The sky and sea were an infuriatingly refreshing blue despite the fact that the world had turned on its head and all hell had broken loose. All four corners showed an endless horizon between the two azure shades. Flying in between them was an HU-16.
"Tokonosu Tower, this is Fenrir 269 Tango, we've lifted off from Guam several hours ago. Requesting permission for an emergency landing. We are running low on fuel. Our ETA to you is exactly one hour. Do you have an open runway? Over."
"Fenrir 269 Tango, this is Tokonosu Tower. We do not have a runway available as of now. But MPD's SAT has just secured runway D where flight JX089 will be taking off. We will inform you once they are in the air. Over."
"Tokonosu Tower, roger that and thank you. Over and out." Ending the transmission, Vladimir pulled the headset off, leaving the controls to Hector. Opening the door leading out of the cockpit revealed his four other brothers and sisters in arms all wearing tactical gear, loading weapons, and double checking the functionality of their arsenal. There were Glocks, AK47, G36C, Colt M1911A1s, Steyr AUG a Browning Hi-Power, and M79 grenade launcher complete with an assortment of 40mm shells resting on the footlocker used as a makeshift table. "Michaela, you're sure this will be enough to last until we rendezvous?"
"Ja, as long as we make every shot count and know when to not shoot. It would be a waste, you know? That was one of the last drug kingpin's operation, so we might as well put it to good use. And we have a lot more in that safe house." A twisted grin came upon Michaela as she sharpened her machete.
"Indeed, I had my Bratva brothers transport it." He stroked his chin as his thoughts went back to them dressed in moving company attire, carrying in boxes one after the other. "An excellent buy, paired with Michaela's connections giving us a significant discount. H&K XM8s, FN FNP45s per Vector's request along with suppressors; then there are the shotguns, my rifles, RPGs, C4, two cases of every grenade on the market, spare tactical gear, two HMVs with EMP countermeasures, a faraday cage, satellite phones, computers, medical and surgery supplies, and the safe house itself. Coupled with the ammo we've been acquiring over the years, it was quite a hefty purchase."
"I don't hear you complaining, Vlad," she snorted, sheathing her blade, satisfied with its condition. "And extracting and selling information without you at the helm negotiating is quite difficult. Being able to buy the means to survive will be the least of our problems now."
Of course, that was not the only reason they have been able to survive this long, but it indeed was one of the larger contributing factors. Upon the collapse of society's infrastructure, there are many necessities, which they have in ample amounts. All they have to do now was wait out the storm."
"Vladimir," Karena asked, "how was our son doing?"
"Well, according to the latest footage from the satellite, he blew up a building, stole some poor idiot's Lexus and is en route to our safe house with four other passengers. One of them a former pupil of Michaela and Christine's, another who undoubtedly is fond of Ryuji. As for the other two, your guess is as good as mine."
"I'm sure he will be fine. He is our son, after all."
"Oh, come now, Karena," Michaela chided, proceeding to poke her in the side with her fingers, "I know you want to call him your son in your heart."
"I wouldn't keep teasing her if I were you, Michaela." Vector interjected, holstering his loaded Colt, "Once we land, even Hector won't be able to spout a joke."
"I guess so. Now that we think about it, we are all middle-aged, aren't we?"
Christine, who was the youngest of the six, had already reached forty. While at a glance it is unnoticeable, but Karena, the oldest, had reached age fifty. Of course she continued to train but even she could not triumph against the passage of time. All of them had to admit that the prime of their strength and skill was passing.
"You say that Micha, but Chris, you and Karena are still beautiful in my honest opinion," Hector poked his head through the door after setting the aircraft to auto-pilot with a cigarette in his mouth.
"Oh, Hector. Always so sweet. Don't you think so, Christine?" Michaela turned her head to Christine, who had turned her back on them in embarrassment, but silently mouthed her gratitude to his compliments.
After driving for a while, Ryuji switched seats with Shizuka. While her driving was somewhat reckless due to it being an unfamiliar vehicle, she began to steady herself after a while. "Um, Kom….I mean, Mikage. Do you know how exactly this happened?"
"How exactly, indeed. Well, regardless of the occurrence being intentional or otherwise, I can tell you from experience that this is most definitely a man-made disaster." While answering Kota's questions, Ryuji tapped on the keyboard of his laptop which was stashed away in the bag, checking up on the current events of the other countries and their attempts at controlling the situation. If it were just in Japan, then there still was another chance.
But his hopes were betrayed rather quickly. Not only Japan, but Russia, America, and China were facing the same crisis. The BSAA had their hands full with helping the local law enforcement and figuring out how this came about.
"Man-made disaster?" Saya frowned.
"Yeah. You ever hear of an international corporation called Umbrella going bankrupt back in 2004?"
"I heard about that a bit. Something about BOWs, right? What does that stand for again?" Everyone silently slapped their foreheads at Shizuka's words.
"Bio-organic weapon, hence BOW. Besides making cold medicines, vitamin pills and aspirin, they were doing research and development of weaponized organisms. There were branches in every other country so bitchslapping officials with their choice of currency was no problem." Everyone else gasped at Ryuji's words. "The virus is called the T-Virus; T for tyrant, just so you know. This fucker will make the bubonic plague and the Spanish flu seem like pollen allergy."
"Tell me everything you know about that virus? How bad is it? How fucked are we?" Saya leaned forward from the backseat in a tone that implied she was not going to take no for an answer.
"Probability of infection is over ninety percent with numerous routes for it to spread," Ryuji went on, since he had no reason not to. "It can be an inhalant initially when it first gets spread through the air, but other routes could be the body fluids from someone infected, waters, and wounds received from the infected. The nasty part is that it has a high range of potential targets."
"High range of…..oh, fucking hell." The blood drained from Saya's face as it twisted into a countenance of horror upon her realization. "No…no no no no no, it can't be. You mean…? Besides humans?"
"Correctamundo. Not just humans, but animals, insects, even plants. The time it takes to turn varies individually, but the weaker your body's systems are, the faster the process." It was ages ago since Christine first showed him footage of the symptoms after contracting the T-Virus as well as characteristics, but he still remembers them as clear as day.
It starts out with an itchiness all over the body, high fevers and a decreased level consciousness. Intelligence and memory gradually deteriorate, and appetite grows due to metabolic anomalies. Once completely infected, patients act based on hunger and instinct. In a matter of two weeks, their bodies deteriorated faster than a regular body would be broken down into bones on a hot summer day.
According to her it was due to the compromised balance of cells' necroses and division; and yet they were still alive.
"What the fuck…?"
"Hey, it ain't all bad, you know? You kill 'em like you do in the movies. Go for the head, destroy the brain, or disintegrate the entire body altogether. For the latter you'll need a flame thrower, napalm canisters or a thermobaric explosive. Also this is just a hunch, but if this shitstorm was caused by a virus, it's something similar to T but it's not T." The incongruity came to Ryuji back when he was up on the roof. The gym teacher took approximately forty seconds before turning, and the other teacher who tried to help him up took a minute. While the effects of the T-Virus to spread does indeed vary, it would take at least a quarter of an hour. It was too fast. In addition, the infected at the school were moving slower than the average person's walking speed. A healthy person infected by the T-Virus was capable of bounding sprints.
The cinching factor was what he saw from the car window. The infected paid no attention to any animals and went straight for humans. At least they would not have to deal with anything faster or airborne.
"Who would do such a thing?" Ryuji shrugged at Saeko's question. She had just finished wiping the blood off her wooden sword with a rag.
"Not important right now. The world has gone to shit and we do not have a high chance of finding the guy. We'll worry about that after this storm blows over." It could be an international bioterrorism attack but it was unlikely. The BSAA would have caught wind of an organization pulling off an attack that big long ago. Besides, the terrorists themselves would want to avoid dying like fools at the hands of their own weapon that they unleashed.
The passengers of the car fell silent yet again. Unable to bear the heaviness of the atmosphere, Ryuji connected his i-pod to the car and started playing music. A song was chosen at random in shuffle mode, and "Ticking Bomb" by Aloe Black began to play. Considering the situation, the song was appropriate in an eery way with its calming vocals and rhythm.
The whole world's sittin' on a ticking bomb
The whole world's sittin' on a ticking bomb
So keep your calm and carry on
The whole world's sittin' on a ticking bomb
The sun may never rise again
The question ain't if but when
The sea will mourn and the sky will fall
The sun may never rise again
"Seriously?! Can't you pick something better? I will listen to Justin Bieber than listen to this depressing crap!" Saya gave Ryuji her best death glare.
"Use your own MP3 player if you want to listen to something different. Would you prefer to listen to the Beatles' 'Yellow Submarine'? It's perfect to avert your eyes from situations like this. This, though, is a great song. Every nation have time bombs—-nukes—-in their hands, pointing their ICBMs and other WMDs in the most complicated Mexican standoff that would make the Roman emperors' family tree shit its pants." To him, the song was the very symbol of the human condition which brings about the impulse of self-destruction and conflict: better grades, seeking employment, promotions, court cases, elections, and war. All of these things are a source of conflict, to not end up in defeat with the short end of the stick.
"Ms. Shizuka, where are we heading right now?" Kota asked, craning his head to the side to look at the GPS through the middle.
"It says we're going towards Tokonosu Bridge." Apparently the principal was not a mechanical aficionado since his GPS was a simple and rather old model.
"We need to stop somewhere for a short break," Ryuji muttered as he peered through a pair of binoculars toward the bridge, which was utterly inundated with people and cars. "And the bridge is jam-packed, so we'll go another way. More importantly, I'm hungry."
"Me too." Kota concurred, rubbing his growling stomach.
"Figures. Ms. Shizuka, there's a gas station two kilometers westward. Drive safe."
" 'Kaaaay, got it." The rear window suddenly exploded, showering the passengers in the back with millions of the shards. In the rear view mirror, Ryuji saw several men riding scooters and motorcycles with a relatively low power output, inadvertently drawing more infected towards them as they revved the engine. Several of them were armed with handguns, most likely taken from the corpses of fallen police officers. "What the hell just happened?!" Shizuka screamed.
"We're under attack. Kota, hit the front wheel from the back, everyone else stay down. Don't blame me if you catch a stray bullet." He handed Kota the MP7A1 with the suppressor still screwed on to the muzzle.
"Holy shit this is a Heckler & Koch MP7A1! And it's decked out with accessories! This thing is one fucking accurate and quiet PDW! How the hell did you get your hands on this thing?!" Kota inspected the weapon from every angle as if it were a piece of priceless artwork, his eyes bedazzled.
"Classified. Send those fuckers to Broadway. And make them all count." Ryuji stepped out of the car with his sidearm drawn, quickly screwing on the suppressor. Kota had already begun firing, the tire exploding and sending the driver and passengers flying off the handlebars and onto the asphalt. Others began running in a zigzag in an attempt to not get hit, but their attempts only succeeded in making Ryuji laugh. Shooting a nonmoving target whilst standing still was one thing, but shooting a moving object while moving yourself was impossible for amateurs. Without bothering to take cover, he quickened his walking pace, and began firing himself.
The men who assaulted Ryuji and the company all had broken bones, dislocated joints and lacerations of varying degrees but were still alive. Ryuji kicked and shoved them into one spot at gunpoint. "Alright, you amateur, dickless pieces of shits. You just had to show up when I just finished formulating a plan and was about to put it into motion." He lashed out with a vicious kick to one of the men in his chest, who doubled over in pain, gasping and whimpering. Another kick to his throat collapsed his trachea, silencing him forever. "Now I hate to stomp on your ego and piss on it, but I have been under fire countless times in the past. And that one," he continued, holstering his USP, "by far, was the safest experience. Now, there are a lot of things that will piss me off, but one of the big ones I have zero tolerance for is wasting bullets on fuckers like you. So, you're going to have to reimburse me. With your lives."
While their fastening of the helmets for driving allowed them to cling on to life, but after the injuries they have sustained, it was impossible to flee. Ryuji took his time starting after them like a venomous snake slowly closing in for the kill, drawing his knives, sinking them into their bodies and carving them up one by one.
The blades punctured the skin and sliced through flesh with barely any resistance. He ripped pen their sides, pierced their knees, chests, the hollows of their napes, and severed tendons and arteries. Dominance brought about an inexplicable exhilaration about, the feeling of the blades grating against bone made his heart leap with joy. Goosebumps rippled across his skin seeing faces contort in pain, twitch in fear as they die.
The unfortunate ones who were not killed mercifully received wounds only centimeters away from a vital spots several times, and were finally allowed to die.
The last one—a young man in his mid-twenties—-was drenched in a cold sweat as he saw the crescent shaped smile of his attacker and the cold eyes. It was not something that he would feel in a haunted house. No. This was true fear, the sensation of having his heart getting doused in ice cold water. His breathing became shallow and erratic, causing him to hyperventilate.
What is this thing?
What is that smile?
Why is he so happy?
Why can he kill happy?
He could not comprehend it, which fanned the flames of his fear all the more. It made him wonder in the madness of fear if the prey of venomous snakes go through the same experience, writhing in pain as the poison burns in their veins. His mind was screaming to run, but his body was failing to move.
The last sound he heard was a sharp snapping like a trampled fallen branch.
Letting the body fall and kicking it to the curb, Ryuji wiped the blood drenching his face and cleaned his knife blade with their shirts. Quickly searching them, he retrieved several items from their bodies, including their police issue revolvers that they were using. He tossed them to Kota and took his gun back.
Pulling out the last crimped cigarette from the crushed pack, he lit it and took a long drag before blowing rings of smoke into the air.
"Dude, seriously?" Kota frowned as his friend kept going. "You know that's bad for you right?"
"Oh, pipe down," he replied before taking another drag, "I'm not taking it into my lungs. I am older than you are; I'm over eighteen, but I just look young. And just so you know, you have not lived until you've smoked freshly made Cohibas while kicking it in Cuba at a hotel with a bacardi mojito in your hand. Anyways, I digress. Let's get a move on. Now I'm in a really good move after having myself a fresh kill in a while. I'm even hungrier now after that. Killing makes me hungry."