Chapter Text
Present Day - October 9, 2026
The scent of antiseptic invaded your nose when you slipped through the side entrance of the sanatorium. Though temperate air moved through the vents, you still felt a chill run down your spine. The hairs on the back of your neck raised. You weren’t sure whether it was because of fear or anticipation.
Pressing yourself against the wall of the corridor, you listened. There were footsteps coming from somewhere above you with a heavy gait and measured cadence. You counted the seconds between each step, hoping the information might come in handy if you were ever caught. The person walked unhurriedly, taking each step with an assurance you’d rarely see in most people.
The movement you were hearing was of him. You were certain of it. The cloaked figure you’d been tracking had come into this building.
You’d watched across the street when it happened, standing in the shadow of a soaked dumpster. The woman you’d spent the better part of your day trailing was draped across a mysterious figure’s shoulder like she weighed nothing. The cloaked man was a giant, towering over every passerby.
You noticed how his free hand, hidden in his pocket, had moved awkwardly as he walked. A few seconds later, people were screaming on the street and eating each other’s limbs off. This was exactly the kind of crisis you were paid to stop, but this time you couldn’t. The infected civilians were already lost; you couldn’t do anything about that.
But you could follow the figure, and still save the girl. It wasn’t like anyone could stop you.
Though the dilemma of weighing both scenarios began to cost you time you didn’t have, you were released from your moral responsibility when a man walked onto the street. Guns blazing, he approached the infected like a tank. Nothing was getting past him as he moved down the street, letting the infected finally rest.
Using the chaos to cover your presence, you’d managed to get a look at the mysterious hero. His profile was illuminated by the amber wash of a streetlight. He looked familiar.
You pushed the thought away, too focused on catching up to the man you knew would have the answers you searched for.
You’d managed your way to an office on the second floor of Rhode Hill Chronic Care Center through the narrow halls of the facility. It had been quite the difficult task, for though the floorboards were polished to perfection, they creaked loud enough to alert everyone in the vicinity. You’d barely snuck into the room when you found refuge behind an office desk, collapsing on the floor beside it.
The room you were in was decorated with paintings that probably cost more than your annual salary, rendered in dark oils, austere landscapes, and abstract portraits. You felt like the people hanging around you followed you with their eyes. As if saying, you were theirs to toy with.
Shaking your head to ease your nerves, you got off the floor and began searching through the drawers of the desk. Your answers were here. They had to be.
You picked the lock of the center drawer in twelve seconds. Nine was your record, but you forgave yourself, seeing as your hands weren’t entirely steady,
When the drawer swung open with a click, you noticed how its contents seemed aggressively organized. Of course, the best place to hide important things would never be obvious. You turned your attention to the other drawers, thinking which could have what you need.
You didn’t have forever to be looking through each and every container, so you settled on searching through the bottom left drawer. People usually neglected that space, pitting things there they only half-intended to hide. It was a habit you’d noticed.
Clicking open, you observed a manila folder inside. It overflowed with documents as papers fell through the sides once you took the folder out. Sitting back on your heels as you were crouched, you skimmed through page after page, your expression darkening the more you read.
Clones.
The word surfaced in your mind with indifference. In the business of BOWs, everything was a clone of something. The mutations and experimentations were endless. But this wasn’t about a virus. It was about a child.
You read the sentence again. Then the paragraph. You flipped the page and read further, trying to decipher who this child was and why they were so important. You were halfway through the fourth page when the intercom crackled to life.
“Code 6. All personnel, Code 6.”
What the hell was Code 6?
You didn’t have to wait to find out when you heard a crash outside. For a moment, it sounded like a tornado had swept through the hall on the other side of the door. Then silence.
You remained crouched behind the desk, clutching the file and hearing the paper wrinkle under the pressure of your fingers. The quietness was unnerving, especially the longer it stretched out.
Approaching the exit with your weapon unholstered, you lightly pushed the office door open. It swung with a light creak, revealing the same empty hallway you’d come through. Then the lights began to flicker, coming alight every four seconds.
Taking a cautious step outside, your heart racing, you inched back the way you had come. Your hands hovered over your gun, twitching.
The light bulb in the hall lit a fuse. In the darkness, you heard a sound you’d dreaded for years—the groans of the undead.
Three Days Ago - October 6, 2026
Viruses weren’t a fun topic of conversation. You’d mentioned them to a newly made friend once, obliquely, in the same way you told him about most things that mattered. Beating around the bush, approaching the truth at an angle because some things were too load-bearing to approach directly.
Sitting at a cafe two blocks from the office of a therapist you’d been seeing for a year now, your friend, Leon, asked you a very simple question. “What are you afraid of?”
You both never talked about life beyond the present. It was clear your jobs and your pasts were sensitive subjects, so it was best not to poke at the lying beast. Instead, you both took to conversations that usually let your minds wander to lighthearted topics. Today seemed to be the exception.
“I’ll hate it and waste a good seven dollars for nothing,” you replied.
You’d been discussing your favorite coffee orders, among other things, when Leon had asked you why you drank yours the way you did. It wasn’t healthy to eat such sugary things, after all. He’d suggested you try plain coffee, no sugar, no sweetener. Just the way he had his.
He’d chuckled at your response, not knowing he’d opened Pandora’s box with that question.
What were you afraid of? Too many things to count, that was for sure. You went to therapy for a reason. But you still had yet to name your fears.
You were scared you’d lose more people than you could save, scared that your effort was worthless, scared that you were powerless. But was that really what drove your anxiety, or was it only a byproduct of losing someone you’d considered a good friend once?
People doubt themselves when faced with grief, especially when they’ve never worked through it.
Leon snapped you from your spiral of thoughts when he suggested, “On me. I’ve been told it's good to try new things once in a while.”
You immediately refused. “It’s worse knowing that I’d be wasting your money.”
“You might be right.” He looked out the window at the Porsche he drove here, sighing. “Might break the bank,” he sarcastically quipped.
You let out a chuckle at his joke.
“Fine,” you relented with a smile.
Leon was an interesting man. Whatever he did for work had to have been physically intensive, seeing as how hunched around everywhere. Though his muscular physique made up for his bad posture.
He wasn’t old enough for retirement, but sometimes his eyes had a dullness to them you’d only seen in the dying, as if he knew his time was running out. The decay was apparent in his toned face, for though his features were sharp, his skin clung to bone. His cheeks were hollowed out, and his skin sometimes resembled the paleness of a corpse.
You knew better than to ask him about it.
You were around the same age, though you wouldn’t look it with how much fuller and healthier your face seemed to be. Your decline was mainly in the mental aspect of things. You’d forget more often than you’d remember, feel unbearable stress that would never go away, and lose all sense of self on nights when you felt particularly reminiscent.
You and Leon were both pieces of the same puzzle. And that had led you to conclude that the reason you’d been seeing Leon around was that he was attending therapy as well. Sure, there were other plausible explanations as well, but a man that rugged wasn’t at the doctor’s for fun.
He never spoke about himself, beyond surface-level information–hobbies, interests, likes, dislikes, and friends. You’d maintained a similar boundary, but you had hoped you’d be able to cross it one day.
For now, you settled in peaceful conversation that let you escape from your mind.
Present Day - October 9, 2026
The groaning sounds amplified as you moved further down the hall.
You’d heard the dreadful sound before. Many times in fact. You should’ve grown accustomed to it by now, but you weren’t. The guttural sounds and slow footsteps made your skin crawl.
Holding your breath as if it would give you away, you managed to walk all the way to the main staircase. Your hands had balled up into fists at your side, tight enough to let your veins bulge. Digging your nails into your palm, you held onto yourself, feeling as though the vigilance might make you invisible.
It did not.
Something lunged at you from behind, grabbing the space between your neck and shoulders. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel the slimy grip of five bony fingers digging into your skin. Bleeding from the touch, the creature came closer. You could feel sagging skin run against your hair, and a bulging eyeball lean toward you.
The creature’s mouth opened as it snarled. Blood dripped from it, down your shoulder, and soaking into your shirt. It felt like you were being seasoned.
Moving your unguarded shoulder ever so slowly, your fingers find the gun grip. The draw is agonizingly slow as your body is locked under the creature’s weight. Finally, you release your gun from your holster. You let out a faint breath as you successfully handle the weapon, turning it to face you. In the darkness, you couldn’t see where the creature was, but as long as you were able to feel it, you could shoot it.
BANG!
The shot is deafening in the hallway. The fingers release your shoulder, still hovering above it. For one terrifying second, you think you killed it. But the victory was short-lived. The growl rose from behind you, low at first. Then the sound builds into something shrill.
Breaking out into a run, you used a lighter you had in your pocket to guide the way. The flame kept going out the faster you ran. You kept sparking it alight, if only to see the layout of the hall a split second at a time.
Your eyes were starting to blur. The constant light and dark made them lose their direction. Blinking rapidly, you couldn’t tell whether there was a door to your left or a wall right in front of you. Taking a chance, you turned to your left.
You hit your head with an immense force. There was no doorknob you could feel for. Fuck.
You turned around, running straight ahead. The hall stretched on, walls feeling as though they were closing in on you.
More sparks of light, more misdirection. You hit your head again before you finally found a set of large doors with light peaking through their cracks.
Maybe that was the way out. Maybe that would save you.
Running toward it with all the strength you had left, you burst open the doors to be met with a well-lit foyer. Running down the rounded stairs, you could barely muster the strength to look back.
However, adrenaline had already begun to course through your veins. When you heard a sizzling followed by a shrill scream from behind you, your head snapped back, and your body stilled halfway down the stairs.
The creature came through the doorway after you and immediately began to come apart. The skin on its forehead blistered, bubbles rising and splitting with a sustained hiss. Its eyes had gone translucent, irises lost in the white of heat. It kept moving toward you before it registered its own mortality. Before whatever remained of its instincts overrode its hunger.
It retreated, receding into the dark hallway you’d come from.
You stood in the light, daring not move. You were safe here, for now.
About A Year Ago - November 17, 2025
“Tell me, why do you think you keep coming back here?” Your therapists inquired.
You had about five sessions with her so far. That wasn’t enough to make her feel familiar or for you to fully open up. Though you had come to tell her things you’d never told other people, the truths you revealed were never in full. There were some things you believed remained best left unsaid, however much they haunted you.
“Job stress,” you half-heartedly joked, hoping the session would end soon.
She looked at you.
“And other things,” you’d added, hoping she’d take it for an answer.
The waiting room had beige walls and a rubber plant in the corner, which you’d suspected for some time of being artificial. The entire building smelled like the diffuser on the side table, something woody and neutral that was supposed to make people feel calm.
You’d just finished your session when you walked into this room. You needed a moment of peace and quiet, and this was the only place you would find it today. In an empty waiting room that you’d begun to familiarize yourself with.
Except this time, it wasn’t empty.
Someone was already sitting on the couch beside the plant. He had looked up when you came in. Mid-forties, maybe. He slumped against the armrest, giving you a brief, polite nod of acknowledgment before staring back into space.
You didn’t pay him much mind, shrugging the man off as an employee working overtime or something.
You’d noticed him at your next session as well, with the same face of indifference.
The third time, when the diffuser was replaced with a different scent, you saw his face scrunch up in disapproval. It was the most emotion you’d seen from the stranger. The way his face contorted in pure instinct made you laugh. The sound had come before you could even stop yourself, and your cheeks began to heat from the subtle embarrassment you felt from the outburst.
Then he chuckled too, despite his discomfort.