Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)
Defiant.Anjeru
Star
- Joined
- Dec 13, 2011
- Location
- Pacific Northwest
It was strange to realize that only a couple months ago, her biggest worry had been making her first big case as a full fledged agent of the F.B.I. It seemed to pale in comparison to what lay out before her on the set path of her future; there weren't many ways to go, and each way seemed to scream 'this was the end.' Despite the grimness of the immediate future, or the vast desolate years laid out before the Earth, it wasn't in her nature to go down without a fight. These creatures had another thing coming if they would target her as easy prey – their dismissal often her advantage, this was why she was one to survive long enough to be reassigned. Of all places, she and a handful of others were assigned to the 'Jobs Satisfaction & Pharmaceuticals' company, to assist them in whatever means necessary to achieve their goal of creating a cure to this plague.
If there even was a possibility of synthesizing a cure. Mia wasn't so optimistic. These creatures were mindless, driven by their basest impulse, their basest need – the need to feed. And, hey, wouldn't you have it? She, and every human on the planet, was a walking buffet on display. If you managed to survive the brutal way in which they feasted upon you, or rather your corpse keeps most of the brain intact, it was only a matter of time before you joined the ranks of the walking dead to feast upon your former comrades. If Mia died, she would make sure she wasn't coming back – and she saw that as the only other alternative to surviving, though surviving was her preference. The idea of a cure was a long shot, or blind optimism; she wasn't sure which, or perhaps a little of both.
Twenty-eight and she was facing the end of the Earth, or having a hand in saving it. That was the message the company JS&P was trying to distill within her, and the few others that were going to be dispatched with her – after a ghost. Or a walking time bomb. According to the file – what little of it there was – they were going after a single man last seen in someplace she'd never heard of called Spinners Island. Not just any man, she noted immediately as she scanned the file conscientiously; a man they thought to be infected with the plague. He had all the visible symptoms, but had complete control of his body and retained his personality – if the file was to be believed, that is.
“Don't fail,” the woman was saying, a stubby finger pushing her glasses back up her pointed nose. “It's only a matter of time before the plague will become unstoppable. Right now, we still have a chance, albeit a small one. Capture the subject, restrain him, and return him to the lab – alive, if you will.”
“If all you need is to figure out why he is still human after being infected, then why do you need him alive? Wouldn't your tests just be considered torture?” Mia asked, though she wasn't sure she believed any of what she was saying; the man was infected, as far as she was concerned he was already dead. “What if he infects the labs?”
The woman – Colette – scoffed and shook her head. “Unlikely. Now, do your job. Try to hurry back would you? You're living on borrowed time – we all are.”
She and the others, three of them, left through the secret, barricaded entrance under the building. With the world coming to an end, they were forced to seal themselves within to keep from being infected, unless dire circumstances, such as one of these, called for their departure. “We'll split up. I will head in from the west; it's quickest,” they looked as if they may argue, but she quelled their protests with a piercing glare that unnerved them. “Travel together if you want; I am headed out alone.”
She turned on her heel and strode into the weapon's room; there she gathered a few pouches to fill with clips, two Glock pistols, and a shotgun she strapped to her back. She tied up her shoulder length red hair, before her hand swiped out to grab a pair of keys that would give her access to one of the fortified trucks that facility had left for missions that required departure from the safety-promised walls. It was going to be a long drive but at least there would be plenty of walking targets along the roads – well some of them. The city was a mess, as was the rest of the country; it was only a matter of time until the rest of the world followed and she was after their last chance, last hope, for survival.
It wasn't an option to fail – this 'immune' man was coming back with her, one way or another.
The gates opened for her, leading into the dark tunnels beneath the city. She climbed into the truck, set aside her weapons save all but one pistol, and drove through the dimly lit corridor, the silence in the truck - oddly reminiscent of her old FBI assigned vehicle - almost deafening. No point in radio though, not when most of the stations were either dead or broadcasting nothing but automated emergency messages. The final doors opened after a few moments of driving, hands gripping the wheel anxiously; no matter how many times you came face to face with these monsters, one couldn't simply grow used to it. Out onto the deserted airstrip she drove, eyes picking carefully out over the area around her, looking for any signs of movement; when it was clear, she floored it, and tore down the strip, escaping out onto the back road that led west toward her target.
If there even was a possibility of synthesizing a cure. Mia wasn't so optimistic. These creatures were mindless, driven by their basest impulse, their basest need – the need to feed. And, hey, wouldn't you have it? She, and every human on the planet, was a walking buffet on display. If you managed to survive the brutal way in which they feasted upon you, or rather your corpse keeps most of the brain intact, it was only a matter of time before you joined the ranks of the walking dead to feast upon your former comrades. If Mia died, she would make sure she wasn't coming back – and she saw that as the only other alternative to surviving, though surviving was her preference. The idea of a cure was a long shot, or blind optimism; she wasn't sure which, or perhaps a little of both.
Twenty-eight and she was facing the end of the Earth, or having a hand in saving it. That was the message the company JS&P was trying to distill within her, and the few others that were going to be dispatched with her – after a ghost. Or a walking time bomb. According to the file – what little of it there was – they were going after a single man last seen in someplace she'd never heard of called Spinners Island. Not just any man, she noted immediately as she scanned the file conscientiously; a man they thought to be infected with the plague. He had all the visible symptoms, but had complete control of his body and retained his personality – if the file was to be believed, that is.
“Don't fail,” the woman was saying, a stubby finger pushing her glasses back up her pointed nose. “It's only a matter of time before the plague will become unstoppable. Right now, we still have a chance, albeit a small one. Capture the subject, restrain him, and return him to the lab – alive, if you will.”
“If all you need is to figure out why he is still human after being infected, then why do you need him alive? Wouldn't your tests just be considered torture?” Mia asked, though she wasn't sure she believed any of what she was saying; the man was infected, as far as she was concerned he was already dead. “What if he infects the labs?”
The woman – Colette – scoffed and shook her head. “Unlikely. Now, do your job. Try to hurry back would you? You're living on borrowed time – we all are.”
She and the others, three of them, left through the secret, barricaded entrance under the building. With the world coming to an end, they were forced to seal themselves within to keep from being infected, unless dire circumstances, such as one of these, called for their departure. “We'll split up. I will head in from the west; it's quickest,” they looked as if they may argue, but she quelled their protests with a piercing glare that unnerved them. “Travel together if you want; I am headed out alone.”
She turned on her heel and strode into the weapon's room; there she gathered a few pouches to fill with clips, two Glock pistols, and a shotgun she strapped to her back. She tied up her shoulder length red hair, before her hand swiped out to grab a pair of keys that would give her access to one of the fortified trucks that facility had left for missions that required departure from the safety-promised walls. It was going to be a long drive but at least there would be plenty of walking targets along the roads – well some of them. The city was a mess, as was the rest of the country; it was only a matter of time until the rest of the world followed and she was after their last chance, last hope, for survival.
It wasn't an option to fail – this 'immune' man was coming back with her, one way or another.
The gates opened for her, leading into the dark tunnels beneath the city. She climbed into the truck, set aside her weapons save all but one pistol, and drove through the dimly lit corridor, the silence in the truck - oddly reminiscent of her old FBI assigned vehicle - almost deafening. No point in radio though, not when most of the stations were either dead or broadcasting nothing but automated emergency messages. The final doors opened after a few moments of driving, hands gripping the wheel anxiously; no matter how many times you came face to face with these monsters, one couldn't simply grow used to it. Out onto the deserted airstrip she drove, eyes picking carefully out over the area around her, looking for any signs of movement; when it was clear, she floored it, and tore down the strip, escaping out onto the back road that led west toward her target.