"So, what's your name?" Doctor Morgan asked through the microphone that connected him to the other side of the reinforced ballistic glass.

"I FUCKED YOUR MOTHER!" A high pitched, almost deafening screech exploded from somewhere within the darkness.

Doctor Morgan sighed and lent back in his chair, removing his reading glasses so that he could massage his sinuses. He'd been at this for hours. Out of all the people the Rig had rescued in the last 48 hours, only 1 of them have tested positive for T-1C. Protocol dictated that the infected be destroyed and their remains "sterilized", which of course meant a visit from a match and his best pal a tank of gasoline. Doctor Morgan however, was curious; this was the first T-1C victim he'd seen in weeks, and the first that he had a chance to properly observe. It was a woman, of no name, and no fixed abode or anything else for that matter; she'd so far replied to all of his questions with profanities and nonsense.

"YOU HEAR ME DOC!? I FUCKED HER! I WENT TO HELL AND I FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEDDDD HER!" The infected screamed again, still unseen in the darkness of her holding cell.

"Lights," Doctor Morgan said to no one in particular, and lent forwards across his desk.

There was a brief thrumming, and then the darkness was instantly lifted as a dozen or so strip lights beamed to life. The holding cell had been reduced to a mess of trashed furniture, blood prints on the white wall, and other less savory stains smeared across the ballistic glass. In the corner, a woman in a torn red dress had her legs wrapped in her arms and was busy rocking in a state of intense delirium.

"I'll ask again, what's your name?" Morgan said, his voice booming over the holding cell's speakers.

The woman looked up suddenly, her face a mess of blood and broken skin. "I am DEAth, yes, yesyesyeesyes, DEATH, I AM DEATH, I am death, I am death, I am death, I am death, I am death, I am death. I. AM. DEATH. AND. I. COME. FOR. THEE."

Doctor Morgan sighed heavily, "Very well, we'll try again tomorrow." He slid out from his chair and exited the observation room, accompanied by a couple of nonplussed marines. He turned to one of them, "I don't suppose the patient's test results have come back to us, have they?"

The marine shook his head, "No sir, radio's been pretty quiet."

---

"Fuck, oh fuck, oh no, oh no, no, no, no," Tom whimpered, covering his eyes with his left hand; his right was caught in the centrifuge, the glove torn to shreds and glass shards sticking from his flesh.

He slowly withdrew his hand from the tube rotator, and then dashed for the nearest sink. He hit the wound with semi-boiling water, firebombed it with iodine, and then doused it in anti-bacterial powder.

"Stupid fucking thing," he muttered, shaking with panic. "Always getting stuck, all the fucking time! Why did I do that? Why didn't I use a ruler to push it?" He carried on furiously washing the wound, his blood mixing with the running water to form a light pink froth at the sink's plug hole. "Of all the fucking tests, it had to be the one with an actual live infected blood sample. I'm so stupid! I'm so stupid!"

He looked up at the security camera, and wandered if they had seen everything; by they, he meant the two man USMC fire team on the other side of the door, who were supposed to be watching his every move. The fact that the lab's door remained closed, told him they hadn't.

"Maybe it'll be okay, maybe I acted quick enough," Tom tried to assure himself. "Yes, yes I'm sure it's fine. T-1C isn't that resistant, it's just extremely aggressive."

His breathing slowed, and he found himself a stool; he carefully hid his injured hand from the camera. He wondered if the blood trail on the floor was easily seen from the security feed's resolution; probably not. He'd just play it cool, and mop the floor after pretending to have dropped some chemical. Yes, he'd be fine.

"Besides," he said to himself. "I feel fine. REALLY fine. Better than ever in fact. Yes, yes I'm okay, I'm really okay."

His left hand grabbed a scalpel from the work surface, and he started smearing it in the wound of his right hand.

"Yes, everything is going to be okay," he said, smiling broadly. "I best go and see the guards, they look ever so unhappy these days. I have just the medicine for that!"

The Doctor started stalking towards the lab's decontamination pod.

---

PFC James Corville was on the verge of becoming a zombie. Literally. Weeks of 16 hour back to back shifts had taken a heavy toll, and he felt he was loosing his mind. Not in that way that T-1C had made people lose theirs of course, just in a typical human I-can't-take-anymore-of-this-crap kind of way. He yawned for the millionth time in the past hour.

Leaning over the railing, he looked lazily down at the huddled survivors twenty feet below. Some of them would occasionally give him nervous glances, and whisper to their peers. Others did their best not to make eye contact with him. It was a shame really, if his CO wouldn't kick his ass for fraternizing with civilians, he'd be more than willing to talk to them about everything and anything. That'd put them at rest, once they'd seen he was just a fucked up cog in an even more fucked up system.

And then the room shook, the catwalk wobbling on the chains that suspended it in the air. James gripped the handrails, "the fuck?" he managed, and then the walls shook as a distant explosion reverberated through the metalwork.

Suddenly the lights dimmed, their clinical white replaced by an eerie pulsating red. An alarm started to bleat.

"Control, this is Processing, what the fuck are you guys up to?" James yelled into his mic.

It took only a few seconds to get a reply, "Hold your ground, Private, we've got a situation. Keep an eye on the civilians, and do not move from your position."

"What kind of situation?" James asked, but no one answered him.

Gun fire erupted somewhere beyond the metal doors, followed by screams and men barking orders. James unshouldered his M4A1 assault rifle, and prepped it for action with an audible click. He looked across the catwalk, where a hydraulic door obscured his view from the corridors beyond. It was the only access point into Processing, aside from the main door below.

"Attention, all units, we have a Level 5 Breach on Science Deck. Say again we are compromised, gentlemen," crowed Jame's headset. He gasped; the voice belonged to Colonel Williams - his CO and commander of the 22nd USMC Regiment. If he was yelling this stuff, then James could bet his life that this wasn't a drill. The old man never ruffled feathers, not personally anyway. "All units go red immediately. This is the fight of our lives, make no mistake. Shoot first, ask questions later. Even if you're unsure, shoot. This is not a drill. I want this contained yesterday."

James' heart started thudding in his chest, his breathing becoming irregular and heavy. He'd never seen any real action, and now it had come to his doorstep. So far his experience of the T-1C outbreak had been limited to news reports, memos and suppressed feelings towards his family's fate back in the States. A Level Five Breach translated into a total loss of control of the affected area, with immediate containment protocols set to fail. The Colonel was in effect announcing the end of the Rig, and everyone in it, if the situation could not be swiftly resolved.

"Say again, this is a Level 5 Breach," Williams' voice boomed through James' headset. "All civilians are to be eliminated; we cannot risk the loss of this station. Say again, all civilians are to be nullified. God forgive us."

James fumbled for his mic, "PFC Corville in Processing, sir, what are you saying? I can't just shoot these people!"

"Yes you can, Private, and do it quickly. They're a biological payload of death waiting to happen, we can't spare the men to defend them, and I cannot allow them to join the ranks of the enemy," Williams replied sharply. "That is an order."

James' eyes widened, and he looked down at the survivors. They looked back up at him having heard everything. His shaking hands lifted his M4A1 up over the railing, and his trigger finger fought a war of conquest against his moral compass.

And then the hydraulic door leading onto the catwalk opened with a hiss. "Stand down, Private."

James looked over and saw Sergeant Jones, a big and bulky Afro-American warrior strutting his way. "Sir?"

"Stand down, I said," Jones said, holding his hands up to show he held no weapon.

"But the CO said we've got to-" James tried to spout.

Jones shook his head, and moved in close. "No, no, you see the CO has it all wrong. We don't want them to join us, we want them to die. By our hands. Because its fun."

James' heart skipped a beat, and he tried to step back, bringing his rifle to bear. "Get the fuck away fro-"

Jones' fist connected with James' face, knocking him over the railing. The PFC hit the floor hard, his rifle sliding across the smooth metal. A sidearm was strapped to his thigh, and a combat knife could be seen sheathed in the front of his ballistic vest. He didn't stir.

"Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaadiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeees and gentlemen!" Jones roared from atop the catwalk, "Thankyou for visiting the Rig, we hope to see you again soon. WOOP WOOP!"

The Marine Sergeant reached into his belt, and produced two small green ball-like objects, that anyone over the age of four would realize were hand grenades. It seemed he intended to drop them onto the survivors.

They were all huddled in the small room, John and the other survivors. It was a bit unnerving at first being thrown into a room with a bunch of people, after having been out there alone for a month. He took solace in the fact that they at least weren't infected. Everyone had the same look on their face, they were worried. The hope was there, but they were all worried about what would happened. John knew this because he felt the same way. Still, he realized there might be a chance that his sister was somewhere in the crowd. "Taylor!" He called out for sister, making his way through the crowd. There was no response so he decided he would try his niece next. "Ava, are you here-" The room shook violently, and John managed to trip over another survivor.

"All civilians are to be eliminated," The words echoed in his ear, and it took him a second to register what they were saying. Fuck, fuck, fuck. John frantically jumped up and scanned the room for a way out, and noted that there was only one exit, but it seemed to be sealed shut. Some of the other survivors were trying to knock it open with little to no success; the door refused to give way. John was on his way to help them, when he saw the solider get knocked over the railing.

"Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaadiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeees and gentlemen!" The large man, who had entered when John wasn't looking, was now yelling. "Thank you for visiting the Rig, we hope to see you again soon. WOOP WOOP!" John instantly knew that the man was infected, he seen it all before. The crazed shouting, the animal look like on his face, and to make matters worse the man produced two hand grenades from his belt.

John looked to the other solider for protection, but he was still unconscious on the floor; his rifle was on the floor next to him. "Shit," John cursed. He fought his way through the panicking crowd to grab the gun. It was heavier than he had expected it to be, and he had seen enough movies to know he need to check the safety. It was ready to fire. "Just...point and shoot." He tried to line the iron sights up as best as he could, hoping to hit the man in the center of his chest, but he had never been a great marksmen. "Fuck it." He pulled the trigger, the gun kicked violently, and a stream of bullets flew out.

The gunfire immediately silenced the room. Survivors briefly stopped panicking, to locate the source. John lowered the rifle for a moment, checking to make sure he had hit him. He had missed his intended area. Rather than hitting center mass there was a line of bullet holes that started at the man's neck and continued upward. The Marine Sergeant fell back against the wall, smearing it with blood. The two hand grenades rolled out of his hands, and off the edge of the catwalk. They harmlessly clinked on the ground next to John as they landed, their pins still intact. John sunk to his knees, "Oh thank god." He looked over at the unconscious man and said to no one in particular, "I bet he can get us out of here."

Many of them were locked into a white, empty room. Not that the fact being locked into a room wasn't scary enough, this room was also watched by an armed marine man. It felt more like a prison to Kahleen than a rescue Rig. Was this really for their best? Locked up with no furniture to even sit on and a rifle pointed at them? At least they weren't alone.

The moment Kahleen was brought into the room, she searched the room for Jamie. She only realised the door has been blocked from outside once she found her lover unharmed. Seeing Jamie safe was like a quick trip to heaven, before she came back to the reality where no one was ever safe for a long time. And her feeling would turn out to be correct.

The survivors would give every one in the room a look, some would speak here and there, but the most attention was on the marine above them.
It was worrying Kahleen, that the man could just shoot them one by one and they couldn't even do anything about it. She felt uneasy. All the other people only dared to look at the marine man from time to time, while Kahleen gave him a stare as though she would see right through him.

Her stubborn side had come out. She would not take being watched over with a freaking weapon. That's not nice.

The blonde beauty beside her gave her a rather rough punch on the shoulder. "Ow!", Kahleen complained and focused on her girlfriend.
Jamie had her judgemental you are not listening to your girlfriend look on her face. Kahleen knew that look all too well. "I - ", but she was interrupted by a man yelling female names. "Taylor. Ava, are you here-", he yelled.

The room shook as though it was shaken by god's hand. Kahleen grabbed Jamie by instinct and held her upright. "Was that a bomb?!", she asked the woman. Alarm lights turned the room red. Panic broke loose.

Before she could say anything more though, a loud thump made her jump. The marine man from above was lying on the floor. Another man had taken his position on the catwalk. It was also a marine but he was grinning without any joy, his eyes were big and this animal look on his face made things only worse.

"Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaadiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeees and gentlemen! Thankyou for visiting the Rig, we hope to see you again soon. WOOP WOOP!"

Kahlan's first instinct was to flee, but the door was still locked. People screamed for help. The crazy man held grenades in his hand...

Gun shooting!

Kahlan automatically raised her hands to her ears to shield them from the noise, her eyes searched the noise and she saw the man, who was yelling female names in order to find people, shooting a gun with no experience whatsoever.
As if trying to get where he got the rifle from, her head slowly turned to the knocked out marine. And she found the knife, that belonged to the marine. She let go off Jamie's upper arm and rushed over the floor, in all the panic nobody noticed it anyway, and she grabbed herself the knife while the gun shots flew through the air.

The next thing she knew, she was on her knees holding the knife, the infected man was dead by the shots, blood dripping from the wall above them and grenades hit the floor harmlessly.

The shooter spoke up: "Oh thank god. I bet he can get us out of here."

Kahleen stood up. "Good shots." Thankful for someone saving the situation, she nodded her head at him. Nobody was hurt, that's a plus. But she wondered how the knocked out marine would react when he'd wake up...

Jamie ducked low and covered her head the moment she saw the big guy up top produce some grenades; a deep pang of shame hit her hard, when she realized that it seemed she'd sooner protect herself, than Kahleen. She reached around with closed eyes, frantically trying to grip the familiar slenderness of her girlfriend's wrists.

"Babe?" she cried out, "ba-"

The deafening roar of an automatic military-grade assault rifle blotted out everything; the weapon's rage bouncing from wall to wall, creating a perfect storm of ear shattering thunder. Ears ringing, she opened her eyes and looked around.

A scruffy, tall and lanky looking man held a smoking rifle - courtesy of the soldier who'd got himself knocked off the catwalk. He motioned at the still body of their former guard, suggesting that he might be able to get the door open for them. But she wasn't interested in the shooter, or the guard, and so she turned her head left and right looking for something more precious than dear life itself.

Oh God please let her be okay!

Kahleen stood up from the chaos, a knife partially obscured in the palm of her hand. Jamie was on her feet in an instant, and ran across to her.

"Thank God you're okay," she said, throwing her arms around Kahleen. "Don't do that again, I thought I'd lost you!" Over Kahleen's shoulder, Jamie saw the door to the room opening slowly, its heavy frame creaking slightly, and what looked like a rifle muzzle poking through the gap.

Her eyes went wide, "the door!"

---

Steven dropped the radio to the floor, having heard the entire exchange through PFC Corville's mic. His orders dictated that he was to go in there, and do the job himself; shoot all the civilians, make sure they couldn't pose a threat. Difficult orders, no doubt, but he'd had to shoot innocent people before.

He'd done it in Washington, he'd done it in New York, and he'd do it here too.

But things had changed for the young Corporal in the last few minutes; a bloodied combat knife lay at his feet, alongside the body of PFC Rickinson. An hour ago, the two men had been best friends, and a few minutes ago, sworn enemies. Now Rickinson was dead, and Corporal Baxter had to carry his fallen friend's torch of insanity.

Suddenly the idea of killing loads of people seemed like not just the right thing to do, but the really, really awesome thing to do. His mouth watered at the thought of a bunch of people, running and screaming, begging him for their lives. How funny that would be!

He reached for the bolt that locked the door to Survivor Processing, and pulled it back, and then leaned gently against the thick metal. It creaked slightly, and he pushed the muzzle of his M4A1 Assault Rifle through the breach. He lined the sights up with the first person that came into view, and smiled gleefully as his finger found the trigger.

"HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE'S JOHNNNNNNNNNNNY!!!!!!!!" He screamed.

The survivors would have less than a second to react. To them, this meant diving for cover or spraying Baxter's position in the hopes of hitting him.

Chaos had broken loose pretty quickly. It was all a blur. A worried Jamie had her arms around her and Kahleen wrapped her arms tight around the woman. Holding on for dear life.
Nothing around her made sense to her right now. She felt like this was all unreal. But the pounding heart in her chest told her just how real this was.

The scariest part was probably that they were on a platform in the middle of the sea and the virus has gone around among the guards. There was no escaping from the metal island. In the end they'd have to fight. That realisation hit Kahleen hard. She never had to actually end a life. But at the same moment she knew, for Jamie she'd do anything.

Kahleen Cuthald was too deep in her mind to notice the door opening softly and another panic wave hit them. She noticed the danger too late. With one arm she pushed Jamie behind herself and taggeled her to the ground covering her up for protection. Never would she have thought that she'd have the guts to do that in a life threatening situation. Kahleen was surprised that she didn't just duck to protect herself.

She couldn't hear much more than screaming and gun shots in the air. The woman was half aware of all the bodies dropping to the ground. Her heart beat was pounding in her ears making it hard to concentrate on anything, yet a life saving solution. The brunette was positive that she'd be dead in a heartbeat. A young blonde woman used the knocked out guard as a protection shield, she held a gun in her hand. Why didn't she think of that? Or anything else but this

Kahleen cursed herself for not acting smarter, for not doing something more effective. But it was too late now. She had a second to react and she wasted it.

This stupid suit itches Nat thought to herself. The scratchy fabric did not feel good on her dry skin, and she couldn’t help but squirm as it rubbed against her arms. Her elbow brushed against the man standing next to her, “Sorry” she muttered through clenched teeth. Nat was antsy, the lights were too bright, the people around her smelled just as bad as she did, and there were armed guards surrounding them. Her hand raked through her dirty, uncombed hair and she started to separate it into three sections. Letting out a deep breath, she started braiding and unbraiding her long hair, it was a technique she had learned to help calm down. Lately, she had been braiding her hair a lot.

Nat was slightly shorter than average, and she had to stand on her tip-toes to see above the heads of the people around her. Straining her neck, she tried to see anything that would help her figure out where she was. A lump formed in the back of her throat. Swallowing hard, she tried to not let her nerves get the best of her. Looking around, she noticed a guard, leaning against the railing. Nat watched him yawn and scoffed to herself, must be rough she thought. She made eye contact and held his stare for a long while and smiled meekly at him. Eventually she turned away, pulling on the sleeve of the girl in front of her. “Do you know anything about this place?” She muttered nervously to the other survivor.

"Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaadiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeees and gentlemen! Thank you for visiting the Rig, we hope to see you again soon. WOOP WOOP!"

Flinching, Nat’s only thought was to grab the gun that had slid across the floor. Unfortunately, someone had beat her too it. Fortunately, he was a good shot for all it was worth. He sprayed the infected man with bullets and Nat watched him drop to the ground. “Да! Молодец!” She said with excitement, her heart pounding through her chest. A cold drop of sweat raced down her back. A rush of adrenaline had saved her from feeling the fear, but she knew it would sink in soon.

"HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE'S JOHNNNNNNNNNNNY!!!!!!!!"

Блядь, Fuck fuck fuck was all that Nat could think to herself as she saw the gun in the crazed man’s hand. Thank god she was towards the middle of the crowd and not right in front. Dropping to a crouch, she frantically looked for something, anything she could use to her advantage.

People fell around her, from the ground, Nat could see a blonde woman with shortly cropped hair. She could clearly see that her hand held a small gun. Without hesitating Nat dived onto her stomach and started to crawl through the sea of civilians towards her. The floor seemed to span a mile. Pushing through the bodies, Nat couldn’t even tell who was alive and who wasn’t. She made eye contact with a young girl, and tried not to look scared for the child’s sake. Please, just let me get to her, please Coming up right at the blonde girls feet, Nat puffed short breaths of air through her lips and tried to move the body of the unconscious man off of her. “Дай! Дай!” She panted at her, forgetting to speak English in her frantic state. “Hurry, I hunt.” She hastily tried to explain to the girl. Without waiting, Nat grabbed the pistol from her hands, covered her up with the human shield once more, and crouched low to take aim.

As the man moved through the room, everything for Nataliya went quiet. All she could hear was her own breathing. She took a moment, a split second in reality but an eternity in her mind, to steady her hands. The adrenaline was making her shake badly. She steadied her hands and took aim. From the way she was sitting, she could clearly see the infected man’s legs. Not wasting any time, Nat inhaled slowly and exhaled. She fired three separate shots, one in each leg and one more without aiming after he had fallen. Hopefully she hit him somewhere good.

John was violently shaking the soldier that was on the ground, trying to wake him up. "Come on, come on, come on!" The man's body simply flopped around in his arms. Must have been a hard fall. "Wake up-"

"HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE'S JOHNNNNNNNNNNNY!!!!!!!!"

At first John thought someone he knew was in the room shouting his name, but that thought was quickly shot down. Quite literally. John zeroed in on the shouting, and saw the muzzle flash through the small crack that had appeared in the door. It was accompanied by the ear shattering blasts of a rifle. The man may have been completely crazy, but he was a trained soldier, and his short bursts were tearing through the crowd; people were practically dropping left and right. They completely disregarded each other as people. Pushing, shoving, anything to make sure they got out alive. It was complete chaos. John considered firing back at the infected individual, but that shot would probably be difficult even for a talented marksmen. He took his finger off the trigger and bolted away from the crowd, stumbling over bodies as he did. He found himself pressed up again against a wall, his body crouched to make himself as small as possible. His knees brought up to cover his core vitals. "Think, think, think. Fuck." John surveyed the room, trying to look for a solution. He noted that some people had taken shelter underneath the already dead. "Maybe I should..." His voice trailed as he realized that anyone in the room could be infected, hiding under a bleeding body might lead to contamination.

Suddenly the room was quiet, and John snapped back to reality. He hadn't seen the crazed soldier enter the room, or the person that had shot his legs causing him to fall. It was his chance. John sprung up and ran at the injured crazy, knocking two people down as he did.

The crazy was still alive, and quickly recovering from the bullets. His right arm was reaching out, clutching the rifle that he had dropped. His left hand was a complete mess, fingers dangling by mere threads. No doubt the place that the third bullet had hit. A look of pure savagery was plastered on his face. "I'll huff and I'll puff!!" He pointed the barrel at two survivors who were shrieking at him, begging for their lives.

Seconds before he could pull the trigger, John's boot collided with his face. There was an audible pop as his jaw broke. "No!" John shouted weakly. The impact was hard and the soldier's face jerked to the side, both blood and teeth flew out and spattered on the ground. John aimed his gun at him, but the crazy was faster. Even with two wounded legs and a broken jaw, the infected managed to grab John's right leg with his bloody hand, and sweep it out from under him.

John crashed to the floor hitting it hard. He doubled over in pain, the soldier gave him no time to recover, however, and grabbed his leg again. This time he was pulling himself on top of John. "Wanna swap spit?!" He stuck out his tongue as he pulled himself up, the bottom half of his jaw swinging from side to side.

"Oh fuck!" John screeched. He frantically started kicking the crazy, his boot slamming against his face multiple times. The bastard just kept coming, despite his wounds. John blindly fumbled his hands around him, trying to find the rifle that he held only moments ago. Leg. Shoe. Hair. Metal! John gripped the handle of the rifle, swung it over his body and aimed it at the now contorted face that was trying to maul him. "Bye Johnny!" He yelled while simultaneously pulling the trigger back. The bullets ripped through his head, wiping the sick smile from existence. Even after the clip was empty, John's finger was still squeezing the trigger.

Doctor Morgan watched the security monitors with fascination, his scientific mind pumping with curiosity. All the gunfire, explosions and yelling a distant distraction, to which he paid little heed. Even Colonel Williams frantically cursing profanities at a radio at the far end of the room barely even made it through the Doctor's deeply rooted interest.

"Amazing, just amazing. How do they know, without even interacting with them?" Doctor Morgan mumbled to himself, too caught up in what he was seeing to properly vocalize his thoughts.

Heavy but well adjusted footsteps, leather slapping on metal, approached the Doctor from behind, and then a heavy hand shook his shoulder. Morgan looked up, and saw the fiery face of Colonel Williams spitting acid at him. The Marine commander wasn't infected, he just came across that way sometimes.

"My men are dying out there!" Williams yelled. "Your science boy has fucked us, he's fucked us all. We've got to call in a strike."

Doctor Morgan smiled, a move that irritated the Colonel and pushed him half way to breaking point. "Nonsense, Colonel. Why would we do that?"

"Because in about fifteen minutes, the only sane people on this Rig are going to be you and me!" the Colonel screamed, his face twisted in bitter anger. "You fucking science types, too far up your own asses to realize when to say 'stop!'; you fucked the world, you fucked my men, and now you're fucking me!"

Doctor Morgan continued to smile, as a teacher would smile to a five year old who thought he'd figured out how the world worked. "Why do you think the infected are trying to kill the survivors, as opposed to contaminating them?"

The Colonel narrowed his eyes, "I don't give an honest fuck. Call in a strike, or I'll relieve you of your command."

With a sigh, Morgan removed his reading glasses and started wiping them against his suit, "It's because they truly are immune, Colonel."

Colonel William's eyes widened, "bull shit. No one is immune to T-1C."

"I'm afraid you're wrong, Colonel. You see, their blood tests came back negative, but there was something rather interesting that we discovered as well. It seems their blood is er, special," Morgan continued, making to stand.

"Thirty seconds to explain, Doc, and then I'm calling the strike," the Colonel said sternly, one hand on his radio.

"When exposed to T-1C, their red blood cells simply dissolve the proteins that attach to them. It's odd, and I can't explain it - not yet. It halts the infection at its core, preventing it from moving to the brain, and annihilating it in short order. Those men and women are special Colonel, they hold the key to the survival of the human race. Calling in a strike would be... most unwise," Doctor Morgan explained, still smiling.

The Colonel struggled to get the words out, "wait, you mean there's a way out of this nightmare?"

The Doctor nodded, "that's right Colonel. The only problem is, they're all the way down there, and we're all the way up here."

Colonel Williams was half way across the room before the Doctor had even finished talking. He studied a 50 inch flat screen monitor with a live tactical interface that gave him all the information he needed to know about his men; half were dead, half were probably insane, but there was one certain Captain he knew he could count on.

"Captain Pliskin, switch to channel six."

"Affirmative."

The Colonel turned the channel dial on the radio set to channel six; it would reduce the amount of eaves droppers, as channel six was reserved only for the Rig's officers, and would produce only static to anyone else who tried to listen in. Of course, there were two other Captains, a bunch of lieutenants and somewhere, Major Barnes. Still, it would help to cut the chances of inadvertently ringing a dinner bell.

"Captain, what's your status?" The Colonel asked.

Distorted gunfire erupted from the radio, "things are real peachy down here, Colonel."

"Understood Captain, but it appears we have precious cargo in Survivor Processing that needs to get itself topside. Can you intercept and extract?"

Some more gun fire, and then an explosion. "Affirmative."

Then the Colonel remembered his caution, "and Pliskin, what's seven times seven?"

"Forty-Niner."

Williams sighed in relief, "God speed son. I'll re-rout any and all non-infected personnel to your position."

---

In the space of a mere sixty seconds, the room Jamie and Kahleen had found themselves in had been reduced to a bloody nightmare; white clad bodies lay scattered about, their overalls turning pink with blood. The wounded cried out for help, whilst those lucky enough to avoid the soldier's indiscriminate barrage were busy trying to keep themselves calm.

Through it all, Jamie had hugged Kahleen with the strength of an enraged bear, too stupefied by panic to think of anything else. She'd waited for a rifle shot to punch through them both any second, but it never came.

There was some cursing, the sounds of an obvious struggle, a series of ear-ringing gun shots, and then nothing.

Jamie opened her eyes, and looked over Kahleen's arm. The tall, lanky guy with the rifle was busily kicking away the remains of their attacker; he was covered in blood and skull fragments.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Jamie yelled, dragging herself and Kahleen to their feet. "He's infected, everyone get away from him!" She pointed a finger at the man, and those who could, stepped back.

---

Iroquois didn't know what made those in Survivor Processing so damn special, but he knew that whoever they were, they were important. The Rig had gone to Hell; humanity bested yet again by its own deluded self. If the Colonel was sending him on a suicide mission to get to the Survivors, then either he'd gone insane himself, or there was something truly of the utmost importance to be found there.

He turned the corner of a corridor, and froze. He dropped to one knee and put two of his comrades directly in his sights.

"Eight times six," He called out.

Both men turned to him, their rifles up and ready. He might've just caught them off guard, they might've just panicked. In any case, neither made an effort to give an answer, and so he squeezed the trigger; two clinical taps, and the marines crumpled to the floor. It wasn't ideal, but Iroquois wasn't taking any chances. He couldn't.

He moved down the corridor, checking every nook and cranny with his rifle. If he saw anyone, he'd shoot first and ask questions later. In a close quarters environment, face to face with someone else that may be friend or foe, shooting was the only option a sensible man could take.

A rifle round cracked off the wall next to him; the echo of the shot rushing over him. He fell to the floor, rolled, pointed his M4A1 through his knees and squeezed the trigger. A marine fell down.

"Damn this, damn it all," Iroquois muttered.

He picked himself up, and carried on. A turning on his right took him to a stairwell, and he followed it down. The walkway took him outside of the Rig, and looking up he could see smoke billowing towards the sky. Yeah, the Rig was fucked.

Iroquois carried on along the walk way, and it wasn't long before he discovered a light blood trail on the metal grating. He followed it until he came to the entrance to Survivor Processing; the hydraulic door was open. Poking his head around the corner, he saw the mangled body of Sergeant Jones strewn across the suspended walkway.

Staying low and quiet, he moved to the edge of the door, and looked down into the room.

"Yikes," he muttered.

The room was a bloodbath; a lot of people had died down there, and he just hoped that whoever was left would be enough to satisfy his mission's parameters.

He noticed a man on his knees over by the ground-level entrance, a survivor, holding a smoking assault rifle and covered in the blood of what looked like a nearby marine. The other survivors had started turning on him, as anyone with half a brain would. This told him two things: one, that the majority of them weren't infected, and two, they were probably armed. He had no idea of knowing who was more important than who, and so he decided to intervene to prevent more casualties.

"Ask him a maths question," Iroquois yelled out, "the infected can't logic for shit." He ducked back behind the safety of the door, in case a flurry of bullets came his way.

---

The Colonel and Pliskin had switched to channel six before they heard this little gem; a really juicy bit of intel that the both of them would have loved to have known about. Unfortunately, both remained clueless to the fact that one of the survivors had just rung themselves the metaphorical dinner bell of doom.

Every infected soldier on the Rig was now fully aware that someone was down in Survivor Processing and that someone really needed to hurry up and die.

In drips and trickles, waves and thunder, the entirety of the 22nd United States Marine Corps Regiment would be making its way there momentarily, after they'd managed to sweep aside those of their comrades that still took issue with the idea of throwing a new born child into a blender.

Of course, the regiment was only a regiment in name; its man power being on the heavily depleted side of things. Potentially, there were a hundred soldiers on the Rig, but there was no telling how many had been killed, and how many had become infected.

That's something the survivors would have to find out for themselves.

Kahleen Cuthald

Kahleen was surprised when both, she and Jamie, stood with no harm at all. A look around made clear, that many didn't have that much luck.

In all this chaos, it was hard to concentrate. Her instinct told her to help the others, the harmed ones and the scared ones. But her logic told her to stay away from anyone but Jamie.

Her look wandered from the first marine to the second one. Both not able to move. One dead. One knocked out. Slowly her brain woke up from it's state of shock and began to think again. Armour! Both marines were still wearing they're usual armour, one even wearing a helmet. More of security was probably not able to get right now.

She grabbed Jamie's arm to get her attention. "Get the armour!", she said clearly pointing to the guard that fell off the walkway. Before anyone else could react, the woman jumped over bodies and took Baxter's armour. She saw Jamie from the side of her eye following her orders.

Thinking the marine man had more to offer than armour, she searched every pocket. Kahleen took the knife and the gasmask. She grabbed the grenades with shaking hands and the Glock 17 sidearm with the fitting munition. She left the rifle for someone who hopefully wasn't infected and could control it better than her.

In fact, she was glad she could grab that much, because others have followed her to rob the dead marine. Kahleen scooted back from the dead man and walked over to Jamie. "Are you okay?", she asked softly. The worried woman allowed herself a moment of unawareness - holding tight onto her robbery though - to look at her girlfriend softly and tender. All she wished for was that they could kiss and end this nightmare they're living in.
Kahleen wanted so bad to just hold her in her arms with no worry. Her green eyes gazed over the blondes face and lingered on her blue eyes. Those blue eyes... She just hoped she would see those eyes a million other days. Stay alive, baby.

Natalia had fallen over onto her hands and knees. Panting she stared at the tiled ground under her and tried not to cry. “Oh man.. oh jeez..” she tried to come to terms with what just happened. She had just shot a human being. Well what was left of one after the infection took over, but still. As the adrenaline ebbed, Nat’s body started to feel again. It was cold in this room, but she couldn’t tell if her hands were shaking because of that, or because of fear. She was tired, the suit was still itchy. A moan from a near-by injured civilian brought her back to her senses.

A man, not too far off was writhing on the ground and gripping onto his leg. Nat’s instinct was to go and help him. She turned towards him, and moved an inch before realizing what he had forgotten. Gripping the pistol in her hands, she turned back towards the blonde girl behind the solider. “Here, I’m sorry I just grabbed it,” her voice was steady, even though her heart was still pounding. Handing the gun back, she let out a weak smile, “I’ll try to find my own.”

Nat directed her attention back towards the injured man, and started to make her way to him. She leaned over his body and was about to try to help before noticing all the blood. As he writhed, the blood from his leg seeped through his white suit. The suit also had splatters of blood across the chest and arms, and Nat couldn’t tell if that was his own. Her eyes widened and she scrambled backwards. That’s how the virus transfers! she thought to herself, quickly back tracking in her steps. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she whispered, trying not to look at him.

Two girls were over by the dead marine, the one that was up on the railing before. They were looting him, taking his armor, his knife, his gun… no, they had left that behind. Maybe they were waiting to pick it up? Well, it couldn’t hurt to ask. Nataliya made her way over to them, crouching and pushing through the debris and the people. She muttered apologies under her breath to any injured ones that she couldn’t help. She made it to the girls at about the same time that others started to question the man who had finished the infected marine off.
“Can I grab this? Or are you planning on using it?” She asked politely, trying to muster a kind look on her face. Her hand touched the butt of the gun, but she did not take it.

"Ask him a maths question, the infected can't logic for shit."

Nat didn’t really know what had happened, but out of memory and impulse she shouted out, “7 times 7!!” Her parents used to force her to do the multiplications tables over and over again, but she never really got the hang of it. Math wasn’t her thing. But if it could help someone else, she’d call out.

John finally kicked the mess of a body off of him, and was able to process what was going on. First, he realized he was now covered in blood...infected blood. "Oh god, oh fuck." He flicked a bone shard off his chest. "Goddammit." He kept mumbling obscenities to himself. Not yet aware of all the eyes in the room staring directly at him. His nonsensical muttering only added to the suspicion of him being infected.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," A blonde woman panicked, whilst standing up. Judging from the way the two held each other, John gathered that she probably knew the girl next to her. "He's infected, everyone get away from him!" The words didn't seem to bother her friend, however, as she had already begun rummaging through the dead marine's pockets only a few feet away. Taking whatever supplies she deemed useful, which was mostly everything. The blood didn't seem to bother her.

"I'm not infected. I just -- what?" The panic started to creep up John's spine. Some of the other survivors were listening to her, and had already started backing away. Their fear muddled minds had already decided. "I, uh, no." The small brown haired woman that had taken nearly everything from the dead marine was gone as quick as she came.

“Can I grab this? Or are you planning on using it?" A voice asked from behind him, he couldn't place the accent but it didn't sound American. Russian maybe? He spun around to see her hand on the rife. The rifle! John snatched it out from under her hand, worried that the other survivors might attack him. He might need it for self protection.

The decision to arm himself did not bode well with the others, one woman had even began crying. All they saw was a man covered in infected blood, and white flaky bone fragments; standing there holding a gun. Those that were on the fence about him being him infecting were now completely sure of it. "Now look here-"

"Ask him a maths question," A voice called out from the catwalk, "the infected can't logic for shit." John couldn't quite see who had said it.

“7 times 7!!” The foreigner quickly demanded.

"Shit, uh..." It had been awhile since he had done multiplication, and the stress of the situation wasn't helping his case. "For--fortynine!" He answered finally. "See?! I'm not infected!" He claimed triumphantly. Some of the survivors seemed to sigh with a relief, but he could tell that not everyone was convinced. "You believe me, right?" He asked the girl next to him, the one he prevented from taking the rifle.

Iroquois peaked around the corner, grunting in satisfaction when the civilian answered the maths question correctly. It didn't solve all of the problems, but it countered an immediate threat to his mission: getting these people topside. He reached into the pocket of his BDU, and pulled out a thick Alligator cigar, and stuffed it into his mouth.

Today was proving to be one Heck of a roller coaster ride.

He sparked a light with a match, and ignited the tobacco dream he'd been savoring since the 22nd ceased ground operations. Today would be as good a day as any to suffocate himself on that sweet, sweet smoke. He pulled, the familiar and pleasant taste of acrid cancer-giving smoke swirling in his mouth. He puffed some of it out, and inhaled the rest.

And then it was time to put his cards on the table; those people needed his help, and wouldn't last a second without him.

He stood up, let his M4A1 hang freely on its shoulder strap, and walked out onto the walkway with his arms raised. His cigar blazed lazily in his mouth, and rolled slightly as he chewed it. His military training kicked in immediately, and he started appraising the makeshift militia; analyzing its strengths and weaknesses.

They'd begun arming themselves; two women wore slightly over-sized ballistic vests, a few of them were armed and had pilfered grenades from Iroquois's comrades. This was good, they were thinking on their feet; secure a strong defense, and use it to launch a strong offense. He liked these people, they had a chance. Though he also saw fear in some, perhaps even dissent; mistrust and selfishness - that'd be a nail in the coffin. Then again, he saw a child, trapped under a body of the not-so-fortunate. A woman was helping her. Selflessness, compassion... yeah, that'd be a nail too.

"If you people want to stay alive," he called out to them. "Stay with me."

Iroquois pulled out a rope from his battle harness, and attached it to the railing, and threw it over the edge.

"Through that door is the de-contamination area; it's a whole mess of small cells, shower rooms, adhock labs and security check points. There's an armoury that'll deck you guys out in the latest and best that the U.S of A has to offer," he said, expelling a cloud of cigar smoke. "Only problem is, we lost contact with that area fifteen minutes ago, so you can bet that your friend there isn't going to be the last crazy to come your way." Then he motioned to the dangling rope. "Or, if you've got the upper body strength, you can climb this rope to freedom. Should be a nice easy walk from here to the helipad, where in about five minutes a whole Blackhawk full of Navy Seals is about to extract your all-important asses."

"Ca-Captain?" A familiar but weak voice moaned out from the middle of the room.

---

The world dimmed, and then it flashed a vibrant white; large banging noises echoed through his mind, but they were distorted, as if he was underwater. Then he felt himself being lifted, and tossed about; the angelic and overly bright image of a woman's face crashed against his brain.

Then everything went black again.

James awoke with a start, his head spinning; bile rose to his throat, and he vomited over the floor immediately in-front of his face. His eyes gave him distorted pictures, silhouettes; his ears haunted by an intense ringing noise.

Where the fuck am I? were his first coherent thoughts.

And then he remembered everything; the walkway, the Level 5 Breach, his orders to kill the civilians - Jones! James reached for his rifle, only to find himself finding the fabric of his fatigues. Where was his armour?

He sat up, rubbing his head, trying to piece everything together. Nothing made sense though, his memory had cut itself off the moment he left the walkway. Looking around, he realized he was in the middle of the civilians; half of them were covered in blood, some were dead, others were gearing themselves up for war.

"Or, if you've got the upper body strength, you can climb this rope to freedom. Should be a nice easy walk from here to the helipad, where in about five minutes a whole Blackhawk full of Navy Seals is about to extract your all-important asses."

That voice! James could never mistaken that grizzly, smokey velvet of Captain Pliskin.

"Ca-Captain?" He said, as loud as he could, making to stand.

"Four divided by two," the husky voice blared back at him.

James didn't immediately understand, "What?"

A streak of heart rending fear pierced his addled consciousness, as the horrifying realization dawned on him that he probably had a millisecond before the Captain put a bullet through his brain.

"Four!"

FUCK!

"NO! TWO! IT'S TWO!"

"Welcome back to the party, Private," he heard the Captain say; the man was still a blur to James' eyes.

James managed to get to his feet, his eyes slowly regaining their proper 20/20 vision. The survivors were looking at him, but they didn't seem all that concerned, more pissed off than anything.

"We've gotta neutralize them, Sir, the Colon-" James tried to say, perhaps unwisely given his predicament.

"Orders have changed Private, those men and women are now our top priority. The Colonel wants them top side," the Captain interluded. He addressed the survivors. "So what's it going to be? A crawl through the belly of the beast? Or a quick climb to freedom? Make it quick, as that Einstein of yours just pointed out, we haven't got long."

---

The armour was heavy on Jamie. She was the kind of girl that took good care of herself, not obsessively so, but she prided herself on her New York Minute style workouts that she'd crammed in at every opportunity in a life she could now barely remember. Still, the weight of the ceramic plates, the buckles and the Kevlar all added up to double gravity. She shifted her weight to the left, then the right, trying to gauge some kind of happy medium. It'd keep her alive, and it'd be great for cardio, but she wasn't so certain it'd do her speed any good.

"Are you okay?" Kahleen asked, Jamie looked up at her.

Those big, wonderful green eyes eclipsing everything. Jamie could tell that Kahleen wanted this nightmare to be over, but Hell, who wouldn't? Jamie was starting to remember who she was, starting to remember her father's words. The andrenaline had run itself dry, and the cold rush of reason was returning at an impressive pace.

"I'm fine babe," Jamie said, patting at the pockets on the body armour. "Has that guy gone crazy yet? Maybe you should give me that gun and I can put him down."

"Ask him a maths question," a voice yelled out from above, "the infected can't logic for shit."

Jamie pushed Kahleen aside, and stood in front of her. It was her time to be the heroine! "Stay behind me, babe. Looks like another one of these fucking soldiers wants a piece!"

Jamie's eyes narrowed on the doorway up top, and for a split second, she saw the spindly legs of a bandanna blow around the edge of the door frame. "How about you fuck off," she mumbled to herself, before turning to Kahleen. "I don't like this, we need to get out of here."

"For--fortynine!" called out the potential murderous clown from across the room, Jamie heard audible sighs of relief.

"Idiots," she whispered to Kahleen. "Really? A maths question? These people can fly planes!"

And then Army Guy #4 was up on the walkway, giving a speech reminiscent of a 90's action flick. If Jamie had a gun, she'd of shot him down; soldiers had managed to get their way down to the bottom of her "trust list". He was a grizzled hunk for sure, and were Jamie that way inclined, she might have found him half way to being attractive; she wasn't though, and that kind of macho bullshit didn't come close to touching her.

And then he tossed a rope down.

Seriously?

Jamie looked at Kahleen, "I can't climb that, is he crazy?" she paused, "Of course he's fucking crazy."

"Ca-Captain?"

Jamie looked across the room, and saw Soldier #1 starting to get up.

OH HELL NO

She marched across the room towards the soldier, even as he haphazardly conversed with his buddy up top in a manner that made Jamie think he'd done one too many vodkas. Still, whether he was sane, crazy, just an asshole or a moron, it didn't matter. He was going to kill them all a few minutes ago. She walked up to him, and launched her right foot into his unprotected genitals.

He fell down with a whimper.

"Yeah fuck you," she said, spitting at him. "I'm done with the Army. You guys can all go with Captain Crunch if you want, but me and Kahleen will take our chances on the other side of that door!"

She turned to Kahleen, "come on, babe, let's get the Hell out of here."

"I'm fine babe", Jamie said. Seeing Jamie in that armour gave Kahleen a little break from worrying. It may weighted heavy on them both and it pressed the itchy white overall to their skin, but it was a little bit protection. It was a hint of safety.

"Has that guy gone crazy yet? Maybe you should give me that gun and I can put him down." Did her animal-loving, vegetarian girlfriend just suggest to end someone's life? Kahleen didn't get to think about that change in her lovers personality much.

Within the next minute a lot happened. Kahleen wasn't sure how to react to it. A man pointed out that some moron had given away their position and their state of still being alive. Any second there could be a bunch of infected bursting through the door to happily kill or infect them all.

Some survivors had managed to open the door wide enough for them to slip through one by one. Kahleen's first instinct was to flee through the door before anything else could endanger them in this locked up room again.

But someone gave her a second option. Someone who turned out to be yet another army guy had entered the room. He was armed and first thing Kahleen wanted to pull Jamie back.

But she was surprised when she was the one being pulled behind her lover for protection. "Stay behind me, babe. Looks like another one of these fucking soldiers wants a piece!"

She grabbed the woman's hand and squeezed softly. The soldier that entered gave them the option to either go through the door where they'd have to fight through many stages of infected people or climb a rope to reach the 20 feet above walkway and get easily out from there on.

Just as Kahleen thought aboit the option being realistic for her, her girlfriend made the decision. "I can't climb that, is he crazy?" she paused, "Of course he's fucking crazy." Kahleen had to agree that climbing was no option for her either. She wouldn't make it. That's for being lazy in sports class.

She didn't wanna go out there and face the crazy people. She didn't wanna get in danger again. That was enough action for her for a lifetime!

Kahleen looked for another way out, which was obviously silly. They've been in that room for long enough to know there's no other way. Escaping is a matter of time, the crazy could be here any heartbeat. She opened her mouth, not really sure what she was even gonna say. But it didn't matter. Jamie pulled her hand out of her soft grip and marched over to the slowly awakening soldier on the ground. Kahleen wondered if she had sen anything useful to grab or whatnot but instead she kicked him into the balls hard.

Kahleen's jaw dropped, literally. Her mouth hang open. Soft, kind-hearted Jamie has turned furious. Full of anger and hate.

"Yeah fuck you," she said, spitting at him. "I'm done with the Army. You guys can all go with Captain Crunch if you want, but me and Kahleen will take our chances on the other side of that door!"

Kahleen had never seen her girlfriend this furious. And spitting at him was so unlike her. Sure Kahleen felt the same anger towards the army. But she wouldn't spit at them. Not yet anyway.

The blonde turned to Kahleen, "come on, babe, let's get the Hell out of here."

Her head was spinning with information and searching for every logical action. Kahleen felt she had heard something that made her mind ring a bell. The same bell that had rung every time a child in her nursery school had told a lie.

She frowned and spoke up. "Can you even replay the messages sent on a headset? I thought it's just for communication and not recording." She didn't wanna point a finger because in fact she had no idea if they could play already spoken messages. She thought it didn't.

Thinking that this was now not the worse problem, she turned her attention back to Jamie. "If you are sure that's for our best, let's go. All I know is I don't wanna be alone in this war." She felt weak for whispering the next sentence but she needed to say it. "Please don't leave me."

Seeing Jamie take charge of their situation had Kahleen gone weak. She felt like protecting Jamie was a whole lot easier with her being that strong badass girl. And just for a moment it had to be okay for Kahleen to be weak and speak out her fears. The truth was hard but it was the truth. She couldn't survive this alone.

All that Nat knew was one minute she was getting ready to take the rifle, and the next some asshole had grabbed it right out from under her hands. How absolutely rude. Granted, she did the same thing earlier, but this time it was a bit different. The man did not look like he was going to give that back. Nat scrambled backwards a few feet, with her butt still on the ground.

“See?! I'm not infected!... You believe me, right?”

The man was staring at her, holding the gun that she had wanted to grab. Now was not the time to call him rude, or to make an ass out of herself. For all she knew, he was unstable, and that gun would make a pretty nice splatter painting out of her in no time at all. Nataliya managed to find her voice, her Russian accent grew more prominent as she grew nervous, “Uhm.. yea. Whatever you say.” Shit! That still wasn’t very nice she cursed to herself. With a meek smile, Nat threw her hands up in an ‘I give’ sort of way. “Please don’t shoot me, okay?” She looked up at the man, not entirely trusting that he was sane.

"If you people want to stay alive, stay with me."

The sudden, strong scent of tobacco hit her nose and suddenly Nataliya was reminded of her father. The sweet, yet bitter scent brought her back to many a night sitting in the living room with a cup of tea, and her father reading a newspaper, a long cigar hanging from his fingers. She was just a small girl then. Nataliya looked around and saw the marine coming out from behind the door.

"Through that door is the de-contamination area… Or, if you've got the upper body strength, you can climb this rope to freedom.”

Nataliya looked at the rope. She was positive she could climb it. Having spent many summers climbing trees in the forest, she knew her arm strength could lift her all the way up. She could probably even carry the small girl she saw earlier. Looking around, she noticed not many of the civilians were too thrilled about that option. Nat felt a twinge of regret in her chest as she looked at the people around her. It was evident that not many could use a gun, and a few weren’t very bright either. She couldn’t help the injured earlier, but she sure as hell could offer assistance now. The least she could do was be a good shot, and help get rid of the infected. Glancing at the rope one more time, Nataliya stayed silent, waiting for the next move from the Captain.

John tilted his head to side when the woman threw her arms up, practically begging. "I just proved -- I'm not gonna shoot you." He pointed the rifle at the dead soldier, "I'm not one of them." He was about to further plead his case but the captain took the spotlight, cigar in hand. It reminded John of action movies and video games, things he had missed.

"Only problem is, we lost contact with that area fifteen minutes ago, so you can bet that your friend there isn't going to be the last crazy to come your way." That particular part caught John's attention, it wasn't exactly a pleasing thought.

"Ca-Captain?" James had finally come to, though he still seemed sluggish from the fall. John sighed, glad things were starting to look up. His grip on the rifle slowly eased up. There were two soldiers now, and they were going to be looking out for the survivors. But, even after proving that he was not among the infected, James was immediately shut down from a kick to the groin. It was the same blonde that had accused John of being infected, he was beginning to think she was a real bitch. An understandable bitch, given the stress of the situation.

“Yeah fuck you!” The blonde hissed, and spat at him. “I'm done with the Army. You guys can all go with Captain Crunch if you want, but me and Kahleen will take our chances on the other side of that door!" John could understand why she was so harsh, after all that soldier was going to shoot only moments earlier. The little interaction gave him the time to think about what he wanted to do.

"Nope, fuck that." He had enough of those demons for the moment, he picked up the three magazines at his feet and made his way to the rope. Besides that he knew that getting extra firepower probably wouldn’t do him much good. After all, he wasn’t a trained soldier. One rifle was probably all that he could handle. Right before he gripped the rope, he saw something across the room that stole his attention, rooting him to a standstill. A little girl covered in the blood of one of the deceased, for a second John felt a lump in his throat. Ava? He squinted his eyes. No. The little girl wasn’t her, Ava had red hair and freckles; this girl did not. John felt a pit in his stomach, realizing that he might not see his sister or niece ever again.

John slung the rifle over his back, stuck one of the magazines in his mouth, tossed the other two up at the captain, hoping he would catch them, and then started his ascent. Just like gym class, he thought; each pull upwards was a struggle, causing him to grunt. The only real exercise he had gotten recently was running, it didn’t really help with the upper body. Eventually, after nearly sliding all the way back down, John reached the top. He took the magazine out of his mouth, “I’m, uh, Jo-John," He couldn't help but stutter. The captain was intimidating up close. “I guess I’m with you,” And with that John fell in behind the man. Waiting for the others to follow, if any of them even decided to join them.