There are many of us, many, many of us, that if you see one of us, there are many of us. We are everywhere, the eyes that lurk just behind the curtain of darkness. We see all, all that you can see, and more. We hear all, the whispers you think that go unnoticed. We are legion, the mob, the horde, the masses. We breath the same air as you, tread the same earth as you, but you will never see us, because we are always watching, waiting. We are the harbinger of chaos, grown from the ashes of your weaknesses.

– Anonymous

ooo

"Vinson, is this the project you were trying to tell me about?"

"No, ma'am. That is the Bloodtox one, down in the labs. The results proved to be–"

"This a strange creature, is she not? Why is she locked up?"

"She may look harmless, ma'am, but when she is free, she is capable of…"

I toned his voice out. They were talking about me, I could hear. There were four of them, Vinson, two guards, and a woman. The woman was a higher rank, a major, from the big, golden insignia on her arm. From behind a wall of makeup, she surveyed me from head to toe with a critical eye. There was something about her haughty stance and pretentious tone that made me want to kill her. But that wasn't quite possible yet, so I waited, lying in the bed that was more of an operating table, eyes closed, feigning sleep. I could tell Vinson didn't fall for it at all, watching me with a shrewd eye, while the woman was oblivious, going as far as to put her nose on the glass to get a closer look.

"Quite the sleeping beauty, huh? Where'd you find her?"

"Infiltrating the arsenal base in Houston, ma'am."

They talked some more, about the circumstances which led up to my discovery and whatnot. According to Vinson, they had detected me the moment they received notice that someone was accessing the arsenal using the identification of a janitor. Now that I look back, it did seem in sorts rather stupid.

"So what about her?"

"Ma'am, I don't understand what–"

"Is she always asleep? Can she hear what I'm saying?"

Vinson hesitated, and the woman took the opportunity to rap her knuckles on the glass. The sound was a dull, quiet knock, as though the glass resisted any movements. When I didn't move, she wasn't satisfied, turning to Vinson again.

"I didn't realize the infected need sleep as much as we do. If that's the case, then we can simply find their nest and burn them all out!"

Vinson gave her a bemused look. While neither were looking my way, I promptly sat up without a sound, eyes still closed. "They don't sleep, ma'am. She has been awake the moment we stepped into the room, and is awake right now."

"I see. Then why–?"

The rest of her question was lost when she looked over to find me sitting, as though a ghost. She was not used to playing this game, and was easily lost. I saw her wearing her surprise on her face as plainly as she wore her uniform. Vinson, on the other hand, was stoic as ever, though he couldn't keep the little curve of the lip from his face as he beheld his confused commander.

"Well, hello there." The woman's voice was nails on chalkboard, distinctly unpleasant, with underlying menace. I opened my eyes. If only to catch her off guard, I had colored them black. Of course, they were useless to me, as they let too much light through to distinguish any details, but they served their purpose, as the woman was taken back.

I said nothing. She looked at Vinson.

"What, is she mute? Are infected capable of complex thoughts and languages?"

Vinson said nothing. "No," I replied. The woman's head comically swung back towards me again. It was as though Vinson and I played a game of tennis with her, hitting the ball back and forth, with her in the middle, unable to catch it.

She hesitated for just a moment, but managed somehow to go right along with the program. "Ok. My name is Major Gallegos," she said, with a bright smile on her face. She looked like the sun that soured milk, or burned away crops, not so much that grew trees or warmed our earth.

"My name is Annalisa Snow."

"So I've heard."

I found nothing to say to this, so said nothing. Instead I poured my obsidian eyes to hers. She only managed to hold the stare for a few seconds before looking around the cell again.

"Well, it's nice meeting you, Annalisa." She said my name with such affection that I might be fooled into thinking she was my mother. In response, I continued to stare at her. The moment stretched. She shifted uncomfortably.

One of the guards cleared his throat, if only to save her from the awkward moment, and Gallegos whirled around dramatically, as if she was on a fashion show. She was like a child's doll, so easy to predict, so easy to pose into the right position. She left hurriedly, away from those haunting eyes.

Then Vinson was the only one left. He too was watching his superior stomp away like a rabbit. Only until the door had firmly shut behind her did he turned around. I was still sitting, though my eyes had returned to normal. He wasn't to be fooled so easily.

"Quite the boss," I said, drily.

"You can bet your ass on it," he grumbled, rubbing his chin.

"You should request a transfer."

"Believe me, I've tried. But the general says in this time of war, I am more useful to him where I am right now than where I would be if I transferred."

I was amused. "Cursed rules."

"Damn right!" he spat, looking around in a drunken haze. He rest a hand against the glass wall.

I mirrored his touch. "Maybe if you quit complaining to the enemy, you can be more productive."

"Maybe if you weren't my enemy, I can be both complaining and doing productive work right now."

"Are you trying to say something?"

"No, I'm just mad that someone actually has the brains to tell me better."

I smiled a little at that. It was such a pretty moment, one that I decided was one of the highlights of my messed up life. In that time, there was no war or blood, just a grumpy man, a tired, grumpy man who was stuck under the thumb of a petty woman. If there was no glass wall, I might have…

Had what? There was nothing I could have done. He was someone different from me, someone who did not fit in with mine, nor me his. Perhaps that was the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet. Though I did not claim to love him, there was something about his heart that was admirable. Despite what I thought we shared, or what he thought we shared, there was a mountain between us, the mountain stood on one side the vanguards of the human race, the other the monstrous beasts of the virus. Ancient trees toppled under the destructive rage, stones cracking under the enormous power.

Because I had chosen, chosen the other path. Because once I chose, there was no second-guessing myself. Because I could not switch now, the chains of madness. That was the price the virus asks, not the terrible pain or the angst of loss, nor even the bloodshed or the insanity, but the loneliness, the deep craving for a friend, or a lover, or even a lousy neighbor who forgets to clean up after the dog. Because a god cannot dwell with its subjects, just as a demon cannot hide within the lambs. He was my anchor to humanity, which was why he could not stay. I needed to shed this place, with its lonely memories, away, so that I could retake my place within the world, within the Hivemind.

I withdrew my hand, he his.

He then mumbled something about work and headed to the door, shoulders stooped, in frustration and fatigue.

"Goodbye, Leo," I said to his retreating back. He turned his head around, perhaps out of surprise, or concern. But something in my voice or my cracked face convinced him otherwise. His last view of me was again as I closed my eyes, my skin decaying and flaking away, lying down on the bolted bed, behind a screen of impenetrable chains.

ooo

The author has requested that you take a break and think through your life here.

ooo

Boom. The entire building shook.

It was a strange sound to hear in the night, or what I assumed to be the night. Without my own fan club, it was difficult to tell when everyone went to bed or otherwise. It must be the night, though, as the hallways were very quiet for the past hour. Perhaps the night guards in this empty prison were all asleep, thinking that I wouldn't be as stupid to try something, normally. They were certainly right, but these were certainly not normal circumstances.

Two pairs of hurried footsteps ran past my door, which remained firmly shut. I was also disappointed they didn't think me important enough to be watched. And then there was another shake, and I understood their concern. This wasn't just some terrorist with explosives attack; this was a full-scale viral attack. If I had to guess, I'd bet all my money on a goliath. Only those things were capable of swaying the earth.

They passed, and I was once again alone.

The lights flickered, the ground trembled. The walls whispered frantically, in horror and urgency. They wanted me to leave, to escape while I could, because something was coming, something big. I needed to leave while I still could! Dust fell from the ceiling, their forms dancing ghosts.

I walked to the glass and saw my own reflection, eyes wild, features shifting. My skin was breaking apart, erupting in tiny patches of red, then returning normal. The virus. It too wanted to leave, for it knew death was awaiting those who stayed. There was another earthquake, and a patch of the ceiling paint fell down.

Tentacles of red flake circled around my right hand, sharpening its end into a point, which gleamed under the harsh light. I drew it back, and with a ferocious scream, jabbed it into the clear glass.

Immediately an alarm sounded. I supposed it was to announce an attempt of escape on my part, but with the entire base shaking about in the middle of the night, one more ear-splitting scream would easily go unnoticed. The glass itself wasn't harmed so much, although the spike had pierced through a solid inch into the dense material. A web of cracks spread from where my hand landed, clinks of glass already falling to the floor. I drew my hand back again.

The earth shook again, and I found I was having trouble keeping my feet, so I anchored them to the floor, appendages digging into the ground and rooting me in place. I attack the glass again, and watched in satisfaction as the web expanded and the spike shoved deeper. Now the cracks were huge, large veins snaking from my head's height to the ground and the ceiling. They were deeply imbedded into the glass, too, as much as three inches wide. When I drew my hand back this time, I didn't even bother to keep its spiked shape, instead pouring heavy mass into it until it resembled more or less a biological hammer. With a yell, I smashed it into the glass.

The impact was deafening. Huge vibrations from the glass distorted the other side in a wave of force. The sudden flash of brightness forced me to shield myself. Then dust settled like snowflakes, and the room was turned into a blizzard. When I looked again, I saw that I had made progress on the glass, but also on the floor, walls, and ceiling. The cracks had stretched themselves beyond the clear panel, residing on the plaster now. Then another shocked rippled through the compound. Paint began to fall like hail. I eyed the ceiling nervously, at the solid stone that would certainly bury me alive.

The door opened with a beep. I took a step back.

At first I thought I was hallucinating, that someone would be stupid enough to step into my room when clearly there was an alarm going off about how I was smashing apart my prison, then I saw the dead soldier who was flung away, like a poor piece of discard, and the enormous blade that dissipated to be replaced by a hand.

An old man stepped in. He looked like to be someone's energetic grandfather, with a thin, gray beard and a wrinkled, yet lined with pleasantness, face. His eyes were tiny stars in the void of nothingness, which locked onto mine. As the soldier died in a bloody pulp away, he dramatically dusted off his winter jacket.

"Look here, dear. What are you doing in a place like this?"

I didn't reply, standing still as a doll behind the marred glass. He took in the damage slowly, then eyes asking a silent question. In response, I shrugged. He wasn't too fazed by my lack of reaction.

"So what's your name, dear?"

I thought about it. "Anna," I gave him. I could tell it meant nothing to him, because he was disappointed. Was he hoping for someone else?

"Well, Anna, guess what? We're going to get you out." He looked at the cracks again. "Of course, it looks like you're already half way out yourself." For a moment, he looked impressive. My pride swelled. However, he soon looked with puzzlement to the damage. "But by breaking the glass, you've also broken the controls to your prison. Perhaps you can open it by force?" He looked thoughtful.

I nodded. He smiled reassuredly, nodding for me to go on.

"How do I know I can trust you?"

He gave me an amused look. "And here I thought you're mute. But no worries. I'm loyal to one man and one man only. His name begins with an M and ends with an R." I thought about it. "And you aren't with the, you know, cult?" He sounded ominous.

I shook my head.

"Very well, then!" He was all too friendly again. "Let's get you out of here!"

I looked at the man with a curious eye. While he didn't seem to have malicious intents, he struck me as odd. There was a sort of bubbly charm around him that made him so friendly, yet I felt the underlying power, a strong current, barely covered by a thin patch of lotus flowers. I decided I trusted him.

"Now's the time," he clicked an invisible watch.

I examined the glass again. Yes, it was heavily damaged, with the center resembling something like undercooked eggs, but still the glass held strong, with the solid reinforcements attached to the walls. When I looked back to the old man, his face was not that excitement, but a worried thoughtfulness. He caught my stare, and forced a little smile onto his face.

"We don't have forever, you know?" he said, even as another boom rocked the world. More dust flaked down. I nodded.

I once again poured strength into my arms, feeling their powerfulness. Red dust coated me in a suit of flesh. When I smashed the glass, it caved in under my strength, the material deforming in the shape of my fist. The ceiling shook some more. I hit it again. Again it backed away, again the ceiling cracked. Third time's the charm, because this time the entire sheet of glass ripped away from the metal screws holding it, along with chunks of the supporting rocks. The large shape fell away, the old man barely managing to step aside in time. There was a rumbling above me. I looked up and found a solid ton of rock accelerating at my face. Without thinking, I extended a whip and smashed it aside. Good thing I wasn't crushed immediately, bad thing the impact of the rock against the wall sent more my way. I dived forward, escaping the ruins of the prison, now just a cave in, just rocks and dust, more dust.

"Good grief, girl. You didn't have to bring the whole base on your head to escape." The old man stood above me, his back to my feet, a large block in front of him. It took me a moment to realize it was a shield, and that debris the size of fists only bounced against it harmlessly, a small pile beginning to form at his feet. I had the energy to turn onto my back and mutter a small thanks.

Once he made sure no more stone was to fly, by carefully prodding the collapse with the shield, he straightened up. The sight of me lying on the ground made him smile. Somehow I felt silly, although I was a bit shocked to do otherwise. When I didn't get up immediately, he walked over and extended a hand. Such a strange position I was in. From a life of loneliness to dependent on a grandpa.

"Come on."

Suddenly the old man melted away, and what stood in his place was a demon, its eyes glowing red from under its white hood. The hand it extended to me was a large claw, coated with viral tissue, tips sharp as daggers. It smiled, from a mouth of wicked teeth that stretched too wide. The orbs of death bore into me. I knew what it asked for, yet couldn't bring myself.

"Mercer," I gritted, through my teeth. The demon cocked its head, in acknowledgement, but held its position. I was still offered the two choices, yet somehow, just somehow, I thought it knew it already won. I could only think of my shackled life, Vinson, Mercer, Peterson, all of them. It was one for another, but this time, I would not bow so easily. "This binds me to nothing," I hissed, angry at the manipulation. The dark smile only widened.

Then the old man was back, his expression in concern. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." My voice was off. I realized how crazy I must have looked, lying on the ground, eyes lost in the distance.

I took the hand.

"Eric, I got her. We can go."

"Rogers, Tom. See you on the other side."

A/N

Horray! I think we're about half-way through now! Thank you all for bearing with me.

If anything about the story confuses you, be sure to comment or just PM me, because I feel like this chapter is really muddled, for the lack of a better word. I will get back to you as soon as I can. (Shouldn't be more than 2 days at most.)\

To Sano Hibiki:

(Original question, paraphrased: Can evolved and prototypes even eat dead flesh?)

Hmm, you bring up a good point. I had been thinking about that for a while, ever since I first played the original game. Yes, you can't consume corpses in the games. Yes, prototypes consume live people for their thoughts. But there's nothing that really prevents the consumption of dead people. They're just live people without a conscious, like zombies. As for decaying flesh, it really depends on how far the decomposition has undergone. If a corpse is still in the bloated stage (which I think that walker was), it's probably just like a fresh corpse with a side of bacteria and fungi.

And Here's a Happy Thanksgiving to All of You out There!