NeoNazo356: Before we start things up, I'd like to take the time to answer some FanMail, aka Reviews, for the first and second chapter. This will not be done for every single Review, only the ones that actually qualify for answering. This means there will be no responses for single-sentence Reviews like "Great chapter" or "Update more".

Spaceman: We do have limits. Reviews that ask good questions get good answers, and I hope you understand we work as fast as it's comfortable. Its much easier to write a story when you enjoy the story, and it makes the story more enjoyable to the readers. There will be Updates, but give us time to make Great Updates.

NeoNazo356: "Alright, first FanMail comes from..." is what I would like to say, but the fact of the matter is that no Reviews warranted answering. I'm not saying I don't appreciate the Reviews, Favorites, and Follows, I really do, its just that they were mostly COMMENTS, not actual questions. You ask me a question and I can answer it in Author's Commentary, but give me a comment and I can only acknowledge that I got it. Which I did.

Spaceman: We appreciate all encouraging reviews, but we also want to hear your questions. What do you want to know about our story? Any questions within reason (and won't spoil the story too much) we will try to answer them to best of out ability and we hope this interaction will allow us to make the story better. We are listening, all you readers have to do is ask.

NeoNazo356: Final notice before the chapter starts. I apologize in advance for repeated use of the word "Nazi" when describing Blackwatch, its simply the most-apt word I can use to describe them, I mean no offense to anyone of German descent, nor do I intend to bring up any bad cultural memories for anyone of Jewish descent. Only reason I AM apologizing in this manner is because I don't want some whiny prick to file a complaint and get this story removed just because I use the word "Nazi" in my work. Honestly some people get offended way too easily and simply need to grow a pair. Like what happened with my XBOX 369 gamertag, but you'll have to ask if you wanna know about that little fiasco.

Manhattan
July 4, 15:05 EST

It all happened so suddenly. It was difficult to believe it was even real, but it happened.

Alex Mercer, the "Monster of Manhattan", made a comeback at Penn Station to direct and star in The Outbreak: Part Two. I don't know how he got back in there after the way security was beefed up, or even how he got back into the country when he's at the top of every wanted list in the free world, but shit hit the fan in the absolute worst possible way. Minutes after he walked out of Penn Station, him dropping yet another bio-weapon was all over Facebook, Myspace, and Twitter before hitting the news a few minutes later. The moment Mercer hit the on-screen captions, pandemonium spread through Manhattan like wildfire, and everyone made for the nearest thoroughfares out of town. However, almost as if the whole thing was choreographed, a squadron of jets flew by and bombarded the bridges, all preamble of military checkpoints out the window. Only a couple dozen cars managed to escape, while countless more were lost in the bombardment.

The Second Quarantine had begun.

Manhattan
July 5, 06:00 EST

The military's response time was incredible. While the initial naval blockade only hours after Ground Zero consisted of a mix the US Coast Guard and Reserve Forces gunning down anyone that tried to leave by boat -all opportunities to turn back were ignored, given what was waiting for any boat-owners back on short-, the US Navy was able to mobilize a more-specialized naval barricade surrounding the island. A few months after the First Outbreak, a number of documents that became declassified stated that the Mercer Virus was non-commutable across large bodies of water. This meant, since it could not move through the air like pollen, the other islands were safe as long as no infected material reached the mainland.

God knows that would be a total disaster. Like every zombie movie ever.

The bulk if not the entirety of Blackwatch was quick to mobilize as well, arriving primarily by air, the only handful of boats mooring up on shore heavily-defended. Even though the guys were armed to the teeth and dressed like Nazi storm troopers -sans the Swastica-, people were still desperate enough that they tried bum-rushing them like the new guy in gym class. Predictably and true to form, that ended up about as well as you'd think it would, because it seemed like they still had their penchant for shooting the people they were supposed to be there protecting. No preamble or telling them to return to their homes, just an instant lead buffet that lasted all of ten seconds.

They may've only had infantry at the moment, but at this stage of the infection... uuugh, pun not intended... Just that much would suffice for the time being.

Manhattan
July 6, 09:23 EST

Third day in, and things are starting to get worse. The same breeds of Infected as last year are beginning to surface from a myraid of underground lairs, and people are beginning to shut themselves in. A number of storefronts have already been raided, and with the police otherwise preoccupied trying to keep what little order they could where it first sprung up, most of the shelves had already been picked clean. After cutting off the land routes, the government did start air dropping supplies, but with how meager they were, there was no way to feed a sustainable population. By now I'm pretty sure that Mercer dropped his bioweapon on the Fourth of July this year and last intentionally. The same strain of virulent bioweapon dropped two years in a row on the same date, which happens to be the most patriotic day on the American calendar... Coincidence?

I think not!

Surprisingly enough, Blackwatch is actually doing a half-decent job of keeping the flesh-eaters at bay despite the fanfare surrounding them after last year's shitstorm. Rolling blackouts however have people cowering in the dark with no power, and any means of communicating with the outside world had been cut off. If Blackwatch pulls the same shit as last year, the government could make any bullshit cover story they'd want, and everyone would believe it no-questions-asked. As long as it doesn't happen to them, its not their problem. Assholes!

As loath am I to admit their presence would be much appreciated, there isn't a single superhero in sight to help turn the tide of things, and until they can clamp down on "The Second Outbreak", every man, woman, and child regardless of race, age, and social standing is all trapped on this disease-ridden rock.

The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up just like a few days before this whole mess, and as much as I hate my gut instincts telling me this, things are going to get infinitely worse before they get better.

Manhattan
July 7, 18:42 EST

"How the hell are they letting something like this fly twice?!" Virgil cried out, the sound of gunshots ringing through the floor just below their apartment. Just yesterday Blackwatch had been doing what they were supposed to do, keeping the Infected in line, but now they're systematically clearing buildings under the premise that we're all "infected". Half the people they'd killed hadn't even been outside their own doors in days, yet they were still going through with this.

"The government's out of their fucking minds, that's how," David growled, pissed off that he was just sitting there and doing nothing, despite the screams and gunshots from the floor below. Though he put on a strong front, he was scared just like the rest of them, fists shaking more with fear than rage.

"They've been killing everyone in our building floor by floor saying we're "contaminated". In a couple minutes the Girlscouts from Hell are going to be knocking on our doorstep," Daniel said as he paced nervously, his heart beating a mile a minute. "What're we going to do?"

"You three, take the fire escape and run for it. Your dad and I will catch up," Tina said as she loaded her concealed firearm, snapping the magazine into place, before grabbing a riot shield from the MIPD.

"These guys have automatic weapons and Kevlar vests. How're we going to stop that?" Virgil asked.

"Second Amendment, 'cause I pay my fucking taxes," Eric said cocking a fully-automatic shotgun after loading in a double drum magazine. "I ain't going down without a fight, you shouldn't either," he said slipping his own Kevlar vest over his head.

"Go, your father and I will be fine," Tina said pulling her sons into a hug. "Virgil," she said to her foster child as the other two opened the window to the fire escape. "Keep your brothers safe, got it?"

"Y... Yes mom..." Virgil answered. By the sad look in his adoptive mother's eyes... she knew she wasn't going to make it through this. 'Its just like back then all over again, and just like back then...' he growled as he climbed out the window, 'Not a single superhero in sight. Figures.'

"Alright you assholes, you want me?" *Ch-chik* "Come and get me!" the man shouted as he leveled his shotgun at the door, letting loose lead slugs the moment it was kicked in. On the rear wall of the building, the three teens descended the fire escape as fast as their legs could carry them, thankfully the back alley left unguarded. Vergil was the last to drop to the ground, automatic rounds tearing out their apartment's back windows, though by the sound of things, their parents weren't giving an inch.

"Dammit, I hate leaving them like this," David spat angrily, knuckles tightening around the baseball bat he'd grabbed at the last minute.

"We all do, but this is our best chance to get away," Daniel said as he ran his fingers through his hair with a huff. "All we can do is get away and lay low until this whole thing blows over."

"Flesh-eaters on our six!" Virgil swore as the south end of the alley was soon filled with Infected, all of them lumbering towards the source of fresh meat down the way. Unfolding his bow and reaching for an arrow, he soon felt a hand stop him.

"Don't waste your arrows! Just run!" Daniel said as he took off, Virgil following shortly after as fast as his legs could carry him. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, he noticed all too clearly when the sounds of gunfire from his apartment stopped, but he couldn't focus on that. His parents had given them an opening to run, and mourning in the middle of the street would make that sacrifice completely meaningless. The next moment, a manhole cover in the middle of the street in front of them was flung upwards as an Infected crawled to the surface, followed by many others from the ground level as well.

"Fuck! We're surrounded!" David swore as he looked around, no other means of escape available. Looking up to the fire escape, he saw a few Blackwatch from before lounging around, drinking beers from their fridge and looking down at them like they were watching the game. "Motherfuckers!" he swore as his grip on his bat tightened. "We're on our own down here! Force your way through!" he roared as he rushed forward, bat raised above his head as he let loose a rage-filled shout, bringing his bat down over the head of the first Infected he got to. Behind him, Daniel grabbed a pair of trashcan lids, using them as impromptu shields and bludgeons in a desperate attempt to make an opening. At the back of their formation, Vergil shot arrows into the faces of anything trying to get to his brothers from behind, all the while not noticing one of the Blackwatch above lining up a laser sight directly at him.

"NO!" Daniel shouted as he shoved Virgil out of the way *BANG* a spray of blood exploding out of his chest and dropping him to the ground like a sack of potatoes a moment later.

"Daniel!" Virgil cried as he ran over to his brother's side. Sparing a glance at the Blackwatch on the fire escape, now heading back inside out of sheer boredom, the brunette swore beneath his breath as he pulled his brother's arm over his shoulder.

"Just keep pressure on it, we'll patch you up in a minute!" David ordered as he continued to fight back the Infected, though by himself he was losing ground and fast.

"Ngh... Sorry bro..." Daniel wheezed as blood oozed out of his chest. "I won't... be getting up from this," he sighed in resignation.

"Don't talk like that, man! You'll be fine!" David growled even as he was forced back, his bat now bent beyond recognition.

"Virgil... Promise me... that you'll make it through this..."

"I will! With the two of you!" Virgil argued as he let loose arrow after arrow, knocking the Infected onto their backs with each arrow through the eye. When his fingertips met the edge of his empty quiver, a sense of dread dropped into his gut like a lead weight, that dread soon replaced with shock as a pair of strong hands grabbed him before his feet left the ground. "David! What're you doing?!"

"I won't leave my brother behind, so its up to you to get away," the older teen said as he hoisted Virgil above his head, the Infected slowly advancing towards them. "Promise you'll get even! Promise me!"

"Wait! We can fight them off together!" Virgil cried as he tried to get free.

"Goodbye... little bro," David said above a whisper as his muscles bulged, before the brunette was suddenly thrown over the alley wall.

I tried to get back over that wall, help fight the Infected off so we could patch Daniel up and get away, but the wall was too high for me to get over on my own. I wanted to cry, but my tears had run dry ages ago, so all I could do was turn and run.

My weakness... I hated it... I utterly despised it...

I hated myself for always being so weak. Never able to change anything. Always being led along by the nose, as though God were punishing me for some crime I had supposedly committed in a past life.

What I hated even more however, was that without any arrows, my bow and quiver were dead weight. That was no longer a luxury I could afford, but I couldn't just throw it away either. All I could do in the end... was lean the once-proud weapon against the wall that separated me from my brothers' final resting place. The only evidence, befitting an unmarked grave.

I ran for what felt like hours, my eyes stinging, my lungs burning, my legs heavy. But no matter how much I wanted to collapse, I could not. I would not.

Eric. Tina. David. Daniel. All of them had given so much, and in the end all they had to show for it was an orphan out of Foster Care who in the end couldn't save even one of them. On one side, an army of flesh-eating partially-bulletproof zombies. The other, a hoard of sociopathic modern-day Nazis with US government funding and a green light to do whatever they damn well pleased. The odds were stacked against me, and I had effectively been abandoned by my own country, but even if I were fated to die on this rock, join my birth parents in the next world, I wouldn't go down without a fight.

There would be blood paid for that which was spilt.

"I swear it."

Manhattan
July 8, 08:45 EST

The next day I wanted to mourn, to just break down over the fact that my family had died so quickly the day before, but I couldn't. They died, so I could live, and I couldn't just sit around and let myself get killed, or their sacrifice would've been for nothing. When I got my head back on straight, and I was less fatigued from pumping adrenaline, I was able to realize that the dumpster I had slept in the night before was for a used clothing store. With how quickly things descended into hell, the storefront was completely unrecognizable, and with how tired I was simply never noticed the contents until just then. Casual wear wasn't going to keep me safe, so I guess I should thank whatever lucky star I was born under that I found a dumpster filled with used clothing. Shedding everything else sans my underwear and shoes, I was able to pull together some black cargo pants, a tight-fitting olive T-Shirt, and a black-and-grey camouflage raincoat. Now that I had some half-decent urban camouflage, I could move around a bit easier since I didn't stick out like a sore thumb any longer.

Someone even threw away a perfectly good black grey-accented backpack, which would be invaluable for carrying out supplies. Really, the perfectly good stuff people throw away is simply ridiculous.

Knowing Blackwatch, they probably left my mom and dad to rot where they lay, but I was just too weak-willed to go back there and see the bodies for myself. This meant if I wanted to scrounge for supplies, I'd have to do so somewhere else. Asshole Blackwatch probably cleaned out the fridge anyway. I swear to god, if I ever see a modern-day Nazi outside this island, assuming I get off, I will kill them. And their Nazi families. And their Nazi pets named Hitler.

Anyway... The only "somewhere else" I could think of where I knew there would be food was Cascade High's cafeteria's pantry. A year back things were tight, so I worked in the kitchens washing trays in exchange for food, hence I knew that part of the school inside and out. From what I could tell, only small pockets of Infected were ever active during the day, my brothers and I were just unlucky enough to encounter two of those fewin a pincer formation. On the inverse, Blackwatch were at their most active in the day and retreated back to their concrete-walled bases at night. Going against either was suicide as I was now, but on my own I could move quicker and less noticeably than if I were in a group of three... Between the two evils, I'd take the lesser of them and head for Cascades High through the sewer. Between psychopathic Nazis with guns and flesh-eating zombies, I'd rather contend with the things that did NOT have guns and shuffled about like the undead.

The fact they were -mostly- bulletproof was a non-issue, since I wasn't going to go out of my way and pick any fights.

After getting my inner Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle out of my system, which consisted of using -or at least trying to use- a skateboard to get around faster, and peeking up through a couple rain grates, I finally found the manhole in front of Cascades High. The front doors were barricaded, showing I wasn't the only one with the idea to seek asylum here, but the abundance of breakable windows flanking it showed that the school was far from defensible; play enough Halo multiplayer, and you tend to pick up where you can or can't make a last stand. Either way, getting in without cutting myself up too badly was a bit of a bitch, but since I didn't want to get infected in the middle of a quarantine zone, I put in the extra effort to NOT get myself cut on anything sharp and/or rusty.

Once I pulled myself into the building, the first thing I noticed was there was a lot of blood on the linoleum tiles; the place looked like the bastard love child between Shark Week and Lord of the Flies. The good thing about Blackwatch simply up and leaving the dead where they fall is everyone got treated that way, hence why I had a firearm in my hands after the gun stores had been picked clean; with Blackwatch leaving their dead behind so the living could fight off the Infected, I was able to pick up a gun and some ammo the night prior before they could come back for it. I might not have ever fired a gun a day in my life before outside a FPS, but it didn't take rubbing too many brain cells together to figure out that you turn the safety to Off, point the end with the hole in it at what you want to go away, and pull the trigger. If I actually do make it out of this mess alive, this'll be great practice for the zombie apocalypse.

Knowing my shit luck, I'll live long enough to get off this disease-ridden rock, only to get sucked into that zombie-filled mess sometime down the road.

Back onto the topic at hand, as compelled as I am to go raiding the cafeteria for any food that hasn't spoiled -food poisoning will slow me down more than an empty stomach-, I need to find out what happened here. Clearly there's more than one person using this place as a hidey-hole, and there was some form of disagreement between them. Otherwise there wouldn't be bloodstains on the walls, or blood-stained drag marks showing where bodies had been moved. Every ground exit was barricaded just like the front door, comprised mostly of every piece of furniture from the first and possibly second floors that wasn't bolted to the ground, so it was easy enough to scan every room on the ground floor before moving to the next. While the first floor had obviously become everyone's toilet after the water had been cut off -if the smell was anything to go by-, the second was obviously used for orgies or whatever people chose to do at "the end of days". If I wasn't so focused on making sure the deaths of my family weren't in vain, I'd probably prioritize having as much sex as I could before the end as well.

Fucking V-Card.

*BAM*

A door kicked out from behind me as I walk past, a ginger teen inside my age group stumbles out into the hall, covered with sweat and grime, clothes slightly unkempt, and down the front of his pants was a pistol as though the fly were his holster. It took me a couple seconds to put a name to that face, not that I really cared about the name mind you, he was just some schmuck who always crammed at the last minute before test-time and always had to try copying my answers. Not really someone I called friend, then again being a "Foster Kid", I had few of those to begin with. Even in the Archery Club, I was always just "Daniel's foster sibling", never just Virgil. Of course after the last few Foster Homes where I had to leave after only a couple years, I was hesitant to make any connections if they were just going to get severed again.

"Freeze!" he shouted as he grabbed his gun. When part of it had gotten snagged in his zipper, I was surprised the dumbass didn't blow his crotch clean out his ass. Nonetheless, when he freed his gun from the confines of his drawers, he aimed the iron sights my way. "I said freeze!" I use the term "aimed" as loosely as possible, since the end of his gun was bouncing all over the place in his shaking hands. "Don't move!" Obviously I turned around when the door got kicked out, but haven't moved after this guy started spouting bullshit. "Drop your bag and weapons and I'll let you go!" he said with a sneer, though by the quivering in his voice it was mere bravado. At that moment I realized it was he who started that vampire bullshit two years ago during freshman year, and I didn't very much care for him after that. "Bitch, I will shoot you in the fucking face if you don't give me your-"

*BANG*

Blood dribbling down his face, his gaze turned from the smoking gun now pointed his way, up to the third nostril imposed on the middle of his forehead. Knees buckling and body crumbling to the floor like a wet sock, the wannabe gang banger fell onto his back, grey-matter and blood spilling out behind his head onto the linoleum tiles. Arm falling to my side, the weight of the firearm I'd taken the day prior tugged at my shoulder as I blinked the muzzle flash from my eyes. A low din meeting my ears, I looked down, then to the side, as the ejected casing from the gun in my hand rolled across the floor before stopping when it met my shoe. And at that moment, after piecing everything together, from the flash, to the bang, to the corpse of my classmate on the floor, it dawned on me.

"I shot him."

Shooting, no, killing another person should've weighed more heavily on my mind. To take another person's life should've been gnawing at him deep down inside. Eating me up from the inside out like a flesh-eating disease.

Yet it didn't. At that moment something in my head just clicked. I raised my gun, pulled the trigger, and put a permanent end to the unending stream of bullshit leaving my peer's mouth. Moments later another two wannabe gang bangers step out into the hall, eyes turning to the corpse on the floor with gaping mouths like that of a goldfish. For their troubles, instead of a third nostril I opted to give them each a pair of lead earplugs. Then, as though a dam burst, ragged parodies of my once mild-mannered peers began to pour into the hallway, guns and crude weapons in hand as they come at me. Not unlike the flesh-eaters outside, since they were just-as-coordinated.

And that was just sad.

Five minutes into my little lead-lined crusade against my deranged former classmates, it occurs that there is probably something very wrong with me. I mean, one would think a person would hesitate to pull the trigger when its aimed at a living, breathing person, let alone a couple dozen of them, but strangely, that's not the case. I point, shoot, move onto next target, rinse, and repeat. Seriously, if all that shit in foster care isn't what turned me into a psycho-killer-in-the-making, I don't know what did.

New York Zero the Sequel might've been the straw that broke the camel's back, but the cracks in the foundation had shown long before then. I just didn't know it yet.

Manhattan
July 9, 19:56 EST

Apparently I'm not as crazy as I previously thought, because if I were, I wouldn't have spent half the evening and following morning puking my guts out after coming down from my adrenaline high. While I didn't hesitate to pull the trigger, or in some cases beat my peer's skulls against the walls until they quit flailing, it was the aftermath when things started to catch up and I could finally shake off the haze of red from in front of my eyes. Some of it is still a bit blurry, but they brandished weapons, I simply responded in kind with equal or greater force. In a court of law I could probably get off by a self-defense plea... but it doesn't change the fact that I killed more than a dozen people that day. It could be more, and I simply lost count after the shit-eating grin pulled itself across my face and my pupils dilated to take in more light.

Surprisingly enough after I'd boarded up the principal's office to catch forty winks, I wasn't haunted with nightmares of what I'd done, nor did I hallucinate about having blood-soaked hands that would never again be clean. Nature versus nurture, I've got no godly idea, but its possible I was simply born to be a killer and didn't even know it. Still, I wasn't filled with an unending desire to kill everything with a face, nor did I have any desire to eat them, so at least I was better off than the nutcases in Arkham like the Joker or Killer Croc. If anything, I was probably the same kind of crazy that The Punisher is, able to kill whenever I pleased, but able to at least control where I vent my frustrations.

Christ I need to get laid.

That reminds me for whatever reason. Since I wasn't stroking a murder boner, that probably gave some credence that I had retained some degree of sanity.

Still, just because I could kill easier than most didn't mean I was suicidal in my endeavors. By now, there were simply too many Infected for a non-SPB (Super Powered Being) to handle alone, and while by appearances Blackwatch was running sweeps of the population to keep the Infected in line, my observations say otherwise. Most of the time these Nazi assholes are sitting comfortably in their walled fortresses, killing only what walks in their general direction as if to meet some sort of daily quota. With how they're dragging their feet, I get the impression that they're dragging things out intentionally, like fighting the Infected isn't their real reason for being here and they're using the whole thing as a cover-up for something far worse. However, I lack the time, resources, or reason to dig further, my biggest concern simply to ride things out, possibly see the light of day again if the dust ever clears.

The fact that I couldn't even come close to identifying the assholes who swept my building clean if I saw them meant vengeance would have to wait. But at least I knew when/if the time came, I wouldn't hesitate.

Back onto topic, that explosion off Manhattan's south shorte at the end of The First Outbreak, the government neither confirmed nor denied anything when pressed for details, which in summary means they were caught with their dicks in their hands but didn't want to admit anything. In short the explosion was evidence they planned to nuke NYZ off the face of the map, but someone stopped it. Shot in the dark, but these guys are probably trying to weaponize this inky black shit. If it can turn people into bulletproof flesh-eating zombies all by itself, I shudder to imagine what it could do after a little "tailoring".

All that aside, it was getting more and more difficult by the day to dredge up supplies. With working power and running water near non-existent now, half the time I found anything resembling food, it had usually spoiled to the point that it would simply be worse to eat it than to not. Same as with drinking saltwater, you'd wind up wasting more water than you would've taken in, so in a number of cases I had to leave whatever I'd found. With options running low, the best bet I had was stealing whatever I could from Blackwatch convoys moving along the city.

I didn't know if I was the only actual person left in New York Zero who wasn't a flesh-eating zombie or a modern-day Nazi, but one thing's for sure... I'm not just going to roll over and die so easily. Not after I'd come so far. This countdown to the end of the life I'd led before. There wouldn't be any "back to normal" for me. Not after all this damage.

NeoNazo356: Well... I never really wrote a city descending into anarchy in the wake of a biological weapon attack before, or the armed forces' response to it, or even a person systematically killing off his would-be graduating class and finally learning how mentally-unbalanced he really is beneath all his posturing, but I like to think I did a half-decent job on this. Sorry that things have been a bit dry up to this point, but Vergil's foster family, like those that came before, was never meant to be around for the long-term. Fact of the matter is they're not trained soldiers, they're civilians abandoned by their government, so their deaths won't really be so spectacular.

Spaceman: Virgil is in a bad place and you can't blame him. This isn't the case of a guy complaining about how hard his life is, but man who has lived a hard life and is now reaching his breaking point. The stress is starting to weaken Virgil and changes are happening. In those types of life, you can either break completely or become stronger. That is the beginning of a protagonist.

NeoNazo356: For those of you familiar with my prior work, Teen Titans: One of Four Elements, you'll have already known that this is the work prior self-advertised if you took the time to read the "trailer" after the chapters detailing the events of Aftershock. While the OC here and there share the same surname, and are similar in appearance, they are not the same person, and this is not, I repeat NOT an off-shot of TT1o4E, its an entirely separate storyline; Teen Titans takes place on Earth-12, more commonly known as the DCAU, while Young Justice takes place on Earth-16.

Spaceman: Vergil is not like most Good Guys in the comics, he sees the world in shades of grey and he himself is a darker shade. He's not Superman who despite not being human is paragon of humanity. He's not like the Bat trying desperately to preserve his parents' ideals. He's the type of hero that understands the lives of the innocent are more important than the possible redemption of a criminal. He's willing to stain himself with blood of criminals to protect the innocent. He's similar to Raiden from Metal Gear, a soldier who values the lives of the innocent and willing to go to extremes to complete his mission.

NeoNazo356: While technically he's only looking out for himself at that point in time, that mindset will slowly change into something a little more "humanitarian" once he's gotten out of NYZ. What, you thought I was going to keep him there forever? On note of how he's survived in the Red Zone for that long, for those of you that've played Prototype 2 your skepticism would be understandable, but let me remind you that similar things have happened in fictional media before. In Red Dawn, a bunch of teenagers kept their heads down and used guerrilla warfare tactics to push back the Mexicans and whoever else they were fighting. In Walking Dead people from every walk of life kept themselves relatively in one piece against hordes of the flesh-eating undead. In this case, Vergil just happens to be juggling both at the same time.