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This story is about a prison about to be overrun by...you guessed it, ZOMBIES! What more needs to be said? FINISH THE STORY!
Dr. Sutter knew the powers that be wouldn't need testing on human subjects. After such a successful outcome on the chimpanzees he’d doubt there should be any further testing. The chimps had only taken about thirty-six hours before they started exhibiting noticeable physical changes. No, the weapon was perfect, it need not be second-guessed. He quickly pushed these meaningless thoughts aside. He had declined Mr. Zafarious’s frivolous attempt at requesting such an undermining of his intellect.
“The apex of scientific achievement” Sutter thought. When he had been contacted by the Bio-Clarity company to engineer such a devastating weapon, he had thought they were mad. Saying it took months of tedious convincing would be a gross understatement. Had he become mad? The list of incentives was insanely generous. It had been everything he had ever dreamed of, and more. His own private lab, access to the world’s most advanced biotechnologies and a very open-ended budget. He didn’t even think the project would be a remote possibility at first. But here he stood, he had achieved the impossible. He and his team had created a virus, a bio-weapon capable of immense destruction. Would the end justify the means?
They told him it would be worth the fatalities. “Acceptable losses” Zafarious told him, “Many will die after this undertaking Dr. Sutter, but in the end many, many more will live”. He did not understand at first, hell after all of the “motivation” he’d believe anything they told him. “I’ll do what I can”, Sutter told him.
And so he did. The X-42 virus was specifically engineered to turn whatever it infected into a brain dead monster. “Not just any monster”, Sutter pondered and threw out a devious smirk.
As it turns out, the Middle East is tired of all the recent death and destruction all of the wars have been causing and is willing to pay top dollar to anyone who can “cleanse” the situation. Bio-Clarity’s solution to such a problem was as practical as they come: Infect an entire country with a virus and then one would have a completely legitimate reason for genocide, especially if there were no cure for such a virus. Sutter walked over to his desk and noticed a crisp manila folder. He grabbed the folder and read the abstract of the project:
X-42 V.I. DR. SUTTER P.// ABSTRACT HOSTS INFECTED WITH THE X-42 VIRUS EXHIBIT THE FOLLOWING SIDE AFFECTS: F. 1 (HUNTER/PROTECTOR CLASS)
I. II. III.
Increase in muscle mass and metabolism (subjects have been known to eat uninfected as well as those who have been injured)
Cannibalistic nature appears to be choice driven as not all subjects found it necessary to consume the uninfected. (those who were uninfected were inexorably infected through struggles for dominance or coming in contact with the infected excrements)
NOTE: X-42 V.I. ONLY INFECTS HOSTS THROUGH BLOOD OR SALIVARY CONTACT.
Complete loss of hair and fingernails
Heightened sense of smell and vision
Communication skills are unknown, however some theories suggests effective commands are sent via various grunts, hisses and/or other non-verbal or even telepathic communiqué. (Further study needed)
Deterioration of Genitalia and Reproductive Organs.
NOTE: X-42 V.I. SUBJECTS MAY OR MAY NOT BE SUBJECT TO MUTATION WHICH CAN ALTER INTELLIGENCE HUNGER AND MUSCLE MASS. FUTHER STUDY NEEDED.
Sutter winced at every unknown as if it were a blow to the stomach. What could he do? There were unknowns because this was a controlled environment. There would be no way he could know everything, he was only human. He forced a smirk. “There would be plenty of time to find out the unknowns in due time”, he thought. Sutter turned the abstract page and noticed another page that read simply “FORM 2 RARE ANAMONLY”. He had been given regular updates every week on how the project was fairing. For the past couple of months however, the abstracts had rarely changed. He was surprised to see such an extensive update to the project. He sat down and read:
F. 2 (DIRECTOR CLASS) RARE AND RANDOM ANOMALY: SUBJECTS WHO EXHIBIT SIGNS OF FORM 2 POSSES THE FOLLOWING QUALITIES: (Further study needed to detect causes for anomaly)
Loss of Hair/Fingernails/Teeth
Severe bone deterioration
Yellowish tint around retinas (can be seen in absolute darkness)
Significant loss of body mass and muscle tissue
Subjects who are left unattended die within days of starvation.
When placed in same living habitats with Form 1’s, subjects live significantly longer. Form 1 subjects regurgitate food and feed the liquefied remains to Form 2’s.
Not much is known of this Form (Further Study Needed)
This anomaly must have been an error. There is no possible way that, under the specific conditions and dosage, an abnormality such as this could occur. This was not the beauty of the project, this was carelessness. Someone downstairs must have made a mistake. Such mistakes will not go unnoticed. Sutter shred the page that contained the description of the anomaly and highlighted the names of those who felt necessary to document such a belligerent attempt at second guessing the genius of his project. Sutter considered firing the individuals and making it so that they would never find work again, even if it were teaching second grade earth science. No, he would find other uses for such inquisitive minds. He would treat the anomaly as spilled milk. “After all...” he thought, “there is no use in crying over spilled milk.”
Was he mad? “No, I am not”. He quietly surmised. For all the pain and suffering in the world, he would be seen as a pioneer, a hero even. If all went according to plan, the virus would be released on a small settlement. It would spread at a rate of three hundred hosts a day. Soon cities would succumb to hordes of the seemingly undead, which would prompt a massive counter-offensive. The complete annihilation and destruction of a war torn nation would commence. Isn’t that the nature of life? Only the strong survive? Sutter closed his eyes to imagine it. Air strikes will level towns, the hunters will consume the damned…an entire country becomes quarantined. Was he mad? “No, to be mad one must see the limit of his greatness…I have no limit” he whispered as he checked his e-mail. It was from Zafarious.
Dr. Sutter, Forgive me if I am being too forward with this e-mail. I am convinced that you have failed to grasp the magnitude of our inevitable endeavor. As a result I must insist on testing the x-42 project on living, breathing human subjects. We have taken the liberty of arraigning your flight to Stepford Isle tomorrow morning. You will find your itinerary attached to this message. Once your land we will phone you with further instructions. If you are not on that plane Dr. Sutter my colleagues and I have orders to detonate explosives which have been placed under Our Lady of Hope Elementary and you laboratory. Sutter’s eyes widened and his hands started to tremble uncontrollably. “Stephanie…” he choked the name. He felt dizzy and began to sweat. He continued to read: All you love and all you have ever worked for will be no more than dust Dr. Sutter. Be on that plane. Zafarious Attached to the e-mail were photos of men in black, placing blocks of a grey substance in plastic bags under various support beams in a basement. Also attached was the flight itinerary. Sutter got up from his desk called his daughter and told her he loved her very much. He then went home and packed a suitcase. He had never known what it was to fear for his life, let alone Stephanie’s. Was he mad? No. Madmen did not fear their own demise.
Monday Morning 0827hrs Stepford Isle Correctional Facility “I don’t care if Jesus Christ Almighty tries to pull you over, 8am is the time you are scheduled to be here Rick!”
Captain Richardson seemed to be extra special pissed off today as he began to reprimand Rick. He hadn’t looked up from his desk since he’d called Rick in his office. Truth was, Rick had been on time for work, until he was pulled over for speeding. The police officer had let him go, after a ten-minute lecture about the dangers of speeding. Had Rick not been wearing his uniform he might not have gotten off the hook this time. Now, he though, he’d rather been issued the summons.
“My cousin was a C.O., didn’t like the routine so he quit and joined the military”. Officer Nelson muttered while checking Rick’s documents. “Take it easy out there and ease up off the pedal will ya’”? He said. “No problem officer, thank” Rick replied. The traffic cop stood no taller than five foot seven inches, his bike helmet made him look like some sort of insect. The cop had caught him doing 75 mph in a 50 zone. “If it’s not traffic, it’s this” Rick thought to himself. Officer Nelson took one last look at the vehicle, turned and walked away.
Rick knew better then to leave before the officer, so he sat and pondered for a minute. “Why would a Correctional Officer opt to join the military?” he whispered to himself. Was the job really that bad? Rick had only been employed with the prison for 7 weeks and in that time he hadn’t decided whether or not he loved or loathed the job. Captain Richardson was, however, tipping the scales with his lack of volume control. “Am I making myself clear to you Officer Ortiz?” barked Richardson as he finally looked up from his desk. “Crystal clear sir”, Rick said almost spitting the word crystal."
Captain Richardson was a tall man who walked with a slight limp. He was in his fifties and was all about business. He never smiled and was never caught discussing anything other than work. Many of the other officers, as well as the inmates did not care for the man. His military mentality emanated through his demeanor which prompted Rick to address him as “Sir” and nothing else. Rick had never spoken to him until this day. “So much for first impressions”, he thought. “Good then, grab your gear son. You and Officer Childs are in the Hospital today, I don’t know what the hell is wrong with those rats down there but whatever it is I do not want it spreading no more than it already has." “The Hospital, yes sir.” Rick replied. “The place is at max capacity and I need two of the institutions finest to baby sit” Richardson said with a sarcastic tone. “Of course, sir” Rick said as he grabbed his duffle bag and started out the office. “Oh, and Officer Ortiz…if you’re late to work again it’s going on coming out of your check.” He said, matter-of-factly. “Yes sir” Rick didn’t bother looking back as he left the office.