Dr. Izea Lex walks through the halls of work, his eyes drifting from one horror to another. St. Agnus Hospital had turned from a well ordered clean facility into one's worst nightmare in the matter of hour. His stomach churns but nothing threatens to come up. He had long since given up all there was to give from it, and now even the dry heaves have subsided. He steps gingerly over the right arm and half a torso of one of the nurses who worked in his wing. He vaguely recalls her name is. . . was Mable. Against one wall brain matter and bits of skull seem to be embedded in the cracked drywall. His gray eyes shift back and forth as he moves towards the source of the carnage.
Moving down the ward he stops by the nurses station and glances inside. The clean stacks of rags and medical equipment along the right hand wall is untouched, pristine, starkly contrasting the red painting the wall and floor by the back supply closet. The door had been ripped from it's hinges and now lay in splinters across the floor. The doctor licks his lips uselessly, his tongue dry as they. His eyes water ever so slightly as he recognizes a few of the people stacked atop one another, their bodily fluids and organs coming together in a pile around the mound. The smell of blood and such coming from all corners of the hospital no longer seem to register in his nose for the most part, but this concentration of stench hits him hard.
Stumbling backwards he catches himself before falling face first into a mess of redness splattered across the floor of the hallway. There are no longer any scream ringing in his ears. No longer the sound of bodies breaking, of people dieing pounding into his mind. The red emergency lights flash silently, feeding into the quiet that seems to invade his senses. He at last come to a room, it's door clean and the area around it untouched by the claw marks that had littered the walls and floor in almost every corner of the hospital. A lone tear falls as he reaches for the handle, pushing the door open on well oiled hinges.
Bloody footprints and streak marks are the only signs that anything is off in this sterile room. His eyes trail the blood up to the hospital bed where the cause of all the carnage lay. Now looking completely human the creature seems to be sleeping soundly. At 27 years of age, young Sasha Minxs lay curled up like a cat laying before a warm fireplace after a long day of frolicking. His clothes had been entirely shredded in the massacre and not even a shred remained. The tear falling from the doctors eye falls to the floor as he look over at his life long friend.
He and Sasha had spent their entire childhoods together, even sharing their birthdays of October 13th, they were close as could be. As he steps into the room the doctor walks as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake the sleeping man. Stopping by his bedside he watches as the blood coating much of Sasha's body soaks into the white sheets. A light breeze through the window ruffles the sleeping mans shortish tousled brown hair, causing him to shift in his sleep. Izea holds his breath, praying Sasha wouldn't wake. When he settles back down with a sigh the doc lets out his breath slowly.
Sasha had spent the last 5 years of his life in this hospital. The two of them had been chem and bio majors in collage, and after graduating went to work for Izea's uncle in a testing facility. Having skipped a few grades, they graduated young, and were by far the youngest guys working at the facility. This earned them a little flak at first, but eventually they became quite respected by the other scientists. Their work war revolutionary. However, after an accident with one of the specimens they had been working on, Sasha had to be admitted to the hospital. At first it had seemed he could return to work in a few weeks, but instead of getting better, things got. . .Strange.
Wracked with guilt over what happened, blaming the whole ordeal on himself, Izea had quit his job at the testing center and instead got a job in the lab at the hospital Sasha would spend the next 5 years in. While Sasha did not blame Izea, that didn't stop Izea from devoting most of his time trying to find a cure for his friend. Before today his fits of rage and transformations had been small, short, and contained. Sasha had been a kind and mild mannered guy before the accident, and remained so most of the time afterward save when the experimental DNA took over. Izea racked up a small collection of scars from various outbursts from his dear friend.
But that evening, that hour, everything had changed. Izea watches as before his very eyes Sasha became, a monster. The change was smooth, almost graceful, but the sounds of bones shifting and organs rearranging was sickening. Sasha had busted out of his room, ignoring Izea completely as he sat frozen in horror at the end of Sasha's bed. They had been talking about how to celebrate their birthday that evening, and laughing over the fact that Sasha's mother still sent him gifts. It took until the first scream for Izea even to stand. The chilling sound had dropped his stomach to his shoes. He'd rushed away from the screams, to his office where he kept a strong tranquilizer that had worked before when he'd gotten particularly violent.
Izea pulls the syringe from his pocket, the plunger pushed to the hilt, the tube empty. “But it didn't work.” He whispers, his voice dry and wispy. Another tear falls, this time splashing down on the blood soaked sheets. “You killed so fast. . . . .” As fast as Izea ran, he couldn't seem to catch up to his friend to stop him. Bullets had no effect, passing through his body like he was made of jello, the wound healing up an instant later. When at last he caught up to Sasha and had injected him, everyone was dead. Sasha had stumbled off towards his room while Izea was finally hit hard by all the carnage around him.
Letting out a small sob Izea pulls another syringe from his pocket, this one full of a slightly luminescent liquid. This, this would kill his friend, but could he do it? Would Sasha even let him? He knew that even in his sleep, Sasha would sense the danger, and could stop him without thinking. What should he do? Was there ever any chance he could save his friend?
*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*
You look down at the building bellow, your sight passing through the roof and walls. The bodies and blood below sends a shock through your system. Your astral body hangs suspended above it all, but some part of you knows. Quickly you search for him, your friend, Izea. ~Please, let him be safe~ Your eyes are drawn to your room. There he is, safe and sound. But, what's this? He's. . . .He's crying. And ~Oh god. . . . .~ you, you're, covered in. . . . .It all clicks into place and you feel a rush of guilt. Not for the fact that you just slaughtered a hospital full of people, but that Izea had to see it.
Your feelings had been strange since the accident, and you almost seemed to need to feel through Izea. You still remember feelings, and when he's around everything seems normal. ~He must be so upset right now~ You ache inside for a moment before you notice the syringe. The tell-tale glow lets you know what's inside. ~He, he's going to kill me? But, but we are friends~ You manage to drift a little closer, your mind whirring. ~I guess if he thinks I should, but, I don't want to die! If, if he could just help fix me. . . . .~ Your mind continues to drift about as you debate whether or not to stop your friend. ~If I die, he can get on with his life, and I won't make him sad anymore, but if I live, maybe, I can make up for what I did. Maybe, I'll be able to be myself again~
Moving down the ward he stops by the nurses station and glances inside. The clean stacks of rags and medical equipment along the right hand wall is untouched, pristine, starkly contrasting the red painting the wall and floor by the back supply closet. The door had been ripped from it's hinges and now lay in splinters across the floor. The doctor licks his lips uselessly, his tongue dry as they. His eyes water ever so slightly as he recognizes a few of the people stacked atop one another, their bodily fluids and organs coming together in a pile around the mound. The smell of blood and such coming from all corners of the hospital no longer seem to register in his nose for the most part, but this concentration of stench hits him hard.
Stumbling backwards he catches himself before falling face first into a mess of redness splattered across the floor of the hallway. There are no longer any scream ringing in his ears. No longer the sound of bodies breaking, of people dieing pounding into his mind. The red emergency lights flash silently, feeding into the quiet that seems to invade his senses. He at last come to a room, it's door clean and the area around it untouched by the claw marks that had littered the walls and floor in almost every corner of the hospital. A lone tear falls as he reaches for the handle, pushing the door open on well oiled hinges.
Bloody footprints and streak marks are the only signs that anything is off in this sterile room. His eyes trail the blood up to the hospital bed where the cause of all the carnage lay. Now looking completely human the creature seems to be sleeping soundly. At 27 years of age, young Sasha Minxs lay curled up like a cat laying before a warm fireplace after a long day of frolicking. His clothes had been entirely shredded in the massacre and not even a shred remained. The tear falling from the doctors eye falls to the floor as he look over at his life long friend.
He and Sasha had spent their entire childhoods together, even sharing their birthdays of October 13th, they were close as could be. As he steps into the room the doctor walks as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake the sleeping man. Stopping by his bedside he watches as the blood coating much of Sasha's body soaks into the white sheets. A light breeze through the window ruffles the sleeping mans shortish tousled brown hair, causing him to shift in his sleep. Izea holds his breath, praying Sasha wouldn't wake. When he settles back down with a sigh the doc lets out his breath slowly.
Sasha had spent the last 5 years of his life in this hospital. The two of them had been chem and bio majors in collage, and after graduating went to work for Izea's uncle in a testing facility. Having skipped a few grades, they graduated young, and were by far the youngest guys working at the facility. This earned them a little flak at first, but eventually they became quite respected by the other scientists. Their work war revolutionary. However, after an accident with one of the specimens they had been working on, Sasha had to be admitted to the hospital. At first it had seemed he could return to work in a few weeks, but instead of getting better, things got. . .Strange.
Wracked with guilt over what happened, blaming the whole ordeal on himself, Izea had quit his job at the testing center and instead got a job in the lab at the hospital Sasha would spend the next 5 years in. While Sasha did not blame Izea, that didn't stop Izea from devoting most of his time trying to find a cure for his friend. Before today his fits of rage and transformations had been small, short, and contained. Sasha had been a kind and mild mannered guy before the accident, and remained so most of the time afterward save when the experimental DNA took over. Izea racked up a small collection of scars from various outbursts from his dear friend.
But that evening, that hour, everything had changed. Izea watches as before his very eyes Sasha became, a monster. The change was smooth, almost graceful, but the sounds of bones shifting and organs rearranging was sickening. Sasha had busted out of his room, ignoring Izea completely as he sat frozen in horror at the end of Sasha's bed. They had been talking about how to celebrate their birthday that evening, and laughing over the fact that Sasha's mother still sent him gifts. It took until the first scream for Izea even to stand. The chilling sound had dropped his stomach to his shoes. He'd rushed away from the screams, to his office where he kept a strong tranquilizer that had worked before when he'd gotten particularly violent.
Izea pulls the syringe from his pocket, the plunger pushed to the hilt, the tube empty. “But it didn't work.” He whispers, his voice dry and wispy. Another tear falls, this time splashing down on the blood soaked sheets. “You killed so fast. . . . .” As fast as Izea ran, he couldn't seem to catch up to his friend to stop him. Bullets had no effect, passing through his body like he was made of jello, the wound healing up an instant later. When at last he caught up to Sasha and had injected him, everyone was dead. Sasha had stumbled off towards his room while Izea was finally hit hard by all the carnage around him.
Letting out a small sob Izea pulls another syringe from his pocket, this one full of a slightly luminescent liquid. This, this would kill his friend, but could he do it? Would Sasha even let him? He knew that even in his sleep, Sasha would sense the danger, and could stop him without thinking. What should he do? Was there ever any chance he could save his friend?
*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*
You look down at the building bellow, your sight passing through the roof and walls. The bodies and blood below sends a shock through your system. Your astral body hangs suspended above it all, but some part of you knows. Quickly you search for him, your friend, Izea. ~Please, let him be safe~ Your eyes are drawn to your room. There he is, safe and sound. But, what's this? He's. . . .He's crying. And ~Oh god. . . . .~ you, you're, covered in. . . . .It all clicks into place and you feel a rush of guilt. Not for the fact that you just slaughtered a hospital full of people, but that Izea had to see it.
Your feelings had been strange since the accident, and you almost seemed to need to feel through Izea. You still remember feelings, and when he's around everything seems normal. ~He must be so upset right now~ You ache inside for a moment before you notice the syringe. The tell-tale glow lets you know what's inside. ~He, he's going to kill me? But, but we are friends~ You manage to drift a little closer, your mind whirring. ~I guess if he thinks I should, but, I don't want to die! If, if he could just help fix me. . . . .~ Your mind continues to drift about as you debate whether or not to stop your friend. ~If I die, he can get on with his life, and I won't make him sad anymore, but if I live, maybe, I can make up for what I did. Maybe, I'll be able to be myself again~