Now I have at last finished my "expansion" of the KF plotline; it's just something I've been cooking up for a while, for anyone's amusement or for mappers. In any case, I've decided to celebrate my finishing of this segement by posting it as a complete story; mind you, its not over yet, but its enough for a segment, and for me to take a little break. Also, I will be posting the official KFMod storyline in a future post, which you should read before this.
I: Quarantine
The Day of Bedlam: The Quarantine has shattered, they have escaped into London...and suddenly, the internet coverage of whatever is going on stops throughout the world. As the British Prime Minister prepares to make a speech throughout the world, suddenly all communication throughout the British Isles fails...there is no more contact. The UN quarantine, haphazardly put together after the initial specimen coverage, suddenly becomes more than temporary, as suddenly the Isles are cut off from the outside world.
In New York, as the Security Council meets, there is chaos; is this a plague, some sort of divine or satanic assault? No one knows. There is only one choice for a time like this: total quarantine. There can be no one leaving the Isles at any cost. Because, if it gets off the island, what can stop it from turning Paris, Moscow, Delhi, Beijing, or Washington all into the next "London"s? No; even if they have to sacrifice every life on the Isles, it's better them than everyone. Hundreds of ships and planes and helicopters set out from around the world, as the Channel Tunnel is destroyed by France for good measure.
Shortly after Eastern London becomes overrun, the UKs top army priority is evacuation. Small squads are barely holding back these monsters from catching up. Fleets of refugees sail from the Isle in whatever they can get their hands on to France...only to meet a blockade. At first there is a standstill...until one boat, a rickety old sailboat filled to the brim with survivors, tries to run it. There is a second of indecision in the eyes of the machine gunners before they let loose a wall of lead into the boat. The soldiers tell themselves that it’s for the greater good as they watch their fellow man ripped to shreds by flying metal.
Protests follow, as the military footage of the act is stolen from UN military files. But these are short-lived; as bigger news came out...the Northern Blockade had shot down a vessel of their own...the HSS Icebreaker. And the bodies they saw drift to the top were not at all right...and the tests showed human DNA in these monsters. It must be a plague. There must be no escape of this disease, no matter the cost.
Meanwhile, in Good 'ol Britain, things have not been going well. London has burned to the ground ages ago; now England as a whole is on fire. The Government, however, has reformed in Glasgow, and has set up lines of defense in Western Wales and Northern England/Southern Scotland. Seaside forts are sustained by a series of islands. But things are not looking up. Even as the government reforms and the army is organized, there is just too many. And they are getting organized. Massive charges of Gorefast are barely fought off, as the fiends scramble over their dead brethren, and the dead, pushed forward by the tide, act as a meatsheild for the living. Helicopters must now fly with care, as if they go too low, torrents of fiery explosives come from the surging tide of husks below. oceans of Clots meet any resistance in the country.
There must be a way to end this, the new military Council of Britain thinks. And then a plan is devised: take the grizzled, elite veterans, and storm the labs, and so as much damage as possible to the machines, perhaps removing Kevin from the picture as well. This multitude of Britain's finest, from Clive Jenkins, to Constable Briar, to DJ Skully, then find themselves in the thick of it a second time, in the ashes of what used to be London. But, as they fight towards the underground, they suddenly are assailed by a torrent of gunfire from the other side. As they hit the ground, they see a large number of men in black assaulting their position. They are covered from head to toe in black plates, their faces hidden. The confusion among the ranks of Britain’s finest is tangible; Bloody hell, they have guns now too? But one man, the most experienced, knows from the gate, from the eyes gleaming through the visor, who it is. "Hello...Masterson."
II: Resurgance
The old trooper buried rushed with a group of the survivors, into the burnt remnants of the old Horzine offices, and remembered his last visit there. The Mission....how he had, alone, made his way into the Labs. How he had fought Masterson that time. When he had discovered that Horzine had not failed in cloning after all. When he had killed Kevin's Adam, or what he thought to be him. Of course, he thought he'd never have to look into those eyes again. But it was only logical; Kevin had made one Masterson, why could he not make a dozen? A hundred? Who knew what this new menace was capable of? No matter. No matter how many genetic enhancements, no matter how much Horzine armor, they would all die, just as the old one had. He shoved all this behind him, and turned to the matter at hand.
The survivors of the initial attack were already regathering, and were pushing towards the Labs. First upon reaching the ruins, his squad (lets call them Squad A for now), began to descend. For the building had long been demolished. In fact, after He had been extracted, a storm of missiles and bunker-bombs had annihilated anything the fire had spared. Now ruins of twisted cement, steel, and charred wood created a heap, upon which only a broken letter "H", previously Neon, marked as Horzine property. The squad entered a hole made by an attempted bunker strike, and descended into the Lower Levels of the Horzine complex. Into a vast, unused Labyrinth, ruined by the counterstrike, but crawling with Horzine's many...."unorthodox" projects. The teams, having received a good picture if where to go from the old strike teams, descended. And, as they went further, the complex became more obviously untouched...and alive. Power from a generator unknown to all surged through the corridors, mostly flickering as the light bulbs begin to die from use. At last the Clamely Complex was reached...but the stairs had been dismantled. He looked about, confused about how to get all the way down, and then remembered how he had before. It was so simple....was it still there? Had it been fixed? He walked over to the nearest elevator and pressed "Down". The doors slid open, and that old, peaceful music poured out. They all walked in, pressed the lowest button, and felt a strange combination of intense peace and dread as they went down floor after floor.
The doors opened...and were welcomed by a greeting party. And by greeting party, I mean one that wields chainsaws, meat grinders, and guns. The Labs were tinged red from the alert lights as the they were filled with monstrosities. However, the squads had not gone unprepared. They had brought along a few compact explosives. And suddenly the Labs were filled with chaos. As smells of burning flesh and melting steel filled the air, the team rushed through the chaos deeper into the Labs, until they had reached an area where the steel doors were locked even against the "precious children" of Kevin. Luckily for the team, they had managed to blast their way in attempting to destroy some cloning devices...and were amazed. The labs here were empty. There was no sign that Kevin had let anyone in but himself. Not even a Masterson in sight. There were not hairless freaks in these nor even the usual clones of his old commander...but others. Attempts at creating Kevin's old life, there was even a clone of his dearest son, in a drugged coma. Versions, copies lay along the walls, torn to shreds by Kevin's destructive rages as he attempted to figure out what he wanted, what these were.
Then, they entered the second room. As the team sat in the first fending off zeds and setting charges, He told them to save them. For he had found something far more important then playthings of Clamely's psychotic desires. He had discovered a large room. Dead scientists lay around, those who had discovered it. And their blood was used to write messages, the same as those found on computers in the room. "I am God" "I am Immortal" "The corrupt shall be overthrown, and my children will inherit the world". But over on the far side of the Lab lay a series of large tanks holding...things. Some were apparently in stages of development, others were human-sized, and some were developing into monstrosities. He looked closer, and saw a familiar pattern among these. He knelt closer and saw the face of Kevin Clamely.
III: The Dark
The old trooper was snapping quick shots of the tanks. This...this was massive news. This had to be reported to the higher-ups immediately. He was looking at a row of tanks under the label "Test Subjects Alpha-Omega", which ranged from what looked like a fetus, to what appeared to be people in various forms of growth. And, worst of all, they bore the same face as the portrait He had seen so long ago. It was when He had stormed the old Horzine Offices. It had said "Kevin Clamely, Horzine CEO". The old soldier knew what the writings in blood meant now. Kevin was going to achieve his immortality, his divinity, by cloning himself. He looked at the one on the farthest right, which appeared to be developing some "genetic enhancements", and began setting charges. He rushed quickly, urging his teammates to help, and soon enough had all the tanks rigged.
He retreated back to the atrium of this private Lab, and pressed the detonation. The concentrated explosives sent glass, chemicals, and the insides of the clones spewing out of a fiery torrent of wind. His ears rung, and he couldn't see straight, but he knew that he had to run. Now. He yelled to his squad to follow him and fast as they darted out of the atrium, shooting anything in their way. They were low on ammo, bruised and beaten, and winded. He darted towards the nearest stairs as he heard the pounding of something on metal. Something big and something fast, heading their way. They sprinted down a long corridor, their guns on their backs, heaving as they tried to run for their lives. He glanced behind him and saw what looked like indents in the floor, as invisible claws dug into the metal far behind them. The pounding stopped, and he heard a squad member shout "Look out, you plonkers!", and hit the floor. He followed suit, throwing himself down barely in time, as a rocket speared the spot where he had been standing.
The rocket flew to the end of the hall, and He heard a blast of concrete as a hole was ripped into the foundations. He ran, unthinking, praying to whatever was out there that he wasn't leaping into an empty elevator shaft. Powered by adrenaline, he launched himself into the abyss, racing against the now continuing and even more furious pounding. He felt like he was flying for a second, as he free fell into a concrete floor.
Well, wherever the hell he was, he had broken something important, he guessed. The rest of the team had apparently followed suited, and were lying on the floor struggling to get up. Then he remembered why he was here, and ran as fast as his injured body could move, helping up his teammates, applying any fast medicine. The team flung their near-broken bodies into the darkness, praying whatever was there was better than what was behind them.
While there had been some murmuring and some flashlights on a second ago, everything was dark and silent the second the team heard a crash from behind them. They scattered among the concrete pillars and supplies, trying to run as silently as they could up the incline to freedom. From the looks of it, they had made it far enough out of the lab before for the Labs to border the deepest, forgotten sub-basements of the old London underground infrastructure. But any hope they had was replaced by a pure urge to survive as they heard the sound of something heavy crunching on concrete, and they knew that someone, or something, was looking for them.
The squad crept together, kept from bolting only by discipline. The sound of each step reverberated in the sub-basements, adding to the horrified feeling that they were far from hidden. Hopefully it might confuse that thing until they can get to safety', he hoped. Any sort of organization was lost in the pitch black as the whole team could barely see the person in front of them. The roars of "Run, vermin, run!" and "I will crush you like the pests you are" didn't exactly help as they echoed in the cavernous room, with the bouts of psychotic laughter mixing together into one as they reverberated. The situation was dissolving quickly, as it was only a matter of time before they were caught. And with no ammo and injuries, fighting that thing in the pitch dark would be near impossible. He led his team along the wall, following the concrete until they reached a door opening. He felt a jump of hope as he thought he had found an exit; then he read the sign, barely able to detect the white print in front of him, reading "Heating and Energy Depot and Emergency Generator". And then he had another plan.
Kevin Clamely ran in charges through the black laughing maniacally, the thrill of the hunt mixing with a tinge of insanity. "You thought you could rob me of my Immortality, vermin? Thought you could sabotage my ascendance? No; I want to make sure you know, before I crush your skulls, that you are simply an inconvenience, a pest...to be exterminated". Then he heard the sound of a metal door creaking open, and he rushed towards the sound, and through the doorway. He knew they were there; he could smell their inferior stench. He stalked his prey through the jungle of pipes, feeling his victory was close at hand. Then he heard something; a slight, muffled sound. Footsteps? He flung himself into a sprint as he lunged on his foolish enemy, only to knock his head into a large metal tank at full speed. In his confusion, he stood still for a moment, bewildered. Then he heard the sound...a beeping?....suddenly quicken in succession rapidly. He looked down and saw the last of the C4 charges....attached to the main propane tank.
The old trooper smiled to himself as he rushed up the metal stairs when he heard the ruckus. It had been eerily silent until they had heard a "YOU FU-", interrupted by a massive Boom. He then picked up his pace, as he knew that they were certainly not out of peril. They had made it out of the iron deathtrap into the concrete maze, and it was certain to be filled with specimen. Already he had silently killed a clot he had stumbled upon on the flight of stairs with his knife. The upper levels were certain to be teeming with freaks.
He pushed open the door, exiting the sublevels into the normal levels. Strangely enough, these seemed to have power, even though that emergency generator had exploded in the sub-basements. The team, armed with scavenged weapons (their weapons they had come with were long dead). The team began to walk down the hall, slashing, shooting, or crushing the oncoming specimen. But as the majority of his exhausted teammates simply noticed that the zeds were turning from a trickle to a flow as they progressed, the old veteran noticed an odd occurrence; as they went down the hall, the lights were getting brighter. And why did they even have power to start with? He couldn't speculate all too much as he brought his axe down on a gorefast's writhing body.
IV: Midnight
The team pushed forward, down the ruined hallway, the lights flickering above them. The specimen, which had simply been trickling from ahead of them before, now were swarming the hallway with Bloats, Clots, and Gorefast. The team, injured and carrying whatever they could, kept on moving, clearing the hallways of roaming abominations. The team continued forward, with the tunnels constantly growing in danger as zeds surged in. And, as they walked into Terminal C-3, they suddenly realized why: the station, next to the upper Horzine labs, had had its wall torn down. Massive coils of wire crept out of the hole, feeding deep into the old train tunnel, which was brightly lit. A Generator hummed loudly as more freaks poured from the depths, out of the hole. It was time to get out of here and wherever that wire went; it was not going to the Labs. It was a better chance than wandering around some infested labyrinth, starving to death. The survivors headed into the tunnel, into the dark one more time.
Hours later, a light began to show at the end of the tunnel. The wires hummed in a monstrous symphony, as they had during the long and dark trip down the tunnel. A few specimens had been found, but it seemed that Kevin didn't trust his creations near his electrical equipment for the most part. These thoughts and speculations were all driven out of His head as his teammate tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up, preparing a witty response, but left his words in mid-air as he comprehended what he had seen. An old Eurostar underground terminal had been transformed into...something. A colossus of machinery, centered on a single pinnacle that rose into the ceiling, created a maze of iron and wires. Masterson, not in jet black Horzine armor, but in separate uniforms, scampered among the machinery. These b**tards had been busy, by god. However, the numbers labeling the side of the machine he had seen elsewhere. Under, in the Labs, somewhere. He tried to contact home base one more time, but the comm. was now totally static...it had gotten slightly better in the underground, allowing momentary sounds to pierce the noise, but now it had gone back to the same static. He pulled himself together, refocusing on the task at hand. He needed to get out of here...wherever "here" was. Then it occurred to him: he may not know how to escape, but someone here did. He picked up his axe, and slammed it into a nearby machine piece.
Soon enough, a uniformed drone was walking towards the problem, his eyes somewhat glazed over. The old sergeant would probably stir in his grave at the sight. As he walked over to the piece, preparing to look inside, the sergeant grabbed the sedated clone dragging him into the darkness. The surprise shook the clone out of whatever daze he had been in before, struggling as 6 men pinned him to the wall. Anderson, the medic, put his hand over the terrified man's mouth, stifling his screams. "Info. Now," the old soldier muttered with his best menacing tone, as he dropped his axe, and pulled out his welding unit and knife. The man's eyes followed the welder's fire as it flickered, drawing slowly closer. The clone began to spasm, his instincts fighting his mental conditioning. Anderson took his hand off his mouth, as he shouted "T8-310-9 Override," his voice breaking under the stress.
Then he suddenly stopped struggling, and eyes widened. "FATHER, FORGIVE ME," he screamed, this time so loudly that it echoed the complex. He flung his arms wildly, biting, and screeching "Infidels! Monsters!" Their cover was broken as an armed Masterson spotted the intruders. Anderson tried gagging the flailing drone, who shook his head, babbling. "The Father will purify our genetics, and we shall reach perfection, once the Enemies are gone. The Father is forgiving to his children. Our family is one of love; we bring perfection and light to the world". Anderson flung the maddened Masterson into a tangle of wires as he pulled out his Lever action. The alert had sounded; they couldn't afford it.
He turned to put this dumb sod out of it's misery when he say it pull something out a pocket on the uniform. No, it couldn't be a pistol; they had taken his 9mm when they had abducted the tosspot. Then he heard a pin hit the concrete of the tunnel. "For the Father!" the drone shouted, other hand reaching out to grab the nearest human. The man went flying from a shotgun round to the chest, and the team leapt out of the way as concrete flew, and the cut wires squirmed like headless snakes, spewing sparks from their wounds.
The team got up and fled, as suddenly zeds began to pour in. They didn't know which way was out, but anything was better than standing still. As they ran in between the two main machines, could hear the frantic breathing of gorefasts chasing after them, with the sound of a chainsaw emanating from further back. The squad flung themselves forward among the machines, blasting anything near them. Gorefasts flung themselves past the main horde, jumping among the wires and the machines. Crawlers poured like rain, falling from the central spire. The team scrambled forward. This was too much to fight. He spotted an incline, as glanced at the faded paint reading "Parking levels A-D". He scrambled toward this glimmer of hope. That had been a disaster...what had they accomplished but alert them early? Well, as long as this leads to the surface, maybe the situation could be saved. As he darted into the structure, he saw his ride out of this hell hole: an old army infantry transport. The group reformed as he pried opens the door, snatched the key off a mangled corpse, and fired up the engine. The team, barely holding off a scrake, fell back to the truck. There were too many of them, and clearly Kevin was pulling out all the stops; he could even see glowing yellow lights beginning to advance. "Get the hell out of here!" someone yelled, and He hit the acceleration. The team barely held on as the old transport barreled out of the garage. They breathed truly fresh air for the first time since the helicopter...no ash, no tampering. He knew this was far from over. But, for once, this didn't seem like a total suicide mission after all.
I: Quarantine
Spoiler!
The Day of Bedlam: The Quarantine has shattered, they have escaped into London...and suddenly, the internet coverage of whatever is going on stops throughout the world. As the British Prime Minister prepares to make a speech throughout the world, suddenly all communication throughout the British Isles fails...there is no more contact. The UN quarantine, haphazardly put together after the initial specimen coverage, suddenly becomes more than temporary, as suddenly the Isles are cut off from the outside world.
In New York, as the Security Council meets, there is chaos; is this a plague, some sort of divine or satanic assault? No one knows. There is only one choice for a time like this: total quarantine. There can be no one leaving the Isles at any cost. Because, if it gets off the island, what can stop it from turning Paris, Moscow, Delhi, Beijing, or Washington all into the next "London"s? No; even if they have to sacrifice every life on the Isles, it's better them than everyone. Hundreds of ships and planes and helicopters set out from around the world, as the Channel Tunnel is destroyed by France for good measure.
Shortly after Eastern London becomes overrun, the UKs top army priority is evacuation. Small squads are barely holding back these monsters from catching up. Fleets of refugees sail from the Isle in whatever they can get their hands on to France...only to meet a blockade. At first there is a standstill...until one boat, a rickety old sailboat filled to the brim with survivors, tries to run it. There is a second of indecision in the eyes of the machine gunners before they let loose a wall of lead into the boat. The soldiers tell themselves that it’s for the greater good as they watch their fellow man ripped to shreds by flying metal.
Protests follow, as the military footage of the act is stolen from UN military files. But these are short-lived; as bigger news came out...the Northern Blockade had shot down a vessel of their own...the HSS Icebreaker. And the bodies they saw drift to the top were not at all right...and the tests showed human DNA in these monsters. It must be a plague. There must be no escape of this disease, no matter the cost.
Meanwhile, in Good 'ol Britain, things have not been going well. London has burned to the ground ages ago; now England as a whole is on fire. The Government, however, has reformed in Glasgow, and has set up lines of defense in Western Wales and Northern England/Southern Scotland. Seaside forts are sustained by a series of islands. But things are not looking up. Even as the government reforms and the army is organized, there is just too many. And they are getting organized. Massive charges of Gorefast are barely fought off, as the fiends scramble over their dead brethren, and the dead, pushed forward by the tide, act as a meatsheild for the living. Helicopters must now fly with care, as if they go too low, torrents of fiery explosives come from the surging tide of husks below. oceans of Clots meet any resistance in the country.
There must be a way to end this, the new military Council of Britain thinks. And then a plan is devised: take the grizzled, elite veterans, and storm the labs, and so as much damage as possible to the machines, perhaps removing Kevin from the picture as well. This multitude of Britain's finest, from Clive Jenkins, to Constable Briar, to DJ Skully, then find themselves in the thick of it a second time, in the ashes of what used to be London. But, as they fight towards the underground, they suddenly are assailed by a torrent of gunfire from the other side. As they hit the ground, they see a large number of men in black assaulting their position. They are covered from head to toe in black plates, their faces hidden. The confusion among the ranks of Britain’s finest is tangible; Bloody hell, they have guns now too? But one man, the most experienced, knows from the gate, from the eyes gleaming through the visor, who it is. "Hello...Masterson."
II: Resurgance
Spoiler!
The old trooper buried rushed with a group of the survivors, into the burnt remnants of the old Horzine offices, and remembered his last visit there. The Mission....how he had, alone, made his way into the Labs. How he had fought Masterson that time. When he had discovered that Horzine had not failed in cloning after all. When he had killed Kevin's Adam, or what he thought to be him. Of course, he thought he'd never have to look into those eyes again. But it was only logical; Kevin had made one Masterson, why could he not make a dozen? A hundred? Who knew what this new menace was capable of? No matter. No matter how many genetic enhancements, no matter how much Horzine armor, they would all die, just as the old one had. He shoved all this behind him, and turned to the matter at hand.
The survivors of the initial attack were already regathering, and were pushing towards the Labs. First upon reaching the ruins, his squad (lets call them Squad A for now), began to descend. For the building had long been demolished. In fact, after He had been extracted, a storm of missiles and bunker-bombs had annihilated anything the fire had spared. Now ruins of twisted cement, steel, and charred wood created a heap, upon which only a broken letter "H", previously Neon, marked as Horzine property. The squad entered a hole made by an attempted bunker strike, and descended into the Lower Levels of the Horzine complex. Into a vast, unused Labyrinth, ruined by the counterstrike, but crawling with Horzine's many...."unorthodox" projects. The teams, having received a good picture if where to go from the old strike teams, descended. And, as they went further, the complex became more obviously untouched...and alive. Power from a generator unknown to all surged through the corridors, mostly flickering as the light bulbs begin to die from use. At last the Clamely Complex was reached...but the stairs had been dismantled. He looked about, confused about how to get all the way down, and then remembered how he had before. It was so simple....was it still there? Had it been fixed? He walked over to the nearest elevator and pressed "Down". The doors slid open, and that old, peaceful music poured out. They all walked in, pressed the lowest button, and felt a strange combination of intense peace and dread as they went down floor after floor.
The doors opened...and were welcomed by a greeting party. And by greeting party, I mean one that wields chainsaws, meat grinders, and guns. The Labs were tinged red from the alert lights as the they were filled with monstrosities. However, the squads had not gone unprepared. They had brought along a few compact explosives. And suddenly the Labs were filled with chaos. As smells of burning flesh and melting steel filled the air, the team rushed through the chaos deeper into the Labs, until they had reached an area where the steel doors were locked even against the "precious children" of Kevin. Luckily for the team, they had managed to blast their way in attempting to destroy some cloning devices...and were amazed. The labs here were empty. There was no sign that Kevin had let anyone in but himself. Not even a Masterson in sight. There were not hairless freaks in these nor even the usual clones of his old commander...but others. Attempts at creating Kevin's old life, there was even a clone of his dearest son, in a drugged coma. Versions, copies lay along the walls, torn to shreds by Kevin's destructive rages as he attempted to figure out what he wanted, what these were.
Then, they entered the second room. As the team sat in the first fending off zeds and setting charges, He told them to save them. For he had found something far more important then playthings of Clamely's psychotic desires. He had discovered a large room. Dead scientists lay around, those who had discovered it. And their blood was used to write messages, the same as those found on computers in the room. "I am God" "I am Immortal" "The corrupt shall be overthrown, and my children will inherit the world". But over on the far side of the Lab lay a series of large tanks holding...things. Some were apparently in stages of development, others were human-sized, and some were developing into monstrosities. He looked closer, and saw a familiar pattern among these. He knelt closer and saw the face of Kevin Clamely.
III: The Dark
Spoiler!
The old trooper was snapping quick shots of the tanks. This...this was massive news. This had to be reported to the higher-ups immediately. He was looking at a row of tanks under the label "Test Subjects Alpha-Omega", which ranged from what looked like a fetus, to what appeared to be people in various forms of growth. And, worst of all, they bore the same face as the portrait He had seen so long ago. It was when He had stormed the old Horzine Offices. It had said "Kevin Clamely, Horzine CEO". The old soldier knew what the writings in blood meant now. Kevin was going to achieve his immortality, his divinity, by cloning himself. He looked at the one on the farthest right, which appeared to be developing some "genetic enhancements", and began setting charges. He rushed quickly, urging his teammates to help, and soon enough had all the tanks rigged.
He retreated back to the atrium of this private Lab, and pressed the detonation. The concentrated explosives sent glass, chemicals, and the insides of the clones spewing out of a fiery torrent of wind. His ears rung, and he couldn't see straight, but he knew that he had to run. Now. He yelled to his squad to follow him and fast as they darted out of the atrium, shooting anything in their way. They were low on ammo, bruised and beaten, and winded. He darted towards the nearest stairs as he heard the pounding of something on metal. Something big and something fast, heading their way. They sprinted down a long corridor, their guns on their backs, heaving as they tried to run for their lives. He glanced behind him and saw what looked like indents in the floor, as invisible claws dug into the metal far behind them. The pounding stopped, and he heard a squad member shout "Look out, you plonkers!", and hit the floor. He followed suit, throwing himself down barely in time, as a rocket speared the spot where he had been standing.
The rocket flew to the end of the hall, and He heard a blast of concrete as a hole was ripped into the foundations. He ran, unthinking, praying to whatever was out there that he wasn't leaping into an empty elevator shaft. Powered by adrenaline, he launched himself into the abyss, racing against the now continuing and even more furious pounding. He felt like he was flying for a second, as he free fell into a concrete floor.
Well, wherever the hell he was, he had broken something important, he guessed. The rest of the team had apparently followed suited, and were lying on the floor struggling to get up. Then he remembered why he was here, and ran as fast as his injured body could move, helping up his teammates, applying any fast medicine. The team flung their near-broken bodies into the darkness, praying whatever was there was better than what was behind them.
While there had been some murmuring and some flashlights on a second ago, everything was dark and silent the second the team heard a crash from behind them. They scattered among the concrete pillars and supplies, trying to run as silently as they could up the incline to freedom. From the looks of it, they had made it far enough out of the lab before for the Labs to border the deepest, forgotten sub-basements of the old London underground infrastructure. But any hope they had was replaced by a pure urge to survive as they heard the sound of something heavy crunching on concrete, and they knew that someone, or something, was looking for them.
The squad crept together, kept from bolting only by discipline. The sound of each step reverberated in the sub-basements, adding to the horrified feeling that they were far from hidden. Hopefully it might confuse that thing until they can get to safety', he hoped. Any sort of organization was lost in the pitch black as the whole team could barely see the person in front of them. The roars of "Run, vermin, run!" and "I will crush you like the pests you are" didn't exactly help as they echoed in the cavernous room, with the bouts of psychotic laughter mixing together into one as they reverberated. The situation was dissolving quickly, as it was only a matter of time before they were caught. And with no ammo and injuries, fighting that thing in the pitch dark would be near impossible. He led his team along the wall, following the concrete until they reached a door opening. He felt a jump of hope as he thought he had found an exit; then he read the sign, barely able to detect the white print in front of him, reading "Heating and Energy Depot and Emergency Generator". And then he had another plan.
Kevin Clamely ran in charges through the black laughing maniacally, the thrill of the hunt mixing with a tinge of insanity. "You thought you could rob me of my Immortality, vermin? Thought you could sabotage my ascendance? No; I want to make sure you know, before I crush your skulls, that you are simply an inconvenience, a pest...to be exterminated". Then he heard the sound of a metal door creaking open, and he rushed towards the sound, and through the doorway. He knew they were there; he could smell their inferior stench. He stalked his prey through the jungle of pipes, feeling his victory was close at hand. Then he heard something; a slight, muffled sound. Footsteps? He flung himself into a sprint as he lunged on his foolish enemy, only to knock his head into a large metal tank at full speed. In his confusion, he stood still for a moment, bewildered. Then he heard the sound...a beeping?....suddenly quicken in succession rapidly. He looked down and saw the last of the C4 charges....attached to the main propane tank.
The old trooper smiled to himself as he rushed up the metal stairs when he heard the ruckus. It had been eerily silent until they had heard a "YOU FU-", interrupted by a massive Boom. He then picked up his pace, as he knew that they were certainly not out of peril. They had made it out of the iron deathtrap into the concrete maze, and it was certain to be filled with specimen. Already he had silently killed a clot he had stumbled upon on the flight of stairs with his knife. The upper levels were certain to be teeming with freaks.
He pushed open the door, exiting the sublevels into the normal levels. Strangely enough, these seemed to have power, even though that emergency generator had exploded in the sub-basements. The team, armed with scavenged weapons (their weapons they had come with were long dead). The team began to walk down the hall, slashing, shooting, or crushing the oncoming specimen. But as the majority of his exhausted teammates simply noticed that the zeds were turning from a trickle to a flow as they progressed, the old veteran noticed an odd occurrence; as they went down the hall, the lights were getting brighter. And why did they even have power to start with? He couldn't speculate all too much as he brought his axe down on a gorefast's writhing body.
IV: Midnight
Spoiler!
The team pushed forward, down the ruined hallway, the lights flickering above them. The specimen, which had simply been trickling from ahead of them before, now were swarming the hallway with Bloats, Clots, and Gorefast. The team, injured and carrying whatever they could, kept on moving, clearing the hallways of roaming abominations. The team continued forward, with the tunnels constantly growing in danger as zeds surged in. And, as they walked into Terminal C-3, they suddenly realized why: the station, next to the upper Horzine labs, had had its wall torn down. Massive coils of wire crept out of the hole, feeding deep into the old train tunnel, which was brightly lit. A Generator hummed loudly as more freaks poured from the depths, out of the hole. It was time to get out of here and wherever that wire went; it was not going to the Labs. It was a better chance than wandering around some infested labyrinth, starving to death. The survivors headed into the tunnel, into the dark one more time.
Hours later, a light began to show at the end of the tunnel. The wires hummed in a monstrous symphony, as they had during the long and dark trip down the tunnel. A few specimens had been found, but it seemed that Kevin didn't trust his creations near his electrical equipment for the most part. These thoughts and speculations were all driven out of His head as his teammate tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up, preparing a witty response, but left his words in mid-air as he comprehended what he had seen. An old Eurostar underground terminal had been transformed into...something. A colossus of machinery, centered on a single pinnacle that rose into the ceiling, created a maze of iron and wires. Masterson, not in jet black Horzine armor, but in separate uniforms, scampered among the machinery. These b**tards had been busy, by god. However, the numbers labeling the side of the machine he had seen elsewhere. Under, in the Labs, somewhere. He tried to contact home base one more time, but the comm. was now totally static...it had gotten slightly better in the underground, allowing momentary sounds to pierce the noise, but now it had gone back to the same static. He pulled himself together, refocusing on the task at hand. He needed to get out of here...wherever "here" was. Then it occurred to him: he may not know how to escape, but someone here did. He picked up his axe, and slammed it into a nearby machine piece.
Soon enough, a uniformed drone was walking towards the problem, his eyes somewhat glazed over. The old sergeant would probably stir in his grave at the sight. As he walked over to the piece, preparing to look inside, the sergeant grabbed the sedated clone dragging him into the darkness. The surprise shook the clone out of whatever daze he had been in before, struggling as 6 men pinned him to the wall. Anderson, the medic, put his hand over the terrified man's mouth, stifling his screams. "Info. Now," the old soldier muttered with his best menacing tone, as he dropped his axe, and pulled out his welding unit and knife. The man's eyes followed the welder's fire as it flickered, drawing slowly closer. The clone began to spasm, his instincts fighting his mental conditioning. Anderson took his hand off his mouth, as he shouted "T8-310-9 Override," his voice breaking under the stress.
Then he suddenly stopped struggling, and eyes widened. "FATHER, FORGIVE ME," he screamed, this time so loudly that it echoed the complex. He flung his arms wildly, biting, and screeching "Infidels! Monsters!" Their cover was broken as an armed Masterson spotted the intruders. Anderson tried gagging the flailing drone, who shook his head, babbling. "The Father will purify our genetics, and we shall reach perfection, once the Enemies are gone. The Father is forgiving to his children. Our family is one of love; we bring perfection and light to the world". Anderson flung the maddened Masterson into a tangle of wires as he pulled out his Lever action. The alert had sounded; they couldn't afford it.
He turned to put this dumb sod out of it's misery when he say it pull something out a pocket on the uniform. No, it couldn't be a pistol; they had taken his 9mm when they had abducted the tosspot. Then he heard a pin hit the concrete of the tunnel. "For the Father!" the drone shouted, other hand reaching out to grab the nearest human. The man went flying from a shotgun round to the chest, and the team leapt out of the way as concrete flew, and the cut wires squirmed like headless snakes, spewing sparks from their wounds.
The team got up and fled, as suddenly zeds began to pour in. They didn't know which way was out, but anything was better than standing still. As they ran in between the two main machines, could hear the frantic breathing of gorefasts chasing after them, with the sound of a chainsaw emanating from further back. The squad flung themselves forward among the machines, blasting anything near them. Gorefasts flung themselves past the main horde, jumping among the wires and the machines. Crawlers poured like rain, falling from the central spire. The team scrambled forward. This was too much to fight. He spotted an incline, as glanced at the faded paint reading "Parking levels A-D". He scrambled toward this glimmer of hope. That had been a disaster...what had they accomplished but alert them early? Well, as long as this leads to the surface, maybe the situation could be saved. As he darted into the structure, he saw his ride out of this hell hole: an old army infantry transport. The group reformed as he pried opens the door, snatched the key off a mangled corpse, and fired up the engine. The team, barely holding off a scrake, fell back to the truck. There were too many of them, and clearly Kevin was pulling out all the stops; he could even see glowing yellow lights beginning to advance. "Get the hell out of here!" someone yelled, and He hit the acceleration. The team barely held on as the old transport barreled out of the garage. They breathed truly fresh air for the first time since the helicopter...no ash, no tampering. He knew this was far from over. But, for once, this didn't seem like a total suicide mission after all.
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