by Mark Walden
Creed swallowed nervously, turned to the body and pulled back the sheet.
‘Subject Sebastian Trent has been dead for approximately two weeks,’ the doctor said for the benefit of the cameras recording the procedure. ‘Cause of death appears to have been either acute Animus poisoning or a double gunshot wound to the heart. Proceeding with the first incision.’
Creed started to make the long Y incision that was the first step of any normal autopsy. He recoiled from the body as the thick, oily black fluid seeped from the small cut he had made and then frowned as it seemed to pull back inside the body slightly. He leaned closer.
Without warning, a thick black tendril snaked out and hit him in the face, oozing around the sides of his surgical mask and flowing into his mouth and nose.
‘Get it off me, get it off!’ Creed screamed, before his throat was filled with the substance and he dropped to the floor, gurgling and clawing at his face.
‘Fascinating,’ Furan said calmly as Creed thrashed for a moment on the floor and then lay still. If nothing else, Animus might make an effective assassination tool if they were able to replicate more from this small sample. Furan made a mental note that Creed’s autopsy would have to be carried out with much more caution. This batch of the fluid seemed uniquely aggressive.
Furan was about to turn away from the glass and summon a clean-up team when a movement from Creed caught his eye.
Furan watched in amazement as the doctor slowly got back to his feet and staggered towards the glass, placing one hand on it for support. His face was covered in the telltale black traces of Animus poisoning, his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling as he took rapid ragged breaths.
‘Are you all right, Doctor?’ Furan asked in amazement. No one other than Malpense had ever survived Animus infection before.
‘Better than that,’ Creed said, his eyes flying open and glowing with an inhuman red colour.
‘I . . . am . . . reborn.’