Build a prison
With no escape...
Draw great walls
And see no gapes...
Fill your cells
With the devils eye...
And let his advocates
Snarl decry...
Exhume your skeltons
And starve their roots...
Nullify their tools
Of deciet and abuse...
Forsee their motives
And move to strike...
Let the verdict read:
'Exiled for life'...
Seal your stronghold
With every stone they cast...
Swallow the key
And secrete the past...
Look to green pastures
And reap your harvest...
Let life blossom
Free of your cowardice...
Monday 16 May 2011
RE: Observations in quarantine
23/06/2013
Centre for Disease Control and Prevention
1600 Clifton Road
Atlanta,
GA30333
Dear Jacob,
I hope these words find you and your party well. Since our last correspondence we have made several breakthroughs in our research of the Lazarus outbreak. I hope our findings will prove beneficial to all those still living in the quarantined area. As always, bad news first;
Yours sincerely
Dr. Christopher Wallace PHD
Centre for Disease Control and Prevention
1600 Clifton Road
Atlanta,
GA30333
Dear Jacob,
I hope these words find you and your party well. Since our last correspondence we have made several breakthroughs in our research of the Lazarus outbreak. I hope our findings will prove beneficial to all those still living in the quarantined area. As always, bad news first;
- Reports of the infected possessing 'super human' strength may not be too far-fetched. For one, it appears the symbiont/Lazarus promotes mass production of epinephrine in his host's adrenal glans. This in turn allows the infected to perform spectacular feats similar to those observed in humans in extremely stressful situations i.e. fight or flight.
- We have gathered fascinating evidence to suggest that the symbiont and host/vector are now co-dependant. Once Lazarus gains control, he and the host cannot be seperated. That is to say, any previous hope of being able to 'cure' the vectors seems to have faded.
- There also appears to be signs of an interesting social structure developing within the infected. We suspect that with each mutation the host rises up the 'food chain' if you will. In practise, the newest host will will lead the 'pact' and he will be the primary carrier of the Lazarus infection. That is not to say, more primitive vectors will not attempt to infect you if they are on their own.
- As always I save the best to last. Upon examining fresh subjects we have discovered an impressive acceleration in neural functionality compared with early samples. In laymen’s terms, it appears that the infected are becoming much smarter with each mutation. Be on the look out for any evidence of raised awareness, ambushes and/or co-ordinated attacks.
- As I first theorized, the symbiont's primary goal is to breed then 'jump' hosts. This is contrary to early reports of Lazarus cannibalizing his victims. The infected will not 'feed' on or try to kill their target as this of course would prove self deprivating. Above all else, we need to get this message across to quell the absurd rumours of the 'undead' gorging on victims or we will have a widespread panic on our hands!
- Despite possessing fantastic physical abilties, the vectors anatomy remains almost as fragile as you and me. That being said, tests show that the host can survive severe head trauma as long as the brain stem remains intact. Even a headless host still retains basic motor functions and continues to respond to the whims of the symbiont. We suggest you pick your shots and aim for the medulla oblongata which you should find just behind the mouth. An accurate shot will ensure a quick 'clean' kill.
- Finally, we are now confident that Lazarus is selective, even to a point where he will avoid the sick and dying to look for a healthy host. You and your good friend Charlie will be glad to know that he is'nt fussed on canines and will not look to cross over to other mammals or birds intentionally.
Yours sincerely
Dr. Christopher Wallace PHD
Race to the bottom 1/3
-The Crow's Nest-
As I made my way to the staging area, I couldn't help questioning the days date in disbelief. For it was nearly winter, yet this unforgiving climate was showing no signs of yielding in what felt like a decade of Indian summers.
Not to be beaten, I skipped up the tired metal steps to the viewing gallery where I found Hal my assistant, albeit cloaked by a cloud of opiates. With neither of us in the mood for small talk, we exchanged grunts and readied ourselves for the task at hand.
Below us stood three purposeful looking young men dressed in their country's full combat fatigues wrapped in ready-made sweat bags. They were covered from head to toe, with a stocking cap layered in aluminium foil playing the role of cherry on top. Glancing at the thermal scan, I couldn't help sympathizing with the three logs of fire that stood before me.
With everything in place, I looked to Hal for his signature good-to-go smoke signal. Having received the green light, I reached for the microphone and addressed the candidates;
"Gentlemen, I trust you have read your briefing packets and took note of the house rules. You may take your seats, we will begin at once."
With that, the three men collapsed into their allotted seats trying to catch their breath. From high above, I took stock of caffeine supplies and began directing proceedings from the relative comfort of my oven-baked control room.
As I made my way to the staging area, I couldn't help questioning the days date in disbelief. For it was nearly winter, yet this unforgiving climate was showing no signs of yielding in what felt like a decade of Indian summers.
Not to be beaten, I skipped up the tired metal steps to the viewing gallery where I found Hal my assistant, albeit cloaked by a cloud of opiates. With neither of us in the mood for small talk, we exchanged grunts and readied ourselves for the task at hand.
Below us stood three purposeful looking young men dressed in their country's full combat fatigues wrapped in ready-made sweat bags. They were covered from head to toe, with a stocking cap layered in aluminium foil playing the role of cherry on top. Glancing at the thermal scan, I couldn't help sympathizing with the three logs of fire that stood before me.
With everything in place, I looked to Hal for his signature good-to-go smoke signal. Having received the green light, I reached for the microphone and addressed the candidates;
"Gentlemen, I trust you have read your briefing packets and took note of the house rules. You may take your seats, we will begin at once."
With that, the three men collapsed into their allotted seats trying to catch their breath. From high above, I took stock of caffeine supplies and began directing proceedings from the relative comfort of my oven-baked control room.
Race to the bottom 2/3
-Dead men tell no tales-
Observation, deduction, reasoning. I clung onto these words as my mood darkened with every drop of sweat I spent. After many hours of bluff and counter bluff I don’t think any of the three of us were quite sure were we stood. Breaking the silence the fat controller barked orders in his broken english to announce our final test.
“You are three rational men A,B and C. You have come to a disagreement and our now faced with a stand-off.”
He paused for a second coughing and without warning he began swearing frantically at an unseen accomplice, seemingly unaware that the loudspeaker was still on. Tired eyes met across our table but we had all exhausted our reserves; a sly smirk just wasn't worth the effort. Finished with his tirade, our taskmaster returned his attention to his subjects.
“You will each draw your weapons in the knowledge that you have only one bullet each. You will then fire in alphabetical order, A,B and C.”
It was all too much for my starved brain to digest. I could barely hear his words over the deafening thump of my heart as it threatened to burst right out of my chest.
“You can chose not to shoot by raising your hands. However, the first person to fire his weapon will be afforded a second bullet, should he survive to the next round.”
With that, three blinding spotlights flicked on to reveal our positions, each with a small wooden stool and a revolver on top.
“Remember, we have one opening for one man. Now, go to your stations and check your weapon. The first round begins when A is ready.”
I made it to my position in good time to inspect my gun, all the while weighing up my options. The others followed slowly as if they were feeling as punch-drunk as I was. On the other hand, my gut was telling me they were buying time, for I was A and their lives were in my hands.
Observation, deduction, reasoning. I clung onto these words as my mood darkened with every drop of sweat I spent. After many hours of bluff and counter bluff I don’t think any of the three of us were quite sure were we stood. Breaking the silence the fat controller barked orders in his broken english to announce our final test.
“You are three rational men A,B and C. You have come to a disagreement and our now faced with a stand-off.”
He paused for a second coughing and without warning he began swearing frantically at an unseen accomplice, seemingly unaware that the loudspeaker was still on. Tired eyes met across our table but we had all exhausted our reserves; a sly smirk just wasn't worth the effort. Finished with his tirade, our taskmaster returned his attention to his subjects.
“You will each draw your weapons in the knowledge that you have only one bullet each. You will then fire in alphabetical order, A,B and C.”
It was all too much for my starved brain to digest. I could barely hear his words over the deafening thump of my heart as it threatened to burst right out of my chest.
“You can chose not to shoot by raising your hands. However, the first person to fire his weapon will be afforded a second bullet, should he survive to the next round.”
With that, three blinding spotlights flicked on to reveal our positions, each with a small wooden stool and a revolver on top.
“Remember, we have one opening for one man. Now, go to your stations and check your weapon. The first round begins when A is ready.”
I made it to my position in good time to inspect my gun, all the while weighing up my options. The others followed slowly as if they were feeling as punch-drunk as I was. On the other hand, my gut was telling me they were buying time, for I was A and their lives were in my hands.
Race to the bottom 3/3
-The worm that never dies-
With bloodied ear drums and enough opium to subdue an elephant; I politely declined to enter the good doctor's sweepstake and made tracks for the staging area.
I had yet to harden to the callous make up of our Imperial barbarian. Nor had I fully convinced myself that I wasn't headed for the same furnace in hell as my cloven-footed counterpart. Short on allies and like minded colleagues; I kept my mouth firmly closed and let the opiates gnaw away at my conscience.
I arrived in time for the second round with nothing to report. All men stood as they were, united by their collective uncertainty. Three more rounds expired without breakthrough. I lingered in the shadows barely five yards short of the kill zone when Alpha threw caution to the wind and finally broke the deadlock.
Committed to his game plan, he lowered his head and fired blindly into the roof, taking my blood pressure with it.
Alpha did not flinch as the next desperate youngster panicked and wrapped his finger around the trigger. A second deafening shot echoed throughout the room masking the dull crash that a skull makes when it strikes concrete. Charlie's light went out.
I steadied myself as I approached Alpha who had not yet raised his head, perhaps unsure whether it was he who had been shot. I reached for his hand and dropped a cold metal bullet into his shivering palm. Having fulfilled my final role in this obscene theatre, I made my way back to the control room to seek solace from my pipe.
Thankfully, I was sitting down by the time our winner dispatched his defining shot. To Dr Ishii's great disgust, Alpha decided in favour of absolution. Locking teary eyes with his comrade, he wished him well before turning the gun on himself.
God willing, tommorrow's lineup will prove more productive.
.
With bloodied ear drums and enough opium to subdue an elephant; I politely declined to enter the good doctor's sweepstake and made tracks for the staging area.
I had yet to harden to the callous make up of our Imperial barbarian. Nor had I fully convinced myself that I wasn't headed for the same furnace in hell as my cloven-footed counterpart. Short on allies and like minded colleagues; I kept my mouth firmly closed and let the opiates gnaw away at my conscience.
I arrived in time for the second round with nothing to report. All men stood as they were, united by their collective uncertainty. Three more rounds expired without breakthrough. I lingered in the shadows barely five yards short of the kill zone when Alpha threw caution to the wind and finally broke the deadlock.
Committed to his game plan, he lowered his head and fired blindly into the roof, taking my blood pressure with it.
Alpha did not flinch as the next desperate youngster panicked and wrapped his finger around the trigger. A second deafening shot echoed throughout the room masking the dull crash that a skull makes when it strikes concrete. Charlie's light went out.
I steadied myself as I approached Alpha who had not yet raised his head, perhaps unsure whether it was he who had been shot. I reached for his hand and dropped a cold metal bullet into his shivering palm. Having fulfilled my final role in this obscene theatre, I made my way back to the control room to seek solace from my pipe.
Thankfully, I was sitting down by the time our winner dispatched his defining shot. To Dr Ishii's great disgust, Alpha decided in favour of absolution. Locking teary eyes with his comrade, he wished him well before turning the gun on himself.
God willing, tommorrow's lineup will prove more productive.
.
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