Specimen A sat once again, the head of security sat before him. Well, the head of the head of security, the Beast did not take him. The Beast will not take anybody. He was the true Beasthunter. Specimen A coughed. “Only one with the Beast within can recognize another with the Beast.” As the decapitated head started rolling, Specimen A’s stomach did the same, he knew that he hadn’t eaten in days. As the blood hit Specimen A’s lips, he was instantly aware that the Head of security did not have a trace of the Beast. Well that’s a shame. He thought calmly. He had to leave the facility, the corpses were rotting and the food was no longer plentiful. Two years was a long time for such a problem, two years. How had the Beast gotten so many people? Millions dead, millions, countries falling. Specimen A was almost impressed, the amount of life that had been extinguished, it was insane. But NO LONGER, now, NOW, the HUNTER IS HERE. He thought viciously. As long as he lived, as long as the Beast lived, he would not rest.
Who… who am I? Why am I here? Who… Who am I? WHO? W… wait… no… The Man, or rather, the Expendable pondered. He knew he was here, he didn’t know where of course. There was a nametag on his skin, C… Carl, he pronounced to himself. Interesting, the situation was quite… quite interesting. There was something else, he was wearing a uniform, words on the front, a gown… Tr… Trauma Surgeon. As he read the words a flood of memories hit him like a truck. He was in a Hospital, he was a surgeon, he was fighting The Beast. He was fighting it with his close friends and family, it did not take him, did it? He checked his temperature, 99.2. There was no way he had it. He remembered the past two years. Frightening, the way all of his family, all of the other surgeons, all of the people around him started dying. Maybe that’s why he was within this cell, within this… He looked around, the air around him smelling clean, sterile. The smell of rubbing alcohol and antiseptic were normal, too normal, it was as if… it was as if it was everywhere. The only place that smelled like this was… the psych ward. Why was he in the psych ward?
Carl remembered more than he wanted to, the people coming in coughing their lungs out, their dead bodies being torched out back. The horrible smell, the smell of death, it was enough to make someone go crazy. The people that died, he couldn’t remember a single face, the bodies burning, oh, what a smell, he stopped himself. What were they called? The Fallen ones? The lost… no… The Tortured Ones, HA, he almost laughed aloud. They were the Tortured ones, that generation of people dead, of people lost, of depopulation. Nature, nature was the only true winner. Nature removed the scourge and gained back its land. What were we, the Heroes? The ones in constant contact with the Beast, we were, we were the Expendables. The front lines, the ones who fought the virus daily, they started calling us Heroes, calling us essential. we WERE NOT! NO! WE WERE NOT HEROES! HEROES WIN, HEROES SURVIVE! HEROES GET THE GIRL AT THE END AND THEY ALL LIVE HAPPILY EVER… After Carl had tired himself out, he sat down again, the door wouldn’t budge.
He wasn’t hungry, he didn’t really feel anything. Cold, he felt cold. He knew he had a fever, it was coming for him. He had to get out, the smell of antiseptic hit him again, Ughhh, it would take years before he could forget that worthless smell. The smell of death, of clinical subservience, he had taken an oath.
He laughed aloud this time. The sound echoing through the room, AN OATH! THAT OATH PROTECTED NO ONE FROM THE BEAST! HEROES, THEY WERE NOT HEROES! THEY WERE EXPENDABLE. The next, morbid generation was right, we were nothing, not heroes, not essential, we were… we were the Expendables. I’m not expendable anymore, thought Carl viciously, he was alive, his coworkers were not. I have escaped the Beast, I am no longer expendable, and as such, no longer bound by my oath. Carl fought the door with renewed strength. He had to escape, he had to find home, he had to kill the Beast before it took more of his family, more of the worthless, spineless, tortured, beaten, confused human race. He had to win, he would win. As the door broke it’s hinge and the musty smell of the abandoned hospital hit his nose, the cold air got colder. He heard nothing, the BANG of the door was deafening and the white walls blinding. This color, this depressing, pure color. It filled him with rage, he kicked at the walls in front of him, putting feet sized holes in the drywall, he would WIN, he would WIN. Now, if only I could get this straitjacket off. He thought wickedly…
Part 3 coming soon!