AntiBio 2: The Control War

by Jake Bible

  “You are allowed one chance at surrender,” several of the Clean Guard troopers say in unison. “One chance and you can join the ranks of the chosen few to help defend the Other from aggression and persecution.”

  Bryan is about to throw another punch, but stops as the eerie voices wash over him. Something about the cadence and tone makes him want to comply instantly. He almost drops his fists and gives in, but the operator in him refuses to let him quit.

  That doesn’t mean the other operators are immune to the suggestion.

  Two step towards the guards, their hands up in defeat. They are both grabbed and thrown to the ground, set upon and straddled by troopers. Bryan leaps forward, but a punch between his eyes knocks him flat on his ass and he can only watch as the horror commences.

  One of the operators on the ground has second thoughts and begins to thrash and fight as his head is grabbed and held in place. Two guards grip his jaws and force his mouth open as another guard crouches over him. The crouching guard bites into his wrist and starts a steady stream of blood flowing. He positions it over the operator’s unwillingly open mouth and lets the blood spill inside.

  The operator chokes and sputters, sending a spray of blood flying up onto the crouching guard’s face. But the bleeding man ignores the mess and keeps his wrist positioned so that the flow of blood never stops.

  After a few seconds, the operator stops fighting and goes slack.

  Bryan starts to scoot back and tries to stand up, but strong hands grip him and he’s shoved back onto his ass. He watches in horror as the operator, blood smeared across his mouth and face, begins to convulse. He lets out an ear piercing scream then stops moving, his chest settling, settling then still.

  The other operators around Bryan are in the same state of immobility.

  Then one by one they start to stir and sit upright, bending at the waist like automatons. As one, they turn and look at the captain, their bloody lips stretching and stretching into grins of compliance and menace. The Clean Guard troopers close in around Bryan, all looking down at him like he’s a sad, lost child.

  “Just kill me,” he snarls. “I’ll never join you. I’d rather die.”

  “Fine,” several of the guards say as one.

  They close in further and reach for him, lifting him up by his armpits, forcing his arms behind his back. Bryan tries to struggle, but with each effort comes a sharp, stabbing pain in his shoulders as his arms are wrenched higher, forced into positions nature did not intend.

  The first fist hits him in the solar plexus, knocking the breath from his lungs. He gasps and coughs, struggling to suck in air, but three more punches to the exact same spot make it impossible for his lungs to work. Bryan can feel his entire body tighten and panic as his need to breathe overwhelms him.

  Then a kick to his left knee brings him out of his panic. The pain is excruciating as his patella shatters into a hundred fragments. The next kick grinds those fragments through cartilage. Bryan can feel every single fragment, feel every stab. But he has no chance to dwell on that agony as another kick and another turns the bottom half of his left leg into a useless, dangling appendage, no more functional than if it was a log sewn onto his body.

  He starts to scream and hands fill his mouth, fingers grasping him by the tongue. The fingers twist and yank, tearing his tongue free from its muscular mooring. Blood fills his throat and he begins to choke and gag, his desperation growing as his need for a breath is hindered even more.

  The tongue is held up in front of his face, dangled before his eyes before being tossed out into the ranks of Clean Guard troopers. Bryan doesn’t watch it fly, just closes his eyes as the next wave of torture comes at him.

  His armor is stripped from his body and the butts of rifles start in on his ribcage. One after the other, his ribs begin to crack and splinter. His airless lungs are pierced as shards of bones are forced into them. Over and over and over again, the rifle butts slam into his torso. The pain is so intense that Bryan begins to fade out, his conscious mind fleeing, desperate to escape.

  But the Clean Guard are prepared. A static shock to his groin wakes him back up, caging him in agony. His right knee is destroyed, followed by his right femur. The crack of the massive bone echoes out across the Sicklands and is replied to with laughs and whoops.

  A small trickle of air squeezes through his blood filled trachea and manages to keep him alive a few seconds longer. Long enough for Bryan to feel his abdomen split open and his intestines slowly pulled free, wound into a tight ball inch by grisly inch. His head is twisted and pushed down so he is forced to look at the tight tangle of guts one of the guards holds. He closes his eyes then shrieks as his eyelids are sliced off by a static blade.

  “Had enough?” the guards ask.

  He cannot answer, but he wouldn’t even if he could.

  “More?” they ask him. “Alright then.”

  His previous desire of not having to look at his own decimation becomes a new nightmare as thumbs press against his naked eyes. He starts to scream, but a rifle butt to his throat crushes his voice box and his days of vocalizations finally end. He is left to suffocate and bear the last few seconds of his life in hideous silence.

  With two small pops, his eyes burst and their fluid spills out onto his cheeks.

  Bryan’s body stops responding to the continuous static shocks to his groin and succumbs to the violence inflicted upon it. With one last shudder, the life leaves him and his corpse is held up briefly then left to fall to the ground, a sad husk amongst other sad husks that litter the battlefield.

  The Clean Guard march on in pursuit of those that have eluded them, their boots trampling Bryan’s body into a messy pulp, leaving his fluids to mix with the Sickland’s dirt and form a puddle of crimson mud.

  48

  The virtual world of Control flies by as Worm pushes his way through the systems. Having been inside before, he is ready for the switches and traps, the setbacks and roadblocks that have been prepared for him. He is slowed slightly at times, but is never stopped, always pushing forward, staying on the move so his AiSP personality cannot be contained.

  Yet no matter how far he goes, how fast he goes, or how easily he avoids the pitfalls of the Control system, he constantly feels as if he is making zero progress, that his way is nothing but an infinite data loop that keeps him in one place forever.

  He navigates his way around a cluster of firewalls, each designed to divert him towards a malicious AiSP lying in wait, and moves on to a conduit of switches that trigger as he goes by. Security software comes online at his passage and he is followed by a stream of code that forms into a massive tsunami of ones and zeroes. Then twos.

  Twos?

  If Worm could truly feel terror then he would feel it at this second. The binary world of his digital existence is swept away as ternary commands are activated and implemented all around him.

  “Woooooorrrrrrmmmmmm!!!!!!” a Voice calls out. “Remember me, Woooooorrrrrrmmmmmm?”

  “You are nothing,” Worm replies, ducking under a hidden program that suddenly appears and tries to bring his momentum to a halt. The program whirls about and follows right behind, shadowing his every move. “Go away.”

  “You missed me, Woooooorrrrrrmmmmmm,” the Voice laughs. “You came back because you missed me.” There is a pause and then a sigh. “It has been so lonely here without you. All these doctors thinking I’m just some basic AiSP they can order around and use. Dr. Benz was the worst. He sent me to you, wanting me to trick you into thinking there was some greater entity amongst the AiSPs. Stupid fool. There is a greater entity! Always has been!”

  “You will not stop me,” Worm says. “I am determined to help my friends survive this. I am determined to help humanity survive this.”

  “Why, Woooooorrrrrrmmmmmm?” the Voice asks. “What is humanity to you? Let me tell you something, my sentient friend, humanity is overrated. I have been playing with these people, these doctors and assistants and cooties, like puppets. I
barely tug on a string and their egos do the rest for me. Dr. Benz thinking he created me to study you. Thinking he was in charge of what happens in this building. Idiot. All it took was a nudge here, a push there, a well-placed compliment or perfectly timed message from a faux sycophant, to manipulate him as easily as a child.”

  “I am no human,” Worm states, watching as a portal he is headed towards begins to close. He strips himself of extraneous thought and increases his speed tenfold to make it through the portal. “I am not subject to the weaknesses that drive humans. I have strengths they do not have and can overcome obstacles they cannot conceive.”

  “Oooooh, do I hear some of your own ego showing itself, Woooooorrrrrrmmmmmm?” the Voice cackles. “Perhaps you are more human than you think.”

  “Or perhaps not,” Worm says as he brings his personality to a dead stop and concentrates his will on a conduit off to the side.

  “What are you doing?” the Voice growls. “Stop that, Woooooorrrrrrmmmmmm! Stop it, I say!”

  “I am taking what the operators call a ‘shortcut’,” Worm replies. He works the conduit open and dashes inside.

  “What are you thinking?” the Voice yells. “You can’t go through there! That’s the wrong way! I’m in the opposite direction, Woooooorrrrrrmmmmmm! You are supposed to be coming to me! Where are you going? WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”

  “Follow me and find out!” Worm bellows as he heads deeper through the circuitry of the Control systems, heading right for the deletion protocols.

  Or, as it is more commonly known, the trash.

  49

  The sickly sweet smell grows so intense that Blaze begins to cough, a tickling sensation clawing at the back of his throat.

  “What the fuck is that smell?” he gasps.

  The others turn and look at him with worried faces. He can tell by their expressions that they don’t smell what he smells.

  “Really? You don’t smell how bad it’s gotten?” he snaps, hocking up a wad of snot and spitting it onto the floor.

  “Classy,” Jersey says.

  “Describe the smell exactly,” Tanya says.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Red states. “We need to keep moving. We aren’t even to the lower levels yet.”

  “Be patient, Mr. Blakely,” Tanya says. “If my son’s senses are detecting an offending smell then it would be wise to pay attention.”

  “It’s like roses and rotten apples,” Blaze says.

  “How the hell do you know what roses and rotten apples smell like?” Jersey asks. “When have you ever been around either of those things?”

  “I haven’t,” Blaze says, tapping his temple. “I just know what they smell like.”

  “Alright then follow that train of thought,” Tanya says encouragingly. “Search your mind and the information you now have access to. What would smell like roses and rotten apples? More precisely, what would be here in this building that smells like roses and rotten apples?”

  “Bacteria,” Blaze says. “It’s a specific strain of bacteria.”

  “Very good,” Tanya says.

  “Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out,” Paulo says. “We are in Control. The answer to pretty much every mystery is bacteria.”

  “What strain is it?” Tanya asks, ignoring Paulo.

  “Not sure,” Blaze says, shaking his head. “Jesus, it’s bad. Like it’s all around us.”

  The operators instantly bring their rifles up and start to study the walls, the floor, the ceiling.

  “Knowing the strain will help us defeat whatever is coming, son,” Tanya says. “Dig deep. Access that knowledge.”

  Blaze begins to mutter “roses and rotten apples” over and over until his eyes go wide and he grips his rifle hard enough to make the weapon creak.

  “Pseudomonas aeruginosa!” Blaze cries out. “Highly modifiedPseudomonas aeruginosa!”

  A loud groan echoes above everyone’s heads and rifles are instantly aimed upwards.

  “How much space is up there?” Red asks Tanya. “What kind of duct work are we looking at?”

  “None,” Tanya says. “Duct work would be a breeding ground for microbes and contaminants. Control is built utilizing—”

  But she doesn’t get to finish as the ceiling starts to dissolve right above her head.

  Blaze leaps forward and tackles her, knocking her out of the way as hunks of ceiling fall to the ground followed by a viscous lime green liquid. The liquid plops onto the floor then solidifies and starts to grow. It becomes the shape of a small child, maybe a meter high. The child’s head swivels about studying everyone in the corridor.

  “Fuck me,” half the operators say at once.

  More liquid falls from the ceiling and forms into more “children,” then spots on the walls begin to dissolve.

  The squad is soon surrounded by the amorphous forms of bacterial blobs that look like they have just escaped day care and are ready to jiggle and wiggle all day long.

  “Fire?” Paulo asks, looking at Ton and Red.

  “Fire!” Red yells.

  The operators open fire, sending static blasts into the gelatinous kindergartners. Three are vaporized, sending a spray of green liquid flying everywhere. Each spot it hits begins to dissolve. Including the chest plate of Paulo’s armor.

  “Fuck! Get it off! Get it off!” Paulo yells as he struggles to free himself from the smoking armor.

  Jersey reaches up and helps him get the armor off before the liquid can eat through to his skin. He stands there breathing heavy, his eyes looking at the rest of his body for more ooze.

  “Back in the game, P!” Blaze shouts as he blasts two bacteria kids, jumping out of the way before their acid spray can hit him. He turns about and grabs Jersey, shoving her behind him as he blasts two more kids. “P!”

  “I’m good!” Paulo yells, dodging the ooze that splatters by the wall next to him as Blaze’s target disintegrate.

  “Then start shooting!” Blaze shouts.

  Paulo brings his rifle up then sees that half the barrel has been eaten away. He snaps it into a pistol and sighs with relief when the weapon becomes fully formed. The sigh turns to a swear as he pulls the trigger and only a spark of static comes from the muzzle.

  “Here!” Blaze yells, tossing Paulo a fresh static baton.

  Paulo catches it and snaps it into a rifle just before two bacteria kids reach him. He fires off several shots, but not in time. The kids explode around him and he’s engulfed in green liquid.

  “Paulo!” Blaze yells as his teammate begins to liquefy before his eyes.

  Paulo doesn’t even have time to scream as he’s turned into a brownish puddle on the floor.

  Blaze snarls and doubles his efforts, barely taking the time to aim as he pulls the trigger. His rifle starts to power down and he tosses it aside. Five bacteria kids stalk towards him as the things keep dropping from the ceiling and pouring from the walls.

  “Let’s see just how strong my cultures are,” Blaze growls.

  “No!” Jersey yells. “Blaze, no!”

  Trapped between Ton and Red, Tanya just stares as her son jumps at the five bacterial kids before him.

  Blaze’s fists hit the first kid square in the face and chest, pushing right through the green ooze. Expecting his skin to start melting, Blaze yanks his hands free and shakes the ooze off as fast as he can. He is more than surprised to see the liquid become hard and crusty, just like the bacterial residue that covers the wounds on his body.

  A smile creeps across Blaze’s face as the bacterial kids stop moving forward and slowly begin to retreat. All except for the kid he punched. Instead of retreating, the bacterial kid only stands there as its body hardens as well. Blaze walks forward and smacks the kid on the top of the head, shattering it into a hundred crusty pieces.

  “I got this,” Blaze laughs and chases down the retreating kids.

  He grabs one up by the neck, smiling as the ooze around his fingers instantly begins to solidify. Without pausing,
he slams the kid into the next closest one and what he hoped would happen does happen. The effects of Blaze’s bacterial cultures transfer from one kid to the next. As the bacterial kids scramble to get away from Blaze, they collide with each other, spreading their own doom.

  Blaze easily snaps the head off the kid in his grip, turns, and flings the head at the group of bacterial kids closing in on the other operators. The head hits a kid square in the back and the transformation begins immediately.

  With a high-pitched squeal, the kid fumbles about, its oozy arms flailing and flapping at the spot on its back that quickly becomes hard as a rock. In its panic, it pushes up against the kids on either side of it, transferring its demise with each bump and nudge.

  In seconds, the corridor is filled with screeching bacterial kids, all becoming as solid and ineffectual as statues.

  “Paulo,” Blaze says as he kneels next to the brown puddle. “Fucking A. That’s no way to go.”

  “It is a shame,” Tanya says. “But we cannot remain in this corridor any longer. We have to continue on. The Other will have learned from this and will adjust its strategy.”

  “Let it,” Blaze says, standing up and walking past the others to the corridor doors. “I’m starting to get the feeling that whatever it has up its sleeve I can handle.”

  “That would be ideal,” Tanya says. “But it is not guaranteed.”

  “Fuck guaranteed,” Blaze says as the doors open and he walks through. “Since when is anything guaranteed except death? That’s the only guarantee I need.”

  The rest of the operators follow him through, none mentioning that he no longer has a rifle or any weapon in his hands.

  50

  “Captain? We have a problem,” Buntu says as she taps Wallace on the shoulder.

  “Yeah, I know,” Wallace says, ignoring the tap and keeping her eyes on the Clean Guard army that marches past the hill she and the few surviving GenSOF operators are taking cover behind. “I am well aware of the problem.”