Pacific Ocean and rocket scaffolding towered above. Blocking his path, however, was a blockade of humvees, a tank, numerous foot soldiers and 4 of the familiar D-Code super soldiers. Everyone was trained right on him and ready for him to make his next move.

"Is this all?!" James screamed at his foes. "Is that all you have for me?!"

Heller held his hands up above him and they grew to enormous size. Solid black, boulder like fists with thick spikes and an ominous red glow peering through cracks in the skin morphed over his head. His shoulders were now supported by multiple thick sinews to aid in lifting the obviously heavy hammerfists.

He ran forward and everyone with a gun opened fire. His way of fighting was half instinct, half training- all carnage. Every move made was one dedicated to the act of murder on a massive scale. It's what people like him are good at, it's what they are known for, it's what the men in black masks fear. Their bullets laid into him with minor discomfort being their only effect. He ignored each hit by the humvee's explosive rounds like he only had adrenaline pumping through his artificial veins. They had no real stopping power on this monster, and like a gazelle to a lion they were about to be pounced on and devoured. Their Abrams tank assisted with a shot from the main cannon.

He was in the air before it made contact with the ground beneath him. Each weapon aimed upward to take him out of the sky. Heller's hammerfists pulsed with power nearly tripling their mass as he prepared himself to make a crash landing on the blockade. The gunmen below scrambled to get out of his way- most didn't make it.

His fists impacted on the concrete runway causing the ground to buckle and crack. In the same instant red and black, jagged spikes rose up out of the forty-foot wide crater he created and found the bodies of his assailants. The humvees caught in the spiked shockwave exploded from the force and the Abrams tank was sent tumbling. Many were impaled on his groundspikes, those who weren't fell to their deaths from the initial impact launching them upward.

The super soldiers were hardier than their human brethren, however. The spikes struck them with less killing force due to their tougher bodies, allowing them to seize this moment to attack. From Heller's right came a powerful left hook that sent him careening through the organic stalagmites he conjured. He skidded on his shoulder and used the momentum to roll onto his feet. Before he could properly stand, another D-Code came running. Moments before connecting Heller put his arms over his chest to absorb the force from his shoulder check. His back met the thick treads of the tank he ruined causing a major dent in its frame and slid the war vehicle a few feet from the impact.

They were charging him now- like crazed pro wrestlers- coming to get their piece of the former Marine. The one who made it to him first got to feel his boot against his face as James kicked off of him to backflip over the Abrams. Another one tried to catch him on the opposite side and received two heavy blows from his hammerfists to his stomach. The super soldier gasped from the gut shots and fell to his knees clutching his abdomen. With his guard dropped he couldn't defend himself from what came next. The fists came clapping together on both side of his head, crushing his skull and flattening his brain into a wet mess.

Three punches directed at Heller's face were ducked as one of the three remaining soldiers caught up to him. He stumbled and kept from falling by bracing the ground with his hand. The soldier tried for a fourth punch but found Heller's shin connecting with his knee, buckling his leg inward. Again it was half instinct and half training. Each combatant Heller consumed had a history of fighting, whether on the street or through training from government funded institutions. Each win and loss from their experiences was added to him giving him a plethora of techniques to demolish his foes in hand-to-hand. This is something the D-Codes could not understand. They didn't know how outclassed they truly were. The enhanced fighter fell to the ground screaming bloody murder for his crippled limb. Heller took this opportunity to grab hold of the soldier's good leg, put a foot on his opponent's torso and ripped him in half with a mighty pull.

Two down and two more to go.

1423 Hours

Downtown Los Angeles, California

Unspecified Building

Street Level

A convoy of dark colored Military vehicles parked in the lot of an average looking warehouse in the industrial district of Los Angeles. Several heavily armed troopers rushed out of their seats and took positions around the line of humvees. Santos stepped out of the middle vehicle with the doctor in tow.

"P-please, not so hard!" Dr. Myers begged. Santos tightened his grip in retaliation.

Deacon came out the other side of the humvee and rushed to open the security door in front him.

"This is research area OS-A." He said while getting his hand scanned by a console at the door. "It is our backup lab and is to be used as your safe room."

Deacon held the door open allowing Santos to shove the doctor into the stairwell. Myers caught himself before he fell down the flight of metal steps.

"A lab? Here?" Myers questioned, fixing his lab coat.

"Yes. We still expect you to do your work, Dr. Myers. As you know we do not, for any reason, slow down our studies. Go down."

The group made their way down the stairwell and through another metal door. It opened to a well-lit and highly spacious warehouse floor, where several men and women in lab coats were working machinery, and armed guards stood positioned at different corners. In a rather specially cordoned-off area was a row of cages. One set marked 'DEAD' that had several mutated looking individuals clawing at the air around them. In another set of cages was a group of average looking people who stood around dazed and confused as if they were drugged; their cages were marked 'VARIABLE'. The final set was normal people crying or screaming obscenities or pleading for freedom. They were marked as 'CONTROL'.

They continued down the catwalk to the stairs leading to the ground floor. Being of higher rank, the instant Deacon and Santos made contact with the main floor they were saluted by the guards. Deacon gave them the order of "As you were." and they settled back into their guarding stances.

"These people have been here since the beginning. They have examined your works. You will cooperate with them until you are called back to the main building." Deacon informed.

Myers frantically looked about him. He saw everything he ever worked on being analyzed and displayed on screens and clipboards. The other researchers dropped samples into vials and put human flesh under microscopes, unconcerned with the arrival of the man whose work they were studying. He held his head in anxiety and paced around the room. He ground his teeth hard and breathed slow, heavy breaths.

"No, no, no!" he shouted.

Multiple rifles came up his way from his outburst. Deacon, annoyed by the doctor's display, motioned for the soldiers to lower their weapons. The doctor marched furiously towards Deacon.

"This isn't right! This. Is. Not. Right." he said through bared teeth.

"Problem, doc?" Deacon asked with Santos stepping up close behind him to make a move if needed.

"Yes, there is a problem. These people... these... they're looking at my notes. My notes! They should not be allowed to work on my projects- on my life's works!"

"I am positive they are skilled enough-"

"It's not about their skill, Deacon. It's about my comfort. I let no one, not even the people I have worked with for decades look at my notes, nor do I allow them to perform any of my experiments. Every advancement we have made on DX-1120 is because of me and me alone! Too many people in one lab leads to disaster, I have seen it! We outsourced a large portion of my findings to McMullen and look at what happened! If Blackwatch wants perfection then they should allow me to do this job my way!"

Deacon spoke sternly and cold, "That is highly classified information, Dr. Myers. Refrain from referencing said events. Now back on the subject of your assistants, you cannot complete these projects on your own. We hired these people to do the grunt work while you focus on the big picture. These advancements you've made are remarkable, but they are progressing slowly. We need-"

"You need to allow me to do this on my own. Remember, that Mercer fellow you all were praising a few years ago? Mercer was a hack! He had no craftsmanship! No true design plan for the virus! Not like me. He made it deadlier sure, but anyone with a PhD. could have done that. I, however, could have taken it further if they hadn't pushed for it to be moved to the East Coast!"

"You are speaking on highly classified-!"

"Of course I'm speaking out against this! This is my livelihood. My purpose. You can not expect me to-"

The doctor froze when he realized a service pistol was touching the center of his forehead. Deacon, the man he normally observed as very calm and collected was fuming.

"Interrupt me one more goddamned time!" Deacon roared.

Everyone looked over at the commotion then turned away disinterested. Threats of execution had become commonplace to them by this point. Santos stood unaffected as always, however, Dr. Myers was quivering in his loafers. This may be the time he pressed Deacon too far and he could pay for it.

Deacon spoke slowly with his words dripping with venom,"If there is anything I hate more than procedures being broken or confidential information being leaked, it is being interrupted! Do not do this again doc, or I will end you."

Deacon lowered his weapon back into its holster and composed himself, almost instantly switching back to his more regal tone and expression.

"We will check on you in oh-nine-hundred hours. Do as much as you can here, Myers... with the people here."

With that the two walked away to return to their convoy. Myers, still shaken from the threat of being shot, kept his head low, but his tightly balled fist showed his outrage. He was still furious about having to work with unworthy peons. He had to share all of his discoveries with people less qualified than he was. This is something he could not accept. Even with his old team he would never have them do anything more than collect samples and bring him files or coffee. He couldn't work like this. He's been with Blackwatch for over forty years, building for them death plagues and mutated steroids. All he asked was that he be able to work to his preferences. This was not what he signed up for.

1423 Hours

Lompoc, California

Vandenberg Air Force Base

Runway

Topside

The audible pops and the slack of the body let him know that the deed was done. It would be impossible for the super soldier to continue to fight with his head twisted in a complete one-eighty degree fashion. He tossed the corpse aside with great prejudice. Now there was only one soldier left, and that trooper's shattered hand wasn't enough to deter him from the fight. Heller stepped menacingly towards him and the soldier stood his ground. He wasn't afraid, but with everything that happened he should've been. As Heller got closer the soldier lead with a haymaker.

It wasn't difficult for him to counter with a lean to the side and a powerful uppercut to the jaw. The soldier fell onto the hard, blood-soaked concrete with a shattered mandible added to the list of his slowly regenerating injuries. Blood was pooling inside his face mask and leaked down his uniform. It was over for him now.

Heller was in the air again and he put his forearms together. The hammerfists tangled together, fusing into one solid, round mass that covered the full length of his body and the flesh hardened into thick studs of bone. He dropped all his weight behind this shield and collided with the downed combatant. Blood burst from under him like a juicy cockroach under an unforgiving boot. Then came the feeding tendrils to pull in the bigger chunks of the crushed carcass. With that final blow, the second wave of infantry was killed and all of James' injuries were repaired.

'Should've ran motherfucker.' He thought to himself.

His stolen memories told him if he entered the main building he could get all the way down to the holding cells with a few flights of stairs and an elevator ride. He morphed into a Blackwatch uniform and made his way inside. If he was lucky he could get to Pariah and end this in under a day. If not he'd probably have to fight his way to him. Either way, nothing was going to stop him. Just a few more minutes and this whole building and everything in it will come crashing down.