Story A Collection of Vaguely Questionable Stuff and Things

[Nihilum]

Stuff. And things. Many miscellaneous things. Do any of these said things have rhyme or reason to them? No. Do any of them actually go together in chronological order? Not really. Do...do any of them have any relevance to each other? Sort of.

Enjoy my crockpot of random shit. uwu I don't have much time to RP anymore, so instead I write somewhat incoherent snippets that probably don't make much sense to anyone except myself. I'll try to include some vague semblance of context.

LEFT BEHIND
Following a disastrous global disease outbreak that has left humanity in ruins, an unlikely pair forms deep within the barren wastelands of Russia. A haggard, bitter old soldier living on borrowed time, and a young, naive brat. The research team insists that the kid could be a major breakthrough in their clinical trials. Ekaterina, however, has some serious doubts about this.



​

VOICE MEMO #1
Memories serve only as a distraction. She needs to forget. Leave it behind. They're all gone now.
But she must retrace her steps - remember where they started, where they ended, and where everything went wrong.

“…The date is-“ Shuffling papers. A clicking pen, rolling against fingertips in a tip-tip-tap pattern. “2024-10-06. Time, approximately 18:23. After-hours.”

Someone clears their throat. A chair scoots. “This is Head Researcher Dr. Krastinov speaking. I am joined by Lieutenant Colonel Volkov, who has been assigned for the routine duties of Patient 0132. Classification…-“

Krastinov pauses, a momentary silence filling the air for several seconds. She coughs. Abruptly, a husky voice - curt and rougher than sandpaper - breaks the stillness.

“…Class H, Section 12. Division Delta. Security clearance level ‘special importance.’”

“Yes. This is report number four regarding Patient 0132, who has been present since 09-05. A momentary recap of the file: at Laboratory F39-2, an individual that I have estimated to be approximately thirteen years of age, was diagnosed with hypogammaglobulinemia. Potential cause could be…multiple myeloma, although prevalence in youth is extremely rare. Comorbid with sickle cell anemia, resulting in delayed development and an even further compromised immune system.”

Somewhere further away from the recorder, an incomprehensible little whine, followed by a soft shhh. The two bicker quietly with each other, speaking in hushed tones and snapping fingers. Then, closest to the device, somebody releases an impatient e-heeeeem. They cease.

“The remaining members of our research team have been experimenting with ways to create artificial leukocytes capable of combating - ..peh, what Command has coded as ‘fureres corupus’. Dr. Angeloff believes that if, somehow, the leukocytes could be exposed to the antigens…then perhaps, we could program their memory into recognizing them and producing antibodies. Highly unlikely, of course, considering previous-“

CLICK-CLICK-CLICKITY-CLACK-CLACK

Unmistakably, a pen. A particularly gimmicky one, at that; whoever had it was hitting it at warp speeds, pushing its feeble springs to their limits. Shortly after, a quiet but strained hiss shoots out from the person closest to the recorder. It’s too soft to be understood.

“…Previous failures from labs F12-3 and F12-5. No team has been able to successfully transplant artificial leukocytes into the human body without triggering a widescale attack on the patient from their own immune system. Dr. Angeloff, however, theorizes that were we to attempt it on a patient with a wiped-out immune system, there would be nothing to combat the new leukocytes.”

CLIIIICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICKCLICKCLKICKL

“Volkov, take that fucking thing away from her right this instant-“

“She wanted it.”

“I don’t care. I can’t hear myself think over that goddamn noise.”

‘Volkov’ scoffs, their chair grinding loudly against the floor. A brief conflict arises, including a smaller voice dramatically complaining in the long, drawn out way that kids enjoy so much. There’s a few more rebellious clicklcicliclkciclicks that get out before the pen is confiscated. Someone petulantly ‘hmph!’s, but the confrontation quickly dies down and the eerie stillness returns.

“We plan on performing the experimental transplant tomorrow. Would have done it sooner, but finding the right combination for 0132 with no medical records has been…difficult, considering the current shortages. None of us could have expected how difficult it would be to have a quarantined patient in the midst of…” Even without a visual feed, it’s clear that the doctor pauses long enough to gesture vaguely. Words can’t describe the current calamity of the world. “This.”

The next minute-and-a-half of the tape is damaged, playing nothing more than a jumbled, glitchy sequence of noises and unfinished sentences. Ekaterina has listened to it enough to know what comes next, though. ‘0132’ complains that they are bored while Krastinov rambles about scientific advancements and the chances of major breakthroughs. ‘Volkov’ slides them another writing instrument and instructs them to be as annoying as possible.

Krastinov, as expected, loses her shit for at least twenty seconds. A shame that part is missing; Ekaterina enjoyed listening to that pathetic hag endure such misery. It was what she deserved.

Her finger clicked on the fast-forward button, speeding past a blur of lost audio footage.

“…The operation will surely be risky – I will have to consult with Angeloff and Kasimov further on our chances of a perioperative mortality – but nothing is truly safe. Should it not succeed, we may find ourselves back at square one. If such is the case, I suspect we may have an issue…Command is having a harder time than ever before with procuring subjects for our trials.”

Ekaterina paled as she recalled the conversation she’d had with the girl after the recording. “Mortality?” she had asked, and she lied to her. She wasn’t sure why she did it, only that telling her directly to her face that it’d meant dying felt wrong. Sugarcoating things wasn’t her style. Neither was instilling the fear of imminent death into someone who had barely been given the chance to experience life.

“…It means feeling gross.”

“Gross?”

“You’ll puke your guts out.”

“Gross!"

“Nevertheless, I am willing to take such high stakes if it has even the slightest chance of success. My hands are tied. All of ours are. Expect a new report tomorrow following the procedure, which will include any complications and our treatment plan…unless things go astray, in which case developing a new course of action will be necessary.”

The remaining recording rolls for several, very long seconds. The two argumentative additions in the room have grown uncomfortably solemn, no longer interrupting with their foolish antics.

“Let us hope it does not come to such measures.”

 

[Nihilum]

(Author's note: RPN doesn't like when you import text from Word, evidently. I painstakingly removed the giant gaping holes between each paragraph manually.
Fun suggestion: Writing the perspective of a character that is drastically different from your usual narrative is a great writing exercise. I go for dark and gloomy,
usually...but writing a ball of sunshine? It really changes the way you describe things. Try it for yourself sometime. You'll be surprised by the results.)


Excerpt #1
Things were different, then. The wind was at their backs. The entire world stood before them, a blank canvas at their own disposal.
These were the halcyon days.
The beginning of the end.


Marie stuck her head out the window, huffing in a deep breath of the cold autumn breeze. She plastered her hands to the trim and boosted herself out further for a better look. Dead leaves fluttered around in the wake of the old truck, catching on the gentle wind for a lackadaisy ride. The endless rows of trees were just beginning to turn barren, shedding massive piles of litter down onto the moist earth below. Their ride was a bumpy one, the dirt road long since left unmaintained and now full of lethal holes.

Above them, the overcast sky stretched for what seemed like a depthless eternity. Gray, gray, and…more gray. Kat had told her that if you spent enough time in the outdoors, you could smell when the rain was coming. Feel it too, if you had old bones. She didn’t have much experience with the wilderness – and certainly wasn’t a senior citizen like a particular someone - but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try. She craned her head up to the clouds, little lungs straining as she inhaled something fierce.

She wrinkled her nose at the diesel’s acrid stench. Pungent. Mechanical. Gross. No, that wasn’t rain at all.

Kat shot her a concerned look when she exploded into a series of wheezing coughs, and had already begun to reach a gnarled hand for the inhaler stowed away in her jacket of many pockets. She was fine, though, even mustering up the strength to hastily hand-crank her window shut! Sure, the chemicals tickled her throat quite a bit and she kind of thought she might pass out for a second, but she was good. Permitting herself a couple more aggressive a-hems, she sank back into the passenger seat’s torn leather cushion.

“Where are we going, anyways?” she asked, unable to resist the urge to lean over the dashboard and peer out onto the road. To their right, a warped, wooden road sign read “Речное ущелье – 4.8KM”. No population was listed.

The old woman next to her hesitated, fiddling with the vehicle’s non-functioning cigarette lighter. In went the rusted bit of metal, but no embers came out. Eventually, she gave up and tossed it somewhere back in the front console.

“…Home.”

“Home?” she parroted; the word felt strange and foreign on her tongue. Not because of its bizarre pronouncement in the Russian language she had come to learn only in the past few months, but because its meaning was lost to her – indeed, what was a home? The cramped, untidy ‘children’s shelter’ quarters? The sterile white walls of the laboratory? The hostile atmosphere of the hospital rooms she spent many years of her life in?

She frowned, sinking back down in her seat. Maybe it wasn’t something to be excited about after all. “I dunno if I’m gonna like home…”

“You will.” Kat glanced at her with furrowed brows and a deep crease at the corner of her lip that Marie thought might be a frown. Or not. A grimace? Maybe a smile? Who knew - reading a face that stayed permanently angry was super-duper hard.

“Promise?” she softly whined, lilting the end of her question with an upward inflection that would have annoyed any other human being on the earth.

“…Yes.”

They drove. And they drove. And they drove. Marie felt as though it was the longest five kilometers of her life, and at one point grew bored enough to start counting all the pheasants they passed. More than once, she pointed out the particularly large birds that were noteworthy – ‘look, he might be bigger than me! – to Kat, who grunted a faint noise of mild interest in response.

The sputtering truck veered down a beaten path so dilapidated that it might as well have been considered off-roading. Miscellaneous debris and large mud splatters flew out from underneath its bald tires, its cab rattling violently from worn shocks. They bumped and rumbled and jostled, although neither of them minded much. Marie even made a game of it, entertaining herself by humming through the vibrations that shook up from the core of her bones.

Only when the vague outline of a lightly ebbing creek became visible on the horizon did the girl once more gain curiosity. A boring and mundane sight to most, but a special surprise for her! Her wide eyes blinked, staring in captivation at the little fishes hopping in and out of the cool stream. Further north, a teeny waterfall trickled down from a babbling brook; it’d more or less dried up as the temperatures grew chillier, but still had just enough flowing to be pretty.

“What’s that?” she said, pointing towards it.

Her companion quirked a brow, shifting her gaze between her and the general direction she was gesturing wildly at. It took her a while to get the gist of it. “You’ve never seen one?”

“No!”

“…It’s a waterfall,” Kat offered. There was a weird edge to her voice that Marie didn’t really understand, because Kat never got confused! She pretty much knew all the things the world had to offer.

“What’s a waterfall?”

“The water. It…it falls down.” Another odd look. As if to emphasize her point, Kat made some funky downward movements with her hand.

Marie stared blankly at her. She nodded. “..Ooooh. That makes sense.”

They took another sharp turn, this time barreling down a steep incline. Marie noted several small contraptions made of metal wires, string, and thin wooden planks. Scattered throughout the woods, they looked as though they’d been sitting there for quite some a while. Some were rusted, while others were missing large chunks taken by termites or carpenter bees. She wondered what purpose they served, and-

“They’re traps.” Marie’s question was answered before she had even gotten the opportunity to ask it – Kat must’ve seen her eyeing them over. “…I didn’t think they would still be out here.”

Traps for what? Bears? Were there bears in Siberia? The girl paled, her lips drawing into a tight line in consideration of the threat she’d forgotten entirely about. Definitely something to think about, she decided…

On the horizon, she could almost make out the distant shape of a building. She squinted hard. Two stories? Wood. A gravel driveway, misshapen with more dirt than rocks. An old picket fence, which she very much liked; she didn’t know why, just that old people also liked those. And best of all, it looked like it sat right next to the creek! Fishing!

“Can we go fishing?” she enthused, a wide grin spreading across her face. She wasn’t going to admit that she had no clue how to fish, let alone set up a pole with bait and the appropriate hook or bobber – minor details. It couldn’t be too hard, right?

Kat frowned as she slowed the truck down, reaching over Marie to dig around in the glovebox. A wad of crumpled papers fell out, along with a couple old cigarette boxes and empty peppermint wrappers. “It’s…a little cold for that.”

Bummer.

“You can hop fence, no?” she asked, going through a heavily loaded keyring. She stopped at a square one with a painted black stripe, and held it out to her. “Need you to unlock and lock it again.”

“That’s easy!”

Marie turned to let herself out of the vehicle, only to be immediately met with a locked door. She peered over her shoulder at Kat, who gawked at her uncomprehendingly and pointed at the button marked with a ‘lock’ symbol approximately three inches away from her face. But why would that unlock it…?

Out she went, struggling to close the hefty door behind her all the way. Her little legs pumped rather fast, although her ‘sprint’ was an average person’s ‘light jog’ – the fence easily came up above her waist, too, which meant clearing it would require a decent amount of momentum. No problem!

She was lightning incarnate, a speed demon to rival even the best Olympic sprinters, even faster than that weird blue hedgehog thing somehow capable of breaking the sound barrier. The wind was at her back, the breeze working in her favor and granting her the best aerodynamics possible, for now there was no way she’d mess this-

Marie ate shit.

Hard.

Flipping up and forward, she ungracefully flew over the top of the fence and collided with a jagged post that dug directly into her ribcage. Her foot had caught a conveniently located rock in the midst of her mad dash, dooming her bold endeavor. She landed face-first in the mud, and while it sullied her pastel blue hoodie, it did her the favor of breaking her fall.

The wind left her lungs in one fell swoop, leaving her sputtering and wheezing for air. This was it. This was definitely how she was going to die. Cold, drowning in the dirty sludge, and incapable of breathing. She could only hope that Kat hadn’t bore witness to this terrible embarrassment, lest she be so disappointed in her unceremonious death that she left her here to be picked at by the vultures.

Except she definitely had seen it, because a couple moments later, a familiar shadow fell over her.

The tall lady looked more vaguely concerned than anything, staring down at her and awkwardly extending a hand out. She tried hard not to think about how easily a fifty-year-old woman had cleared the obstacle in comparison – it was just a little embarrassing. Darn tall people and their…tall legs!

Fortunately, her next task was significantly easier and did not require impressive feats of physical strength. Finagling the key into the rusted lock took a couple tries; the first few were necessary for her to figure out that she was inserting in backwards, then the next turning it the wrong way, and then a final few to get it just right. She didn’t think Kat was getting impatient with her, even though she kept slowly creeping the truck closer and closer to the gate.

Locking it again was indeed a similarly complicated problem, but she learned quick ‘cause she was smart!

Several tumultuous attempts later, they were back in the janky vehicle again and cruising along at an unbearably unhurried pace. Marie bided her time by looking at the funky trees planted along the property; one variant grew almost completely vertically, with little white flowers and bizarre red dots that reminded her of cherries. The other had wild branches on it, some of which hung low, heavy with weird bluish-purple somethings dangling from its leaves.

“Can you eat those?”

“…You ask too many questions.”

“But can you?”

Kat sighed, deep and heavy. “If you can find a way to reach them.”

She wondered what they tasted like. They resembled tiny alien pods, so surely they must be exotic. But what flavors did foreign stuff have? Oooh, maybe they were sour. And sour things were gross. Why did people like food that hurt their tongue? It didn’t make any sense, because they were basically injuring themselves for something that didn’t even taste-

OoOHHH, what was that?!

Somehow, their arrival at their unknown destination had managed to catch her completely off guard! So absorbed in her own soapbox about how wrong people who liked sour things were, she’d entirely forgotten about the house they were supposed to be headed towards. This had to be it. There was no mistaking it.

The hunting cabin resembled the pictures in all her tourism books. Made of stacked logs, it had a large porch with two rocking chairs, some old flower pots with nothing in them, and a rickety table that had a homemade ash tray sitting on top it. Lots of windows! She thought she saw a cellar door off to the side, connected to the cobblestone foundation. And a chimney. And a well!

A bit overgrown, but that was okay. She digged the – what had the kids called it, aesthetic? – that the carpets of untamed moss and dangling vines gave it. The fallen tree off to the side was cool too. There were probably all kinds of creepy crawlies and snakes under it!

Marie threw her passenger door open the moment they came to a halt, nearly tripping over her own feet in her excited flight. The unmaintained grass came up to her ankles, and she felt as though she was wading through a jungle on her way up to the front porch. Mosquitoes buzzed and whizzed past her head; she wildly swung her hands around and scowled at the bothersome pests. Wasn’t it too cold for those dumb things?

Kat, as always, took her grand old time coming up. (If old people had the least amount of time left out of anyone, why were they so slow? Marie really thought that they’d be in more of a hurry…) She ran her hands along the railings, which she thought was a silly idea because that was how you got splinters. There was an odd expression of familiarity on her face.

“You been here before?” she asked, smooshing her cheeks against the closest window. The only word she could think of to describe what she was was…rustic. She’d never seen an actual taxidermized head before! Was it real?

“…I live here.” Kat stared at her long and hard. Again. She did that a lot, come to think of it.

“In the middle of nowhere?” Marie reached up to touch two long, branching pieces of white bone. Smooth to the touch. Cold? And laden with spiderwebs, ew. “What’re these?”

“Not nowhere,” she scoffed. “Srednekolymsk.”

Russian was silly. Nobody needed that many syllables in words.

“You didn’t answer my question!”

The lady let out a noise that sounded like her soul was getting ready to depart from her body. She glanced towards her, watched her dangle from the fixture for a few moments, and then impatiently started snapping her fingers at her. “Elk antlers. You’re going to break them.”

Marie let go, and instead moved to impatiently hover directly behind her – she’d grown accustomed to it by now, and only made a mildly disapproving hand wave in her direction. That didn’t matter, because soon the front door opened, and there was all kinds of space!

While Kat went about doing all the boring adult responsibilities that came with being an adult that owned a slightly decrepit home, the girl found herself on an explorative high.

The cabin was musty; it reeked of sawdust, stale air, yellowish tar that clung to the walls, and old people. Dust particles floated in the bright streams of light that fed through the dirty windows. She sniffled, unsure as to why her nose had started to run all of a sudden – she sneezed, once, twice, and then-

…Darn. She lost it.

Cozy and - once more - very rustic, the place had a lot more room than she thought it might at first glance. The furniture was either made from aged wood or dry leather on the verge of beginning to crack, and several pieces had crocheted throws or deer hide blankets tossed over the back. A fireplace, last used a fairly long time ago, sat off to the back. There was a rather large collection of miscellaneous knick-knacks and hunting related baubles to the side.

She was most intrigued by the rather large bear head mounted to the wall. He was brown with cold marble eyes, his teeth coated by a thin layer of varnish to give him that ‘snarling predator throwing spittle in your face’ type of vibe. Marie touched her finger to one of his fangs.

“Is this real?”

“…Yes. My ‘father’ shot it.” Kat was busy digging around in some tall cabinet, perusing through a torn box of bullets. She caught glimpse of a rifle hanging from a hook, too. “The rest of it’s on the floor.”

Turning her gaze down towards her feet, Marie just now noticed that the ‘rug’ was indeed bear shaped. It even still had its paws attached, which were bigger than her own hands by a long shot! Darn. Those things could probably do some pretty good damage on a guy.

The kitchen wasn’t worth checking out. In line with the typical setup of these off-the-grid cabins, it consisted of nothing more than a small stove, a nonfunctioning sink, and many, many jars.

Her eyes caught on a large selection of books in the main area, and she quietly made the mental note to sneak around and catch a peek at them later. The few titles she saw were an odd variety: “A Legal Guide to Hunting and Trapping: How Not to Look Like a Murderer” and “The History of the Cold War: The Worst “War” Ever”.

“I’m gonna go upstairs!” she hollered, making a quick turn around the railing. Easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

“Don’t break anything. …Don’t touch anything.”

Marie had always figured that Kat wasn’t a decorative type of person, but she hadn’t necessarily expected it to this extent. There were no pictures or paintings hung up, or even weird wood engravings that read condescending sayings such as ‘Live, Love, Laugh!’ or ‘Keep Calm and Ignore the Dire State of the World!’ – nothing but those creepy animal trophies that felt like they were watching her every step. Were those eyes following her?

Right at the top of the staircase, a grand, triangular wall of glass that came up from the floorboards looked out onto endless stretches of woodlands. She couldn’t see any other houses for kilometers around. Trees, birds, water, and more birds…but no people. No sign that anyone else lived here, or had ever even been here to begin with. An untouched pocket of the wilds; rare, given how much of the world had been developed for an ever-growing population within the past few years.
A sliding door led out onto a balcony, though she avoided it in the hopes of avoiding getting into trouble.

There were several rooms available. She decided that Kat’s rule of ‘don’t touch’ wouldn’t apply if a door was already open, so she casually went snooping about in one of the bedrooms.

…It was pretty boring.

A big bed, a dresser with a couple pictures on it, more boxes, another taxidermy coyote, and…- wait. Pictures? Yes, indeed; there were two or three in small frames sitting face-down. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she picked one up and flipped it over.

She blinked.

A younger version of Kat stared back at her. Her straw-like hair was less grey, and she didn’t have nearly as many deep wrinkles creased into her face – she looked less angry, too, if that was possible. To her side, a young lady wearing dress fatigues with a honey-golden ponytail, grayish-blue eyes, and a warm smile stood with her arms crossed behind her back. The resemblance to Kat was a little uncanny.

…Huh. Did Kat have a kid? Or a sister? She’d never mentioned anybody to her, so she had sort of just assumed that she was some hermit who didn’t like talking to people. She didn’t get along with anyone in the bunker, after all. Or maybe they didn’t get along with her? Come to think of it, she’d never really paid much at-

The picture was aggressively snatched out of her hands. Marie hadn’t heard her coming, of course – Kat loomed right behind her, a small snarl plaguing her face. Oops.

“I told you not to touch anything,” she growled, wiping the frame off with her sleeve and setting it back down on the dresser. “’Git. You’re not supposed to be in here.”

Months ago, being chastised by her would have stung fiercely and brought tears to the edges of her eyes. But not anymore. She knew Kat was not a people person, and that people who weren’t people persons were often bad with communication, so she definitely didn’t mean to be so angry all the time. It wasn’t like she was actually mad at her or anything.

That didn’t mean her words bounced completely off her, however. She averted her eyes, awkwardly shuffling on past her and lowering her head. “…U-uhm, sorry-“

Kat’s intense glare softened somewhat, and she uttered a deep sigh from the depths of her chest. She gestured towards the balcony.

“…Come on.”

And soon, they both sat outside, one rocking idly on their chair while the other looked off into the horizon. The sun had begun its descent, clearing the overcast skies and casting brilliant, fiery hues in the clouds’ place. Cicadas hummed softly in the distance, joined by a chorus of crickets and the faint calls of frogs. Chilly, but not yet unbearably cold.

Marie craned her head back, looking up at the sky while she crammed small pieces of preserved plums into her mouth. The stars were far more visible out here than in the city – she’d never known there were so many of them. How many were hidden by the blinding lights of hundreds of towering skyscrapers and neon billboards? Why would anyone want to hide them?

People were funny. If it were up to her, she’d choose this any day over those smelly, crowded dumpsters.

Sure, there wasn’t much to do in the middle of nowhere, but at least they didn’t have to deal with loud people arguing over the economy, or gunshots, or barely functional cars whizzing past at three in the morning. And without tons of bodies around every single corner, there wouldn’t be any of those sick guys lurking around. They could stay here for a while, right?

She sunk forward, resting her chin on her non-sticky hand and setting the jar aside. There was something she just couldn’t get off her mind…

“What do we do now?”

“We…-“

Kat hesitated, filling the silence with a long, puzzled draw from a cigarette.

She paused and glanced off to the side. Her brows knit together, and the faintest of frowns tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“…We stay alive.”

 

[Nihilum]

Past Days #1
Her sins feel like the weight of a thousand crushing tides closing in on her soul. She can't forget. They can't forgive.
She didn't mean for this to happen. It wasn't supposed to end this way.

♫​

Alarms. Flashing lights; red, white, and then black. Screams. A wailing chorus, sung in the language of the dead and the dying. No instruments, save for the hoarse cries of the damned and gunshots' piercing crackles. Haunting. Hell on earth, desperation given form in the echoing pleas of those who would know no mercy. Dripping blood and flesh and viscera, insides turned out and scattered remains. Final prayers, calling out to a God who held no dominion here. There was no one coming to save them.

They flooded the tight halls like a devouring swarm of locust, grossly contorted limbs snapping and cracking and twisting and writhing. Gnashing teeth and wicked talons. Strings of gore and bone that hung from their howling jaws. Insanity. Delirium. These were no longer the people they once knew. Senior Lieutenant Genrich lunged at Doctor Kasimov, ripping her throat out with a frenzied assault. A grisly shower of hot ichor sprayed from where her jugular had once been, and her dying words were nothing more than a sputtering whisper.

Major Belkin made his final stand at the entrance to the research facilities. His right forearm loosely dangled, a fractured fragment of his ulna puncturing through his skin – a casualty to the initial explosion that breached the bunker. He may have not known it, but he was already dead. A single automatic weapon was nothing against the endless, all consuming tide. For each foul fiend he dispatched, three more took its place. There was no end to them, and he must have known that. Before they overtook him completely, the Major took his own life with a single bullet underneath the jaw.

The holding chambers were compromised. An emergency failsafe mechanism, designed to prevent the subjects from becoming trapped in the event that the power grid malfunctioned. Irony at its finest; what was once intended to protect them would now be their undoing. The metal doors released, exposing the helpless inhabitants to the mindless wretches. Soon, they too were gone, leaving pooling splatters of crimson red where they had once been. Women, children, the weak, the old, the crippled. None were safe from death's cruel hand.

They begged for help. Reached out to the fallen soldiers around them, their glassy eyes permanently frozen in terror. They didn't deserve this. She should have put them out of their misery.

But she didn't.

She watched their last moments. Stood and stared at them like the coward she was, letting them be ruthlessly torn to shreds. Twice, her fellow comrades screamed her name. 'Volkov. Volkov. Help us, Volkov. You can't leave us.'

Twice, she ignored them. She told herself that there was nothing she could have done. A lie.

Hidden in the shadows of the observation deck, Lieutenant Colonel Volkov betrayed her platoon and allowed them to die. Out of the twenty-four personnel and thirteen patients, two survived. They stood together, looking over the gruesome aftermath.

Not a single word was spoken between them.

 

[Nihilum]

(Author's note: On today's episode of, 'I don't think anyone has gotten down this far in the thread',
we look at the likelihood of whether or not the words in this thread have been read. It will remain a mystery.
On a side note, commenting on this thread will not ruin it. /wink. I got it indexed it for a reason.)

Past Days #2
How easy life was to take away when it wasn't your own. They thought themselves the hand of God,
but he had left this place long ago.


“Why are there children?”

Ekaterina scowled at the newest addition to their program. Behind the one-way glass walls, the meager figure of a young girl who could be no older than thirteen sat on an uncomfortable, sterile cot. Her scratchy gown practically swallowed her whole, engulfing her spindly limbs and thin frame. She peered around nervously, no doubt frightened by an unfamiliar place surrounded by blank walls painted stark white without even so much as a clock to adorn them. These cells had always reminded her of a prison, but even prisoners were permitted decorations to keep them from going insane.

“Unless you plan on volunteering for the latest trials, we had to resort to something. Command’s just pulling a few from the leftovers of the orphanage system, anyways. They’re probably better off here than they were up there,” Krastinov huffed, barely paying attention to her as she scribbled down illegible writing onto her notes. Typical of her to be concerned with efficiency and meeting targets more than anything else. Sometimes, she wondered if the damned croon was capable of doing anything except obsessively focusing on her work, morality be damned. “Besides, this one’s got some interesting variables that I haven’t been able to experiment with yet. We might be onto something here.”

She scoffed, her lips pulling into that trademark snarl. The doctor noticed it, and blew it off with a simple roll of her eyes and an exasperated sigh.

“Yes, Volkov, I know. If you were in charge, I am certain that you would have resolved this entire thing by now,” the older woman groaned, defeatedly smacking her clipboard against her thigh. She pushed past her, moving to fiddle on the comically outdated computer console ahead. “I hope you’re not busy. I’m going to ne-“

“You were onto something the last five times. Where are they now?”

Krastinov shot her a seething look, but it did little to quell the soldier’s rebellious agitation. It was no secret that the researcher’s ‘trials’ had continued to fail time and time again, resulting in the needless injury of countless innocent civilians. She considered it to be lives lost in the name of science and the betterment of the world. Ekaterina saw it as nothing better than a mad scientist treating human beings like they were disposable lab rats. If her potential treatments were so volatile, then why did she continue to administer them without further testing?

“…As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, I’m going to need your help with this one. And since I know you’re going to ask, no, I cannot do it myself. 0132 is immunocompromised and you’re one of the only personnel not playing around with pathogens.” Ekaterina wandered up to the glass, folding her arms behind her back as she observed the frail child. She looked ill. Those pale eyes were surrounded by dark bags, and her mottled flesh was lighter than the blankets of snow above the bunker. An IV line ran down to her tiny wrists, though she was uncertain what medication was being administered.

”She’s sick.”

”Astute observation, Lieutenant.” Krastinov stepped back from the blinking computer, leering over her shoulder at the haggard soldier. Tentatively, she gestured her to approach and examine the screen’s contents: a detailed schedule, including several times and dates listed for various tests and procedures. “That’s why I brought her in. We’re running low on leads here, and at this point, I’m willing to try anything.”

Of course she was. This list contained enough invasive measures to make even the sturdiest of grown men wither away, let alone some kid who looked like she might be snapped in half if the wind hit her too hard. Immunotherapy? Transfusions? Direct contamination observations? She didn’t like the sounds of it. Experimentation on disposable adults, she could understand. But this?

She frowned softly, stealing another glance at the young patient; she’d wriggled herself up into a ball, turning away from the piercingly bright overhead lights. So small. Weak. Fragile. Even a wicked soul such as herself - so desensitized to horrors of mankind and the heinous acts they were capable of - could not help but to feel a small twinge of injustice at knowing the atrocities that awaited this child. The other subjects of sounder physical health and far better equipped for handling trial after trial had been unable to persevere through them. How could she succeed where they failed?

“…She won’t make it.”

“Sacrifices must be made. Think of it in the big picture. What’s one life in exchange for possibly creating the vaccine that can stop this before it goes any further?”

There was a fine line to be walked between the ‘salvation of mankind’ and the foolish, irresponsible decisions made by the desperate officers in charge who held no concern for the patient casualties they recklessly caused. She’d heard them say it. No progress. No results. Running out of ideas. Running out of time. They must truly be frantic now, stealing away the unaccounted-for children of the cities that still remained.

They disgusted her.

“I know what you’re thinking, but give it a chance. Either that, or I’ll ask the Major instead. And you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

Krastinov paused right before she walked away, shooting her a vaguely amused smirk. Ekaterina refused to meet it.

“Besides, you hate kids. I don’t get what the big fuss is all about.”