Realistic or Modern Infected

[shapeshifting]

INFECTED

A one on one post-apocalyptic roleplay between shapeshifting and Malhyanth
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Please do not post unless otherwise announced
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Setting: NEW YORK CITY/EASTERN US to CALIFORNA/WESTERN US
Characters: Sergeant Roberta Warren & Jackson Warren



​

 

[shapeshifting]

Sergeant Roberta Warren

The humid summer air reeked of death. It was a putrid stench, unimaginable just a year ago. In this world the scent of civilization has died. The smell of barbecues, laundry, and freshly cut grass are now disappearing memories. You'd be amazed at the simple things you realize you miss after the end of the world. The stench of burning flesh and feces now seemed secured in the atmosphere. The enormous buildings that comprised New York City only made it worse and in some areas the stench was unbearable. Unfortunately, the smell wasn't the worst part about entering the city, it was the people. The dead people to be exact; if they could still be considered that.

The major cities were the first to fall. The sheer number of people had spread the infection faster than we could comprehend it. Although it spread fast, the infection took its time to destroy you. At first you only feel fatigued, weak, and disoriented. Then, it inhibits your hunger receptors causing you to crave... unusual food. You also start to feel a constant uncontrollable hunger. Then it attacks the frontal lobe, inhibiting your hormones, thoughts, moods, and motives. Then the fever hits, usually lasting 3-5 days driving you mad, rabid and feral. Eventually, your body shuts down and you die; but that is not the end of the process. The infection somehow reanimates it's host's' body and continues to grow and feed with a particular craving for raw human meat.The infection becomes a full blown parasite and takes control of the body until you are nothing more than a walking spore cloud. The doctors had no idea how to treat it, the surgeons couldn't stop it and the scientists had never seen anything like it. It didn't take long for the world to collapse and now, this world was all that Sergeant Roberta Warren knew.

Sergeant Roberta Warren wiped the sweat from her brow and looked up at the sky. It was sweltering out, at least 80 degrees Fahrenheit. With her eyes squinted she peered directly into the sun until they began to sting. She had been walking along the highway towards New York City for three days straight, with a dwindling supply of food, water and ammo. Her sanity was surely slipping by now.
"How could a God ever let this happen?"
she silently asked the sky. She was exasperated, having just escaped death 3 days ago and losing the only living humans she had contact with. Warren had been part of a small survivor group made up of fellow NCO’s, federal officers, and citizens. They were doing well at first. They were gathering supplies from small towns, trying to avoid the city. After around 6 months, all the nearby towns had been picked dry. Someone needed to go to the city and Warren was the first one to volunteer. She had been scouting the city for a while and knew the safer areas. It was only a quick run to a gas station for food, water, and fuel. She easily secured the supplies and returned to camp. However, there was no longer a camp to return to. The dead had taken over the area, and the buildings had been set ablaze. The only thought that ran through her head when she saw this was to find Aaron, her husband. She looked for Aaron everywhere and killed off every single undead. She was defeated and exhausted by the end of it, but she needed to know. He hadn't turned and he was out there somewhere... Roberta was sure of it. That day she made a promise with herself; she would not die until she found him.

Warren kept a slow pace walking down the side of the road. She was nearly to the city now probably a day out. She needed to get to the hospital. A risky bet, but better than her chances of living if the gash on her leg became infected. She had jumped a barbed wire fence trying to escape the dead, and ended up with a nasty, 3 in gash in her right leg. She patched it up well enough to stop the bleeding, but she needed antiseptics, before it got worse. Warren stopped walking and sat on the graveled ground to check her leg. She untied the bloodied white rag secured around her calf. The wound was still open, just beginning to scab over. It had a bright, red ring expanding around the wounded area. Warren knew by tomorrow it would be infected. She needed to pick up the pace to reach the city before dark. She grabbed a clean t-shirt from her pack and ripped it to bandage her leg. She examined the resources she had left: 2 gallons of water, 2 cans of baked beans, a box of cheese-its, a change of clothes, flashlight, 4 boxes of ammo for her Desert Eagle, a lighter, a wet rock and a sleeping pad. She closed the pack and continued walking down the road. This road had been cleared before by her group and there were only a few undead Warren had to kill. She carried a machete for close, quiet contact. As the sun dipped behind the clouds Roberta carried on. She walked til she was about 10 miles out of the city. She decided to make camp in the woods, since the area had been relatively quiet and she would only sleep a few hours. It was dark now, and hard to see. She decided to only eat a few cheese-its in an effort to conserve her food. She knew making a fire was too dangerous at this time and the weather was warm enough to sleep without one. She ate her food and drank a few gulps of water before setting up her cot. It was never easy to sleep like this, and Warren always slept with one eye open and her machete tightly in hand. She would have to be smart, fast and strong tomorrow if she wanted to survive and she needed her sleep to do so. Warren knew tomorrow would be hard, but she had no idea what to expect. She drifted into a half-sleep anticipating the days to come.​

 

[Malhyanth]

So this was how he was going to die... Jackson couldn't really say he was surprised; he'd signed up for this shit, and it was going to happen!! His insides burnt like someone was forcing lava through his veins. His eyes rolled as his body started to jerk and spasm; foam tinged pink as he bit into his own tongue frothed from his lips, and his skin took on a pale, sickly palor. Notes were made, infected wounds measured, monitors checked. New York City was the place to be, apparently, if you'd been bitten and survived it longer than your fellow human. Not that Jackson believed the hype any more!! In fact, he was positively sure that he did not believe the hype, and he was going to have a word with the Doctor that had told him when he'd arrived and presented with three bites, and yet no fever, or vegetative brain function, that he was a miracle to be treated with respect and kid gloves.

Yeah. Fucking. Right.

All that had happened since he'd arrived at this awful place was his head had been prodded and poked with calipers and needles. His limbs had been prodded and poked with needles. His eyes, even, prodded and poked with needles!! They barely fed him, so he looked like a frail damn skeleton, when he had arrived looking pretty damn healthy, even though he'd been bitten by those dead brains, and been travelling hand to mouth for goodness knows how long! He was given water, and the occasionally sloppy porridge stuff, but then it was tests and needles, and tests, and some exercise, and some more needles, followed by more tests. He'd been told there were others like him, but he'd not seen them; he'd heard stories. He knew his name was Jackson, but they spoke of him as being 004. There were three others, apparently, still alive in here. 002, 009, and 010. There had been 12 of them. Things had happened; 011 had lost control when a needle slipped, he'd heard, and she'd eaten the new nurse. Like full on munched the bitch. 003 had been electrocuted to death to see how far their bodies could be pushed. Apparently he'd only stopped when they put a bullet in his brain, but his screams had reverberated through the whole hospital, until the 'phut' of a silenced gun shut him up.

001, 005, and 007, they had all been dead before Jackson had arrived, or very shortly after; he guessed, whoever held him here, recycled numbers. As his body convulsed from whatever it was they were slowly forcing into his veins, he realised his brain seemed completely unaffected, and this weird little thought train carried in chugging. He'd given up trying to speak to these medical pricks a while ago. Instead, he spoke only in harsh growls, grunts, and bellows as they pinned him, stabbed him, hooked him up to tubes. Seemed he was their experimental guinea pig for seeing the affects of different treatments and compounds; he must of had an incredible resilience, as he'd heard, apparently, that 008 had had similar treatment and been 'phut'ed out of existence a while back. He'd, apparently, been a little too aggressive after one of the compounds, and broken free of his restraints.

Jackson, as he felt his body ride off the convulsions and start to return to his own body, realised these doctor types liked to speak in 'apparently's and 'theoretically's. At least, in these contemplative moments, his brain certainly repeated these words a lot. Slowly, Jackson opened his eyes to the scientist that was noting things down about his little ride through fucked-up-brain-ville. Jackson lifted his head off the upright gurney with a sneer. "The fuck you lookin' at?" He slurred, realising he couldn't really feel his tongue at the moment, but it was hot and there was a lot of liquid in his mouth that dribbled out. Looking down, he realised black blood spilled out, and he grinned, laughing almost maniacally. "Can you at least give me a gum shield to stop this happening?" He spat, a large glob of black blood shooting from him mouth near the feet of the scientist. He leapt back with a yelp, and a slow clap came from the door behind him.

"I'm pleased to see you still have your sense of humour, 004." The man that came around the side of him was an elderly man, with finely slicked back silver hair, a stupid pencil moustache, bushy eyebrows, and one could almost be forgiven for thinking he just looked like the most stereotypical supervillain of all time.

"Ahhh, my dear Doctor!! Come to tell me I am still a marvel, and I'm going to get the best treatment for whatever this stupid infection is?" Words still slightly slurred, where he had bitten his own tongue, it had swollen slightly, and he was feeling it was difficult to talk around it. The man had pale eyes, like cataracts, but not. He looked sharp, like a preying mantis. Jackson wanted nothing more than to stomp this man from existence. The Doctor simply smiled his greasy smile and turned away. They whispered by the door for a moment, beforen his consultant nodded. "Aaahh nah. Y'don't get to keep me out the loop!" Jackson strained against his restraints, but to no avail, he just continued to show the scientist his nasty side as he made fun of him; calling him fat, ugly, lazy, arrogant, anything and everything he thought might stop what was coming; another fuck off great poison needle, and time with his favourite person; himself, in my-brain-is-mangled-vile!!

 

[shapeshifting]

Roberta's eyes shot open in the darkness of the night. She remained still but listened intently to the environment around her. After a few seconds she noticed she could hear low, quiet grumbles and footsteps. They were distant at first until they started to close in. As they became louder Roberta spun her machete into the palm of her right hand and readjusted her grip. She very slowly raised herself into a standing position, and darted her eyes around looking for any movement. She heard another growl from behind her and quickly turned to face the monster, that wasnt there. Instead she heard a scream coming from her left side. She recognized the scream... it was someone she had spoken to... or something. She became determined to save whoever it was and so marched into the darkness, leaving her small camp behind. She kept hearing the screams and growls, almost as if they were leading her somewhere. She was looking everywhere but couldn't find anything but darkness. She was frantic now, and the voices were coming from all over. She started to run through the forrest towards the screams.
"I need to save them!"
She kept running but couldn't see anything, which led her to trip on a fallen tree branch. As soon as she fell an undead sunk its teeth into her left shoulder and ripped the flesh from her body, exposing her crimson tendons and muscles.

Roberta's eyes shot open in the darkness of the night. She quickly sat up and looked around as she caught her breath. The world was quiet, only a few birds and crickets singing their songs. It was still dark but dusk was just beginning to break through. "Just a dream..." Roberta mumbled to herself as she sluggishly started to get up. It wasn't the first time she had nightmares, but they seemed to become more and more vivid and it was becoming harder for Roberta to distinguish reality from illusion. Roberta rolled up her pant leg to check her wound. It was flaming red now, and the scab that was forming was beginning to turn yellow. She lightly prodded the area around it and winced to the touch. She grabbed a jug of water and sacrificed some to try and clean the wound best she could. She took a couple big gulps before closing it and packing it up in her bag. She rewrapped it in a clean cloth and unrolled her cargo pants. She threw on the last semi-clean top she had: a black tank top. Other days she would try to find a stream or river to wash her clothes but today, she needed to get to the hospital as fast as she could. She grabbed her utility belt and slid her machete into place against her right thigh. She reloaded her desert eagle and placed it in its holder. She rolled up her sleeping bag and packed up the rest of her camp into her pack. She was wasn't far from the road, just enough to keep out of seeing distance. She readjusted her pack onto her back and started heading out.

Roberta was trying to distract herself from the pain in her leg. It wasn't terrible pain, but it was spreading and becoming infected, which started to hurt. She was singing the few songs from the before times she remembered all the lyrics to. "Love is a Battlefield" by Pat Benetar was one of them. Roberta's go-to karaoke. She laughed at this fact and thought it was quite ironic seeing the "battlefield" she was living in today. Nonetheless this seemed to distract her as she trudged along the side of the desolate road. She was actually surprised that she hadn't seen anyone else in 4 days. Raiders or travelers or anything... not a single person. She couldn't help but think
"What if I'm the last one?"
Roberta didnt keep track of days or months anymore, so sometimes days seemed longer than others. This was one of them. The sun was high in the sky now, with no clouds for cover. Roberta was sweating profusely but hardly took a break. Perhaps her adrenaline was kicking in, perhaps she would die here, she thought. She was 5 miles out of the city, and she could see the towering buildings from the highway she was on. The dead were becoming more prevalent, another sign that she was nearing the city. As she was overlooking the city, planning her next move, an undead came running up on her from behind. She heard the growls and stumbles well before it came close and quickly shifted to her left, sticking out her foot as she unsheathed her machete. The undead lunged forward, missing Robertas foot and instead plummeting into the ground. Roberta quickly took advantage and slid her machete into the small of the undead's neck. This one had been dead for a while, and the machete came out easily. "How in the hell am I gonna do this" she silently thought as she planned her route into the city. ​

 

[Malhyanth]

Jackson's head was pounding. If he was honest, there was always a headache, like something was gnawing at his brain... or perhaps it was just psychological, because he knew something WAS gnawing away, trying to kill him off and take control? He slowly opened his grey-blue eyes, more blood staining to his sclera and damage to his body causing bloody tears to fall as he broke the crusted seal on his eyelids. He was laid in his cell, on the floor, the flickering light over head casting a harsh light on him intermittently. An arm, heavy with fatigue, raised, and wiped at his brow, his face, trying to get rid of any bloody stains from this round of torture. His other arm and his legs still weren't there yet within space, within his conscious. He simply laid on the floor, watching the flickering light, waiting for his body to heal what it could.

Turned out that was becoming less and less these days! He may not yet be one of the deadheads, but he was certainly starting to look like one. Bruises faded slowly, if at all, and his skin clung to his bones where he wasn't being fed properly. He knew he looked like a crack addict or something, in the time before. Hell, he wasn't even sure if crack still existed. Maybe it was one of the best ways to forget what was going on, and out there, everyone was off their tits until a deadhead found them and wiped them off the planet, stole their brain. He chuckled. He liked that the infection basically did go "braaaaaains" and focus its attack there. Made all the films and TV shows worth watching!! Who knew a real zombie apocalypse was going to happen? And Jackson certainly had never imagined he would be special enough to be a source of a cure.

Finally gathering strength for the roll, Jackson got onto his side, and mananges to swing himself to a seated positions, though his legs were akimbo, and his head swam. His nose started to bleed, like his blood pressure had sky rocketed. He felt his vision blur, and he felt nauseous for anmoment, but he managed to hold onto what little food he'd got in his stomach, and instead just sat, swaying for a moment. He hugged tighter into the inmate outfit; the grey tracksuit with the grey zip up hoodie and white t-shirt beneath being of thin material and little warmth protection made him irritable. He dragged across, slowly, the thin blanket from his bed. A groan eked from his cracked lips as he managed to stand and walk across to the bed, which though hard, he was greatful for.

Jackson knew it was unlikely he'd be found here. They were in the outskirts of the city, in what looked like an abansoned prison, though it had actually been more of a mental institute, hence the straight jackets for when they were really trying to fuck with their minds. Jackson had since developed a really powerful hatred and fear of his arms being incapacitated, and he was often sedated before they even contemplated sticking him in cuffs, or zip ties, or the jacket. And for him, it was needed often. So he did get the occasional sunny happy release from this place to float through, with only the discomfort of having his arms yanked back cruelly and needs stuck in places he didn't like.

As he looked around his cell, he noticed his dinner; a tasteless protein drink, and a tasteless protein bar; the bare necessities to heal and keep him going. He stuffed these in as fast as his slugging arms could enable, and he sat, twiddling his thumbs from there. Getting up, he walked to the window, covered by a thick wooden screen, but a corner had been prised back. Out there, somewhere, someone was looking for them. Someone had to be. People HAD to know there was some secret facility where they were synthesising a cure through torture and agonising death! Someone had to be looking for him! Jackson gripped the cage bars and yanked, trying to free himself.

 

[shapeshifting]

While resting on a grassy hillside overlooking the city, Roberta grabbed the water jug from her pack and took a drink. She had used much of her energy ridding the small clearing in the woods of undeads. They were definitely becoming more prevalent and aggressive as she neared the city, steadily draining her of energy. Her vision was beginning to blur from fatigue and her leg was throbbing with pain. This was the end of the alternate route Highway 66, the last stretch of road being 5 miles of bridges til the city. Entering the heart of the city was not the best of ideas for people in her situation. But Roberta was ignorant to her chances. Chances were now the least of her problems. Suddenly, a deep growl came from Roberta's stomach. She placed a hand across it as if to coax it into not being so hungry. She decided to grab a can of black beans and opened it by swiping her machete near the top of the can. A few beans fell but she was quick to catch most of them in her mouth. She ate quickly by tipping the the can allowing a bunch of beans to fall at once. She ate the entire can, even the bean flavored water that stored them.

"Okay... Quick and quiet... you got this. I mean shit... you dont really have an option not to right? Damn.. this leg really hurts. Ok I can't think about that. I can't think about anything. Ok yes you can girl, you got this... quick and quiet, side streets only, the lower bridge connects to ... what was it?"

Roberta's thoughts were becoming frantic and delusional but she always seemed to pull it together when faced with death. Perhaps due to her military training, perhaps from adrenaline or maybe just dumb luck. Whatever the reason, she was able to think through situations presented to her and have multiple answers for them, while still being quick on her toes. The sun was now dipping behind the horizon, setting the sky ablaze with fiery reds, oranges and pinks. Roberta decided to wait until twilight to embark on this suicide mission. Although the undead have adapted to be fast, agile and quick learners, they have some of the same weaknesses as humans; one of them being reduced eyesight in the dark. Of course, they could still somewhat see you, smell you and hear you...

Roberta was at the beginning of the bridge and at the edge of the city. This was the last stretch until full blown chaos. The bridge was littered with crashed cars but other than that the area was quiet. Roberta could only see 3 roamers amongst the cars at the end of the bridge. She could barely see the hospital building from here but she saw it, tucked behind two other buildings. Roberta stepped out of her cover staying low to the ground and quickly slipped behind a ruined car. Knowing she had a good amount of clearance, she continued slipping through the cars until she was 5 or 6 cars away from the group of roamers. There were 3 of them. A women and two men. They were grisly looking, with blood stained mouths and clouded, lifeless eyes. They had purple veins covering their bodies and moved in jagged, rigid, aimless motions. Roberta crept as slowly and carefully as she could until there was only one car separating her and the nearest roamer. She peeked above the car door through the window and saw a narrow clear path leading to an alley along water. It was still too dangerous, they were roaming too close, in fact the one nearest to her seemed to have heard her movement. Roberta thought for a moment and looked around at the ground. She found a hubcap and promptly threw it across the bridge hitting a metal post. The roamers quickly reacted to the sound and faced the direction it came from. She quietly and carefully moved past while keeping her eyes fixed on them. Just as a roamer snapped his head back Roberta jumped underneath the bridge, clutching to the ledge. Her muscles were burning but she used all her might to swing herself onto the edge of the cobblestoned ledge. She quickly darted her head around and saw a couple more roamers down to her left side. She moved to hide along the back wall of a building and noticed an opening. When she reached the opening she peeked down the next street. She caught her breath at the sight of no roamers and cautiously moved forward. The opening led to a more open intersection of two streets. She was still in the alley ways but she could see the main street in. It was covered with the undead. At least a hundred of them were walking, snarling and bumping into each other. Roberta held her mouth to silence her quick gasp and tried to regain her composure. After she had calmed a little she quickly glanced again. She could make out the decrepit EMERGENCY ROOM sign of the hospital across the street. It looked to have been bombed, with a huge opening in the concrete wall adjacent to the front entrance. She was searching her mind with ideas on how to get across the street. There were too many of them to distract them with noise, and slipping by wasn't an option. She would have backtrack and pass under the bridge, she thought. She returned to the bridge and looked underneath for any type of ledge. It was the narrowest path, consisting only of one line of bricks, enough for one foot. Roberta pulled back her loose hairs into her ponytail and slid down onto the first step. When she had her balance she placed the next foot down. She continued carefully and was thankful the water was calm and didn't splash up. She made it across the bridge and jumped to her safety. When she looked up she was face to face with a pair of bloody, rotten teeth snapping in front of her. It was an undead... well at least half of one. Roberta promptly grabbed its shoulders and used the momentum to toss it off the side of the ledge into the water. She stumbled slightly but hung onto the ledge to regain her balance. She looked above and saw that the roamers in the street were distracted by some animal running by. She quickly jumped to her feet and dipped in between two buildings.
It was very dark now, and Roberta was losing energy. When she reached the buildings she saw a clear path to the hospitals main entrance through an adjacent side street. There were two revolving doors, one by the main street and one by the sidestreet. She was only a few hundred feet away. She carefully moved until she was hidden behind a row of parked cars. She moved from car to car until she was 20 feet away from the side street entrance. There was one undead between her and the hospital. She figured it was dark enough for her to slip past and so she readied herself to run for it. She crouched low and gained control of her breath. Then she charged, sprinting across the stretch at full speed. She was reaching the entrance and reached out to open to doors. She hadn't dared looked back but when she did she saw the roamer had followed her. A few other roamers had begun to notice a noise and directed their attention to her location. The roamer then lunged forward lodging his arm between the door. Roberta shoved the door back open and when it advanced she slammed the door closed, effectively smashing the roamers head between it. It left a large indent and its body dropped lifelessly. Roberta kicked it back and shut the door once more. She then turned and frantically looked for the lock to stop the revolving door. A few more undead had noticed and were dragging themselves towards her. She finally skimmed the top of the door, found the lock and slid it closed, then rushed to the next entrance to do the same. There were 3 or 4 roamers still pounding at the doors.
After the roamers lost interest Roberta turned to look around at the lobby. There were tons of dead bodies, but none on them seemed re-animated. They looked as if the bomb had taken care of them. To her right was the emergency room with the blown wall and in front of her were stairs leading upward. She figured upward would be the best bet to find antiseptic. However before continuing she needed to take a rest and try to regain some energy while staying hidden. Although it wasn't the Hamptons, the small office behind the reception desk would have to be home for the night. Roberta set up an area for her to sleep, shut the door and barricaded it with furniture. She then sat on her sleeping bag and closed her eyes with her machete angled across her chest and repeatdly whispered:
"Please let me live through this night"
...
​

 

[Malhyanth]

Having exhausted himself trying to pry the wooden boards and slats off the window that looked up onto the street and failing, Jackson had flopped himself back into the mattress and blanket rags set in the corner of the room for him to sleep on. Very quickly, his eyes slid closed, and he fell into a rejuvenating sleep. Dreams were fleeting and obscure, and as flickering lights drew him back into reality, he realised the lights in his bedroom cell were on again, and he was hearing the bolts to his door being clanked and slid back. He remained motionless, closing his eyes. He didn't want to go back to tests. He can't have been asleep more than 3 hours. He felt tired, exhausted even, and wanted nothing more than to stay in darkness for just a little longer. As the bolts slid back, the creak of the old hospital door echoed through the room and corridor, and a silhouette filled the doorway. Jackson could just make it out as male through his eye lashes, but the voice clarified it.

"Oh 004. Are you playing pretend still?" The voice was callous, though an element of mirth tinged it. Jackson sighed, and sat up. He looked at the silhouette, with its slicked back hair, and pencil moustache, tall, thin, but strong looking. Jackson smirked, and crossed his arms, pulling the thin hoodie he wore slightly closer.

"What now?" Jackson grumbled. He looked up at the silhouette, watching it step back, two larger orderlies taking its place. The arms stretched back, and he sat more relaxed as they entered and filled the exit to the room. "Ah. I see. You're planning to have another go, huh?" His head lolled forward, and he smirked, bloodshot eyes glaring. He raised a hand, and held it out, and flicked the fingers back towards himself. Bring it. The Doctor disappeared as the two large orderlies he'd managed to secure rushed the man on the mattress, listening to the scuffles as he stepped away, the dull thuds as wooden batons were belt into his torso, legs, arms, but avoided the head; only hitting areas to incapacitate. No screams, barely a grunt. 004 was tough.

Dragged out with his arms and legs deadened by the beating, spitting blood towards the men carrying him out and making them jump back, Jackson simply laughed, a maniacal laugh that echoed throughout the corridors. Slowly, power was returning to his limbs, and the orderlies tightened their grips on his arms. Jackson started to resist as they neared The Room. He didn't know which version of The Room now beckoned him, a female nurse type figure pulling the door open. Jackson snarled, and pushed his sock covered feet against the vinyl of the floor, but very little was stopping the approach. As he was thrown through the door, he was pressed against the upright gurney, strapped in, and his hoodie sleeves rolled up. The bite on his wrist was still inflamed, reddish-purple, with vivid veins. The zip was pulled down, and the bite wound to his side was similar, the one to the trapezoid, the join of muscle between neck and shoulder, was the deepest, and most vivid.

Jackson was still laughing as they checked his wounds, the woman watching him with concern. She whispered to the orderly to her right, whom just chuckled and slapped his tight stomach, where muscle and bone pushed through the skin, veins stood on end like thick cords beneath his skin. The orderlies stood back, as the nurse prepared, putting thick gloves on, testing the leather straps on his arms, before bringing out a thick needle, filled with a clear substance. Jackson stopped chuckling, and narrowed his eyes at the needle. "What's that?" He growled. He strained against his straps. The needle got closer, and Jackson pressed back, trying to avoid it. He snarled, baring his teeth, eyes going wild, their bright blue colour darkening as the blood vessels pounded, flooding the sclera further as he watched the woman. "Don't do it." He growled, pushing against the strap, shaking his head as the needle got closer. It scraped his skin, punctured into his neck, wracking a snarl from his mouth as whatever was in the syringe went into his blood stream.

This time he did scream. This time he convulsed, and arched, and frothed. He turned a strange shade of purple around his lips, eyes, nose, into his extremities, his fingers flexing and curling. The nurse backed up, leaving the needle in his neck, where the muscles clamped and didn't allow her to remove it before the convulsions began. Even the orderlies, moments before all bravado, where less confident, backing up. As the convulsions eased, his eyes snapped up at them, as he struggled to breathe through the foam around his mouth. He gasped through his mouth, and the three remained back, unsure how to approach the crazed beast in the gurney. The nurse stepped forward, cautious. Her hand reached out carefully, to remove the needle from his neck. The eyes watched, as she clasped it carefully. She pulled, the needle freeing, just as Jackson forced himself forward with a snarl. She dropped the needle, and it sliced up her palm, warm blood pooling.

Jackson breathed heavily, as the nurse gasped and rushed to the sink. "Geeeet out!!!" He crowed, getting louder as he yelled. The nurse and orderlies ignored him, scrubbing at her torn palm, the needle forgotten. They hadn't noticed the spray of blood upon his hoodie where the needle had flicked it. The smell was driving him wild. He launched against his restraints, frothing more, with the snarling that was coming from him. The orderlies were griping at her, checking for fever incase his bodily fluids had injected. She let the blood pour under the running water, scratching at it. Ignoring Jackson was the worst choice; he continued to strain, the smell of blood flooding his senses, making him see red. As he jolted against the gurney, a tearing started. With each lurch, his jaws working, eyes fixated, the strap tore further.

As they turned, satisfied she wasn't infected, it was too late for them. Jackson leapt on the first orderly, wrapping his muscular, wiry thighs around the arms and shoulders of the large man, hands claws as he gripped the man's head and his teeth sank into the man's cheek, blood spurting and flooding his mouth. He groaned with relief at the taste of it, and leapt clear as the man tumbled. The straps were still locked around his wrists, and he whipped around quickly as the other orderly went to grab him, his foot connecting with the man's skull, knocking him aside, as Jackson then dived on him also, straddling his chest, fists pummelling the already pudgy face into nothing. Blood covered him, as he pounded. The nurse was scrabbling for the door as Jackson rose. Her hands were shaking so badly, she couldn't unlock it. He stalked her, and gripped her shoulders as his teeth sank into her neck, her screech reverberating. He savoured the taste, shaking, as he dropped her twitching body. The two bitten creatures started to rouse as they twitched, their faces losing focus.

Jackson opened the door, slamming the bolt home on the outside as the first creature stood, and fell upon the pummelled down orderly, tearing into the fresh meat that was still gurgling. Jackson leant against the door, watching them through the window. He scrabbled at the hoodie, torn now, and saturated. He needed to get away from the scent. Their blood was driving a force in his head he couldn't control. He roared as he tore the garment off, the straps not allowing him to remove it fully. He started to slink his way through the corridors, quiet. His socked feet left bloody foot prints as he moved, tacky on the vinyl flooring. He needed to get out, into the fresh air, away from the blood!

 

[shapeshifting]

In a cramped hospital reception office, Sergeant Roberta Warren slept sitting up. Her head rested on her shoulder and her mouth was wide open, drooling slightly. The machete she slept with was still in hand but now carelessly laid on her arm. She had inadvertently drifted into sleep the night before and in this moment looked peaceful. This was the first good rest she had in weeks, not to mention the first full night she actually slept through. She would've slept even longer if her thirst hadn't woke her. Roberta awoke with a sharp inhale, blinked a few times and then grabbed for her machete. Once she realized there was no immediate threat she lowered the weapon and looked around. The room was small with one desk, a few filing cabinets, and a chair. There were no windows. The only light came from the slit at the bottom of the door. It was another scorching summer day and the small room was becoming hot and humid. Roberta grabbed the now half full jug of water from her pack. She eagerly gulped down the liquid, quenching her thirst. Roberta gathered her gear and repacked it, loaded her gun and made sure her machete was cleaned and sharpened before leaving the room. Upon opening the door, Roberta's eyes had to adjust to the sudden burst of sunlight. When she looked out the lobby windows she saw that it was now midday.

"Did I really sleep that long?"

After checking the large lobby room for anything alive or dead or... undead she sat on one of the waiting chairs near the stairs. She then rolled up her pant leg, removed the soiled bandage and examined the wound. It was still bright red but now a scab had formed. It had a very distinct bright yellow ring around the area. It was not yet infected, but a day without antiseptic would mean death for Roberta. She decided to re-wrap it in the same soiled bandage, seeing as she had no alternative. She needed to start searching the hospital immediately. Roberta drew her machete from its sheath and approached the steps. She started to make her way up, stair by stair.
...
There were 20 steps each between the flights of stairs and the first floor led to the Emergency rooms. When Roberta rounded the corner she was astounded by what she saw. She was used to the marvelous sights and smells of the apocalypse by now, but this topped them all. The floor looked like a warzone. There were blown out ceiling bits, hanging wires, scattered papers, broken machines, blood, and of course, the dead. There were so many of them, strewn everywhere. It was almost as though they made up the floor itself. Most of the dead were dressed in scrubs, however there were several dressed in military uniforms. They all looked as though they had been dead a while, and none of them were infected. This was curious to Roberta.
"Oh god... oh my god..." she said upon entering the E.R
"Army personnel... That doesn't make any sense... no one was stationed here... and none of them are turned?"
"Why?" she wondered.
...
After hours of searching the hospital Roberta had found a surgical needle, thread, 2 rolls of gauze, a bottle of peroxide, medical tape, a few bullets, a grenade and a package of saltine crackers. Satisfied with this, she found a semi-clean operating room on the eighth floor. She sat atop the operating table and unwrapped the bandage on her leg. She set up her needle and thread and then with a shaky hand opened the bottle of peroxide and poured it directly on the gash. When it hit there was an instant sting and Roberta winced at the pain. She continued to pour until the liquid bubbled up around the wound. She then knew it was working and waited for the peroxide set in. It hurt like hell, but you wouldn't have been able to tell from Roberta reaction. After a few minutes she took the needle in her shaky hand. She was scared, but she wouldn't show it... not even to herself. She just had to do it. On this thought her hand steadied and she pierced the needle through the festering skin.
"Fuck!"
she exclaimed as she pulled the curved needle through, and through again and again until the the gash had been sealed shut by the thread. It was a shitty stitching job but it would hold, with any luck it would heal. She bandaged the wound in fresh gauze and taped it shut. She laid back on the operating table, resting for a moment. She placed her hands behind her head and her eyelids began to flutter shut. She began to drift off into sleep, but was interrupted by a noise... a mechanical noise.
...
Roberta quickly arose at the sound of something being printed off. It was unmistakable in the silence of the building. She quickly rushed out of the room and followed the noise. It led her to an office in a long corridor with no other rooms. She walked down the hall cautiously, with her machete poised. The door had been sealed shut with multiple padlocks, but was now pried open. She opened the door with her foot, keeping her machete in front of her. The door swung open and behind it was a huge office, overlooking the city. There was a finely made desk and chair with a computer and printer. The room itself was decrepit but the computer and printer seemed completely new. Roberta was beyond confused at this sight.
"A printer? How in the hell is there a working.. printing printer here?! I must be imagining this shit... Am I fucking dreaming?"
She approached the printer and found one piece of paper.
"Status of subjects" it read:​

001 - Status: Deceased. Cause of death: Heart failure due to virus X09.
002- Status: Unknown Incapacitated since injected with experimental vaccine A109. Tissue and muscle deteriorating. Motor functions failing Unknown if dead or alive.
003- Status: Deceased. cause of death: Organ failure from electrical testing.
004- Status: Alive. Vitals normal, motor functions in tact, responding well to experimental vaccine A101. Seems to be immune from virus X09. Further tests to be made.
​

The list went on. Roberta was horrified at the reports and nearly dropped the paper. What the fuck were they doing to these people? Had they been looking for a vaccine before the virus even spread? This made no sense. She looked again at the paper. It was dated recently. It had been printed recently. This was recent and it was here. Why? She read the rest of the horrible reports. 004 seemed like the only human who had survived the torture. She frantically looked around the room for anything else. She only found a torn piece of paper that looked very old.
"Operation Bite Mark"
Doctor, your __________ compromised. You are no longer authorized to ________. Military personnel have been sent to retrieve ______. They will identify as Operation Bite Mark. Please __________ CDC lab in California. This is the last base of operations for the United States ____________. This will be your last order. The President of the United States has died.
God save us all.
"This isn't possible... this isn't real."
Roberta sat on the floor for a good while, shaking her head, trying to decide what to do.
"What does this mean...."
Roberta questioned herself, but she already knew the answer. This was her last mission. She knew it, in her heart. She was meant to find this and serve whatever was left of her country. If the last of humanity was in California, she would find them. If there really was someone who had survived a bite, she would find them and lead them to the CDC. At this moment she felt a great responsibility fall onto her. The responsibility to find the cure.
...
Roberta arose from the floor with a newfound strength. She was determined to tear this hospital apart looking for any sign of life. After searching the top floors, she returned to the lobby and sat on a chair for a moment, looking around. She felt somewhat defeated but wasn't about to give up so soon. She needed answers. She left the lobby room and went to the E.R waiting room. She noticed a stairwell leading downstairs. It was dark and ominous, but Roberta didn't care. Down the stairs would be answers to her newfound questions, she somehow felt it. The stairs led to two large doors which were chained shut from the other side. As much as Roberta tried, there was no getting through. She needed to find a different way. She returned to the E.R waiting room and walked to the elevator. The door was broken, and the elevator shaft was exposed, with huge cables leading down to the car at the bottom. Roberta looked down the long elevator shaft.
"My odds have been worse"
Roberta carefully reached out her arm to grab hold of a cable. She pulled hard on it, to make sure it would hold her weight. Then she wrapped her leg around the cable, followed by her other limbs. She carefully began to slide down the cable, using great strength and refusing to look down even once. By the time she had reached the car she was sweating profusely. She stopped to catch her breath, cocked her gun back, putting one in the chamber. She looked for an opening in the top of the car. She found the emergency exit door and opened it. The light that came when she opened it blinded her for a second. The floor of the elevator was pristine, clean, and bright white. They had working lights; something Roberta hadn't seen in over a year. The place seemed as though nothing had happened to the hospital. A sterile smell filled Roberta's nose.
"What the fuck did I get myself into" she thought to herself.
She silently dropped onto the floor of the elevator and admired how clean the elevator was. It seemed impossible to her. The lights on the elevator were on and working. Roberta drew her gun and pointed it at the elevator doors. She then pressed the "open door" button on the panel. The doors slid open, exposing a long corridor leading to security door. Roberta quickly and quietly moved to the only door and peeked through the glass window. On the other side was a hall with multiple rooms. Each had a number above it. At the end of the hall was an operating room with frosted glass doors.
"001.... 002... 003... 004.... the subject numbers... this is the facility... "
Roberta kept her back along the wall and regained her composure and breath. There was no going back now. Just as she was about to open the door she looked again through the window. She couldn't see exactly what was happening behind the frosted glass, but she saw a struggle between three or four people. She saw a figure jump onto another figure and attack, spewing blood against the glass. Someone was trying to escape, they were pounding on the door but it didn't matter. The figure tore the person from the door and their blood stained the glass. Roberta waited and watched from behind the door. Then, a man emerged from the room. He looked human enough... but he had blood and bits of flesh scattered on his face. His clothes weren't those of a doctor or nurse.. and the hoodie that he wore had a small number on the front... 004. A test subject... Roberta recognized from the report. Roberta gasped at the sight and turned away from the window, contemplating her next move. If she was really about to embark on this mission she needed to act fast. She knew this could go really badly but she didn't care. She believed it was better to die believing in something than nothing at all. If there really was a cure, it was in that mans blood. Roberta had a feeling people would soon be coming to investigate. She needed to make her move. When the man came just close enough she tried busting through the security door, only to find out it was locked shut and required a key card to pass. Her body made a loud 'thump' against the door.
"Shit that hurt" she cursed under her breath.​

​

​

 

[Malhyanth]

The red fog was pulsing through Jackson's head, and he was struggling to fight it off. He fell to his knees in the centre of the corridor he'd escaped into, blood pooling around him as it dripped and drained from his clothing. The hoodie that was trapped on his arms kept sending up wafts of the scent that was driving him wild. His jaws chattered together, his mouth pulled into a strained grimace as the teeth clacked hollowly, his eyes rolling and the cords of muscle and sinew in his neck strains as he fought the urge to turn around and return to the dead body in the end room, and devour it with the others, lose himself to the virus. He focused, huffing harshly through his throat, forcing his mouth wide so his teeth would stop clacking over and over. He yanked and tugged at the restraints on his wrists, trapping the bloodied and congealing mess of a hoodie against his bare torso. He managed to work one sleeve free and tore at it frantically, ripping from hem to neck, and freeing an arm. The other, he worked and worked, and slowly, it too, came free, torn wide, so the whole hoodie could be slid over the restraint. He couldn't remove these, however, because the straps had been padlocked.

Free of the article of clothing that had Bee the most saturated in the blood of the humans, Jackson slid down to his knees again, taking deep breaths, the fog fading, but lurking beneath the surface, ready to be lost in again, if something were to disrupt his calm. The thud to the door at the end was just such a thing. The noise reverberated through the complex, and a harsh, throaty wail came from the end room as the two infected stood at the frosted glass, and scrambled at it, leaving streaks and smears of red. Jackson's wiry body sprang up into the socked feet in one swift motion, and he scuttled forward to the window his blotched eyes wild and frantic for a moment. He turned looking himself over, realising he still wasn't free of this driving force of claret, and he needed to remove it, to regain his body functions from the virus or whatever it was attacking his brain, trying to take control. He tried the doors to the rooms around him, and managed to open his own, stripping himself, and searching for alternative clothing. The socks he couldn't replace, but there was a pale blue t-shirt with a v-neck, and some paper thin replacement trousers, the material flimsy and frail. He went to grab these items, but could see himself covered in flesh, and blood, and claret, and turned, expression frantic as he tried to see some way of cleaning himself. He remembered his stores of water bottles, one given every day with his one meal. He scrambled for these beneath his mattress, a small groove in the wall just wide enough to hide them. He grabbed two of them, and carefully used their contents to wet his bed sheet, and wiped himself down, paying special attention to his face, chest, and arms. Then more haphazard attention to his legs and feet, so only significantly watered down blood may stick to his fresh clothing. He dried himself off with a pillow, and threw this away from himself. He gathered the new clothes and stuffed his thin, bony body into them. Slowly, his mind was freeing itself from the red mist, and giving him back his own self. He sighed, and nodded; he'd need to avoid human meat and blood, if he was to survive.

Grabbing the other pillow, and pulling off its case, he stuffed the remaining bottles of water into it; six in total, 500ml each, a good haul, and potentially good bargaining tools. He carefully avoided the bloodied footprints he'd left precarious, his bony, bare feet padding carefully as he entered the hallway again. He stood a moment, looking to the door at the end, and tried to work out what had occurred behind it. He stepped up, and peered through the glass, seeing the smear he'd left on it before and not getting too close. He could still feel something sinewy between his teeth that was fraying his resolve every time he thought of it. He carefully knocked. "Hey..." He called, trying the handle, looking around and only finding a key pad. He growled at it, and gave it a harsh thump, which only served to bruise his own hand. "Hey, I heard you. You gotta get me out of here." He stood and punched in combinations of numbers he thought might work, but all he got back were three red lights blinking and an obnoxious blart from its siren. He cursed at it, peering through the door again. "Come on, you gotta come let me out! I can't stay here. They're killing me!" He pressed his forehead against the cold glass for a moment, before looking at the system again. It needed a card. He looked amback over his shoulder to the other room, where the two creatures had disappeared from the splattered door he groaned dejectedly. Did he seriously? He'd just got clean!!!

"Don't... don't leave without me..." He muttered into the door, not sure if whoever was on the other side had already gone. "My name is Jackson..." He wasn't sure why he said it, but he put the pillowcase of water bottles down, and rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck as he stepped towards the door at the end slowly, carefully. He skirted the pools of blood, and tried to hold his breath; the closer he got to that room, and what he'd done, he could feel that feeling rising, the feeling of losing his body. He twitched a couple of time, involuntary, as he tried to fight it. His jaws worked again, clattering his teeth together in a sawing motion. He grabbed his jaw and forced it up, keeping it shut, till he could get control of himself again. He stood at the smeared door, and slowly, his hand reached out, to touch the cold metal twist lock. The other gripped the handle. The click was audible, and inside, the sounds stopped for a moment. Jackson closed his eyes, and shuddered. He had to open this door, had to find which of THEM had the way out...

 

[shapeshifting]

"Shit."

Roberta muttered as she slid down onto the cold, tile floor and clicked the magazine release of her gun. She had 16 rounds stacked in the mag, a fully loaded Desert Eagle.

"16 bullets for that.....thing's head if he tries pulling anything" she thought to herself.

This thought slightly reassured and grounded her, knowing that she could land every shot if she wanted to. However, she couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't real. She thought she might be dreaming or hallucinating. It seemed impossible that working machinery, electricity and this whole facility still existed. Do they have doctors? Had they found a cure? What had that man done to those people? Were they doctors? Were they trying to help? Was he even alive? These thoughts raced through her head as she tried to process everything. Suddenly, her heart skipped a beat as 3 knocks banged against the heavy security door. A wave of panic rushed through her body, her eyes widened and her heart raced. There was a person on the other side... alive and at least able to knock. She slowly raised, trying to stay as close to the wall as possible and out of sight. She paused there, still unsure if the man behind the door was completely human.

"Hey.. " the mans voice said from behind the door.

"Was that real?" Roberta asked herself and waited, pressing her ear to the wall, listening closely for reassurance. She heard a low growl and a loud 'BANG' against the keypad mechanism which caused her to jump.

"Hey.. I heard you... you gotta get me outta here."
Shit. He was real! All of this is real! His voice.. his deep, male voice was unmistakable to Roberta and a welcomed relief to her own delusions. He was 004.. the man who had the cure.. but apparently not the pass code to the locked security door as the keypad's blinking red lights indicated. A siren began to blare from the incorrect attempts and Roberta knew they both had to get the hell out of here if they wanted to live. From the reports she read, they didn't take too kindly to disobedience. The mans face came closer to the door window, allowing Roberta to see him. He looked mostly normal, a bit fatigued, cleaned of blood and most importantly, human. Another relief to Roberta.

"Come on, you gotta come let me out! I can't stay here. They're killing me!"
When he said this Roberta felt for the man. She knew he was probably telling the truth... he would die here if he didn't get out. She felt obligated to save him from this torture, maybe because she thought he had the cure, maybe from her military training or maybe just to absolve her own loneliness. Whatever the case may be, the only thing that Roberta could think about was their escape route.

"I'm here... I'm here!"
Roberta called back as she moved in front window. She was still taking her precautions and kept her gun pointed in front of her.

"Don't... don't leave without me..." the man said "My name is Jackson."

"Jackson." she repeated.

"I don't know what you did to those people in there... right now I don't care but if there is a key card in that room you need to get it! NOW! Hurry!" She yelled through the door.
​