What makes a human, human? The first and most obvious answer would of course be biology, but suppose you were philosophical about it like most humans tend to be.
Blacklight stared down from his rooftop perch, watching the surviving Manhattanites go about their business desperately trying to forget about the outbreak. But they can’t forget. Even if the memory wasn’t so fresh in their minds, the complete lack of dense traffic and common sight of empty streets would quickly remind them. They act like everything will return to normal, but Blacklight knows better.
The city is a husk.
Yet they go on, and it makes you wonder what keeps them going. Perhaps their own philosophical notion of humanity helps them. Sitting with deep thought, losing themselves on mental trains that lead to nowhere. What makes a human a human? The optimistic would say spirit, soul, ambition, that sort of thing. The pessimist might say the capacity to be corrupted, which is also fair. After all, humans are the only, er, were the only sapient creatures on the planet. A nonsapient creature cannot understand the difference between right and wrong, and therefore cannot be corrupted in such a way.
But what is right and wrong? Such a subjective way of defining morality. The average human believes killing is wrong, but Blacklight isn’t human. Blacklight thought he was human, but he thought wrong. Blacklight thought he had a name, a face, an identity, a sister, but he thought wrong. He thought he was Alex Mercer, but instead he was DX-1118 C, Blacklight.
What do you do with yourself when you suddenly find yourself lacking every possible definition of humanity? Blacklight looks human, but that is a convincing façade. When Blacklight thought he was human, he breathed. He blinked, he even bled because he thought that’s what he was supposed to do. He panted from running even though he felt no exertion, simply because he was afraid of what it would mean if he didn’t. He jumped from water, believing it would suffocate him, when in reality he could so easily walk across the bottom of the ocean.
Biologically, he is the farthest thing from human. Technically, he isn’t even defined as a living being. A simple mass of assimilated infected flesh twisted into the image of the late Dr. Alex Mercer.
Blacklight stood up from his perch, still staring down at the humans so painfully unaware of his presence. No less than a month ago he would have jumped down and devoured those hapless Manhattanites simply to gain additional mass. He didn’t have morality. He didn’t have qualms about ending so many innocent lives and passing them off as collateral damage. He wasn’t human, and still isn’t.
He saved them though. He saved all of Manhattan, or at least what remained of it. He sacrificed himself, or at least thought he did when he used to believe he could even die. Why? A sense of honor, of atonement for the countless sins committed? A monster seeking redemption in himself? Simply because so many innocent men, women and children were about to get reduced to dust, and he couldn’t let that happen? Blacklight sincerely wishes he could say one of those were true.
But that would mean he thought like a human. Had a conscience like a human. Had remorse and sought atonement… like a human. But Blacklight isn’t human.
He saved the island because of Dana. Dana Mercer, biological sibling of Alex Mercer. She doesn’t know about Blacklight. She doesn’t know about how he was never really her brother, or how her brother died hoping to damn the whole world, her included.
Blacklight is not related to her in the slightest. The only being Blacklight was even slightly related to was Elizabeth Greene, and he tore her apart from the inside out and devoured her alive. Despite this… Dana is different. Despite how illogical it was, despite how it made no sense, Blacklight loved Dana. She is the closest thing he ever had to family.
He loves her, but she can’t know the truth. It would only hurt her, probably worse than it hurt Blacklight. To be betrayed… he knew how much that hurt. She didn’t need to feel that.
Blacklight isn’t human. He doesn’t have a conscience, or a moral compass. He doesn’t have to breathe, to blink, or to bleed. But he’ll pretend. He’ll pretend for Dana.
Blacklight cast a lingering glance to a Manhattanite that had noticed him below. A biker, no older than twenty years old, was staring at him with a mix of awe and fear. Blacklight’s biomass reserves are a little bit under what they should be. He supposes he could jump down and consume the biker before he could even react, but that would be inhuman.
Blacklight promised himself to pretend to be human.
So he pretended he left the boy alone for no other reason than the goodness of his nonexistent heart.
Because that’s what he’s good at.
Pretending.
LCD lighting glints in the silver-blue iris of the woman as she types with expert precision upon the laptop.
Her short red hair is unkempt and neglected, her lips chapped from lack of moisture. Her skin is seemingly snow white in the dark when the laptop’s light shines upon her.
She’s dressed in a loose white t-shirt, a size too large for her. She wears grey sweatpants and black pink-striped socks. Her toes curl under the desk as she concentrates on the contents of her computer screen.
Dana Mercer is a very talented investigative journalist. She has, in the past, broken into top secret government files from remote locations and has proven capable of hiding her every trace.
That is to say, she got into her brother’s computer inside of her friend’s apartment. She was rather disappointed by the lack of porn that she could have potentially ribbed Alex for.
Dana, with this experience under her belt, is locked in concentration. Her eyes never leave the shining light of the laptop screen. She is using her mastery of computer security systems to…
Find YouTube videos of her brother.
As it turns out, that was surprisingly difficult. Most of the previously posted videos of Alex had been taken down by what she assumes is the government, and the others are proving quite difficult to find.
It’s easy enough to find little writings about him on the internet, but he’s treated as an urban legend. They, of course, don’t know his real name, and have taken to calling him ‘MoM’, or the Monster of Manhattan. Of course most of the people interested in this are twelve-year-olds who write CreepyPasta. It makes finding a legitimate story rather difficult.
Dana was genuinely interested in seeing her apparently super-powered brother in action. As fuzzy and terrifying the memories of the big infected ape thing were, (hunters, Alex calls them) she caught glimpses of Alex literally jumping over skyscrapers. Of course, she was being knocked around in that big thing’s grasp so much, so maybe what she saw wasn’t exactly accurate. But she was moving fast, and Alex was keeping up. Even when she was dizzily being thrown around in a relatively still manner, it was still hard as hell to see anything clearly. She saw Alex fighting off some of the smaller ape things with a giant fucking sword for an arm, but that was brief.
Dana sighed as she leaned back on her chair. That was the second time she saw Alex in action. The first time was when she was being arrested by Blackwatch. She shivered when she remembered how Alex had punched that soldier so hard his fist literally impaled him. Through his body armor. Jesus that was a lot of blood.
She gets some info on what he does from some obscure forums of people who had supposedly seen him fighting the military, but some of that just sounds far-fetched. Things like throwing a fucking tank like a softball to knock a helicopter out of the sky, or how he apparently bisects entire crowds of people with a single swing of his arm. Some even theorize that the nuclear explosion that happened offshore (Lots of dead marine animals and birds. Not to mention cancer and radiation poisoning galore for pretty much the entire west side of Manhattan.) was targeting him as he was apparently trying to escape quarantine. But that’s ridiculous. Nothing can survive a fucking nuke.
Dana’s seen a few videos with glimpses of Alex in the background, usually bounding across rooftops like the entire city is his bouncy castle. She, however, questions the legitimacy of these videos as well, as they are really shitty in the quality department. How is it that every time someone tries to film an urban legend, their camera is out of focus?
She supposes that she can just ask Alex what he’s capable of herself, but she doubts she’ll receive a straight answer. That and frankly, the way he told her the people he killed are “in him” freaked her out. He never really explained what he meant by that, so for all she knows her brother is a soul eating demon or some shit. The fact that many ‘Monster of Manhattan’ stories feature him tearing people apart with tentacles like some kind of Lovecraftian horror doesn’t really help. Of course, like all of those stories, they could be bullshit. But even bullshit has to come from somewhere. She has, after all, seen and even requested him to change his arms into all kinds of useful missing kitchen implements. She’d never seen tentacles though.
Dana knows that he can disguise himself as other people, as she sometimes requests him to mimic voices for her amusement, but she only actually saw him do it a few times. Once while getting the two of them in this apartment complex, and the other times were when strangers come to her apartment door and tell her that they’re Alex. She’s never seen him change disguises, but she imagines it looks a lot like when he grows giant claws out of his hands. Wiggly, writhy, and a little bit nauseating. She wondered where he got the extra clothes, though...
Dana grunted and closed every open window on the laptop. Her brother has been pissing her off lately, because she knows for a fact that he knows a helluvalot more than she does, and he seems completely unwilling to share. Always dodging the question or answering in a way that answers absolutely fucking nothing and snaking around like he has so many fucking secre-
“I’m home.”
“Jesus fucking-!”
Blacklight nonchalantly walked down the isle of the store. To his right was a massive freezer isle, filled with various packaged meat products and refrigerated fruits and vegetables. His feet clacked on the white tile flooring as he pushed his shopping cart wordlessly.
He was wearing the face of the late Jeremy Delacruz, a twenty-three year old Caucasian bachelor with short blonde hair and a clean shaven face. He died about a month ago when his date was rudely interrupted by Blacklight snatching him from his patio seat and devouring him while attack choppers accidentally shredded his potential girlfriend with gunfire aimed for the human-shaped virus.
Apparently Jeremy was nervous about his date going wrong. Blacklight muses that it could not have gone wrong any more spectacularly. At least it wasn’t his fault the date went wrong. Well, actually it technically was, as he chose an outside seating arrangement, and if he chose to eat inside he and his date would probably still be alive. How unfortunate.
Of course, he was wearing dating attire at the time, which isn’t something you go shopping in. Blacklight had simply shifted his biomass to form a pair of jeans, a white T-shirt and a pair of generic black shoes.
Blacklight sighed and shifted his footing as he looked at the various selections in the halls. The two human actions have no purpose to one such as him, but he needs to stay convincingly human in front of the store cameras. No need to compromise one of his unattached identities by walking about without breathing and standing stock still like a robot when not on the move, despite Blacklight’s preference for such. It’s the subtle actions that end up being the most convincing, after all.
He inspected his cart to find various ingredients and junk food as per Dana’s request. Figuring it enough, he began the trek towards the check-out counters. He didn’t like shopping, but he refused to let Dana go in his stead with the infection still lingering, and the government still looking for her. He could order the groceries to be delivered like many Manhattanites, but that would involve someone coming to their apartment. Blacklight didn’t like that. Not one bit.
One thing that carried over from Alex to Blacklight was his paranoia. After all, the delivery boy could be an infected carrier, or a Blackwatch sleeper cell. Not very likely, but it could happen. Blacklight wasn’t about to lose his sister again just because the chances of something bad happening were unlikely therefor to be ignored.
So obviously, shopping was left to the nigh-invulnerable man-eating monster-in-human-form to do.
Besides him, Blacklight noticed, there were only about six other customers within the building. Another example of how dead the city has become. Where you once had to shuffle awkwardly past overweight mothers with squealing kids in the isle or patiently wait for two shoppers blocking the isles doing nothing but talking to move out of the way, you now only had to deal with overbearing silence and the strangely loud echoes of your own footsteps, and the footsteps of those prowling for groceries a few isles away. Considering the size of the building and the amount of stock that very obviously never sells out anymore, Blacklight estimates it will take about two weeks for the place to go out of business.
Alas, poor Fairway Market; built with Manhattan in mind, it was economically unprepared for the sudden death of 80% of the city population.
Not that any of that concerned Blacklight.
He arrived to the checkout, and immediately recognized the young blonde girl working the register without even looking at her nametag.
Jessie Letourneau. He knew her name because Blacklight had consumed one of her old boyfriends, who had joined the military (bad timing) right after highschool. Because of this, Blacklight knew this girl much more intimately than he should, such as the fact that she is severely arachnophobic and has a scent fetish.
Blacklight, of course, kept this information to himself. It’s not as if it’s compromising in his hands anyway. Even if he wasn’t completely disgusted by mammal allogamic reproduction and technically genderless, it wasn’t as if he was going to be gossiping about the memories of people he literally ate.
She greeted him with false cheer, something perhaps only the more observant would catch. Judging from the wrinkles under her eyes and the dull look in her gaze, Blacklight would guess that she had lost someone to the infection and was trying her hardest not to show grief. Or perhaps she just hates her job so much that it has just made her dead inside. Blacklight briefly wondered if she would even mind of if anyone would notice if he just consumed her mid sentence. He quickly dismissed the thoughts, however. Humans don’t have thoughts like that; monsters do. Alex promised himself to pretend to be human. For Dana.
Blacklight exchanged his own formalities while patiently waiting for her to ring up and bag his groceries. She did her job with practiced ease, while Blacklight took out his wallet.
His wallet was made of biomass, as were the contents of his wallet. All of it perfectly replicated from biological mass. From appearance, texture, and durability, you would never guess it was made out of repurposed human flesh. While Blacklight could imitate perfect dollar bills with his biomass and use those to pay for things, he figured it would not be a good idea to put dollars made out of Blacklight-infected biomass into circulation, even if all his particular variant would do to someone if they were infected is cause nearly instant death. Blacklight instead simply took out a perfect copy of Jeremy Delacruz’s credit card.
Ordinarily, creating a credit card out of biomass wouldn't work. Magnets are unfortunately beyond Blacklight's ability to replicate. However, he did have leftover material from other credit cards he had drawn into himself whilst consuming people. Ordinarily, Blacklight would expel all noncompatible mass as a small ball of condensed matter, but he prefers to keep the magnets he finds for the exact scenario in which he found himself.
Constructing the credit card would be another issue. For a human. However, Blacklight has proved to be just as dexterous on the inside as he is on the outside. When he disassembled Jeremy's credit card within himself, his perfect memory and senses detected and stored exactly how the credit card should be constructed down to the precise magnetics. Impressive, but not very useful outside of shopping with the money of the deceased.
Blacklight wordlessly slid the card through the little checkout machine, entered the proper pin number and signed with Jeremy Delacruz’s signature. He put the false credit card back into the false wallet, which he then put back into his jeans. The second it was out of sight, the wallet and its contents were broken down and absorbed back into Blacklight’s body.
With the transaction complete, Blacklight bid Jessie Letourneau a good day. The two milk gallons would probably make the feat moderately heavy for a human male with the size and physique of Jeremy, but Blacklight could pack thirty tons on his shoulders and feel all the strain a normal human might feel from carrying a particularly fluffy pillow. That’s without even shifting additional mass into his arms and legs, which usually doubles and sometimes quadruples his strength depending on his method.
It was safe to say that the seven grocery bags were not heavy to him. At all.
Blacklight walked out the front of the store, and started down the mostly empty sidewalks. Only a few cars passed him, quite unlike the endless stream of vehicles (the majority of which were taxies) that he saw a month ago. He supposed that Blacklight (the infection that isn't apart of him) is dying out not only because of a lack of leader, but also due to the fact that there are not nearly as many crowds to infect. People are no longer regularly in close proximity of each other, so it makes sense that the virus has become rather isolated.
That’s probably a small comfort to the Manhattanites; the virus dying out because it already killed almost everybody. Blacklight was a little confused, however, by the people’s attempts to keep a normal schedule. They still went to their jobs and their previous engagements rather than staying home. It’s interesting to see an entire city of people (or what’s left of them) in denial. They drive to work and worry about trivial matters like everything is the same, completely disregarding that the world, especially Manhattan, will never be the same after the outbreak.
But once again, none of this concerned Blacklight.
Blacklight continued walking down the sidewalk in a straight line before turning into a concealed alley. Once he was comfortably out of sight, Blacklight changed.
With a flick of thought, the ‘skin’ and ‘clothes’ on Blacklight rippled and writhed like he had suddenly became a liquid. The textures and colors bled away from him, as his entire shape began to mold and shift constantly, barely holding onto the silhouette of a man. His body lost detail and turned into a writhing mass of black and red biomass, tendrils forming, connecting and breaking for an indiscernible purpose.
The head seemed to settle first, revealing a grey hood covering a pale face with piercing silver-blue eyes. His torso and arms formed next, revealing three layers of clothing. The first was a white partially unbuttoned dress shirt, the second was a partially unzipped grey hoodie, the previously mentioned hood up, and the final layer was a black leather jacket, with twin white stripes around each arm and an indistinct red tribal insignia upon the back. His legs formed, revealing faded jeans and black laceless ‘loafer’ slip-on shoes.
He continued to hold the groceries through the short process.
Blacklight wore the skin of the late Dr. Alex Mercer, the sociopathic genius who had created and released him upon the world. The disguise was the closest thing Blacklight had to a true form; his very first victim. There was a time when Blacklight believed himself to be Alex, and would feel more… at home within his form. Now, Blacklight feels empty regardless of disguise. The feeling was akin to one who frequently travels; like the home you have strolled into holds no significance and will be left behind in the end anyway. If anything, Alex’s form was the worst disguise he had. Alex is dead, and everyone knows it, yet everyone recognizes the Monster of Manhattan by the iconic appearance. The military can identify him on sight in the form, and when he wanders onto the streets while looking like Alex, people either (stupidly) turn hostile or (smartly) run away.
At the same time, Blacklight felt that he should wear the form when he doesn’t care about being inconspicuous. It’s not like he would be hard to identify if he suddenly began running up walls and chucking cars in any other form. Having a consistent ‘battle’ form at least made the enemy expect him to look a certain way, whether or not they knew of his shape shifting abilities.
Well, and the disguise happens to be Dana’s brother. That was one role Blacklight was not so hasty to shed.
His entire existence is made of lies to protect the one truth that matters to him; the affection he holds for his ‘sister’.
Without a word, Blacklight leapt straight up into the sky. He quickly found himself on the roof of a five story building, startling some man who was on the roof having a smoke. Blacklight didn’t spare him a glance, as he quickly sprinted towards the other end of the roof and leapt again.
Blacklight was thankful that he had not bought bread. It would have been crushed by the other groceries at the velocity he was travelling.
After several minutes of inhuman parkour, Blacklight came to a stop in another secluded alley, where he swiftly changed his appearance again.
His appearance rippled, and Alex Mercer’s likeness was immediately replaced with the visage of a young bearded brown-haired man. Oliver Ramos was his name. The apartment Blacklight had bought for his sister and himself was in Oliver’s name, so he always walked into it under his guise.
He walked out of the alley, and quickly walked across the street where the apartment building was located. Bumping his way through the door, Blacklight gave a noncommittal grunt to the front desk’s greeting as he passed. As usual, Blacklight ignored the elevator and took the stairwell. He climbed four stories before opening the door out of the stairwell and walking down the hallway.
Blacklight finally came across his apartment number. He stood in front of a sturdy tan wooden door with the number 406 written in brass at eye level. He looked down at his loaded arms. He doesn’t carry a key, and he can’t pretend to reach into his jacket to create a replica while his available arms are loaded down. Blacklight cautiously looked down both ends of the hallway, before sprouting a small black tendril from his midsection. The tendril shot towards the lock of the door, formed a perfect replica of the apartment key, and entered the lock. A quick turn and a deft push with the tendril later, and the door swung open.
Sometimes being a malleable mass of other people’s infected flesh is rather useful. Both arms full? Sprout a new appendage.
Blacklight walked into the apartment, closing the door behind him with the formed tendril before the extra appendage retracted and formed back into him. With a flick of thought, he swiftly morphed back into the visage of Alex Mercer.
The apartment was medium sized and rather nice for the price he had bought it at, though prices don’t really matter to one who both sees no value in money and also has a virtually unlimited amount of it. Most of the apartment flooring was covered in dreary dark green carpet, while the walls were an unusually bright shade of brown. Blacklight always figured that the colors clashed, or at least the interior designers he had consumed seemed to think so. However, Dana and the sapient weapon of mass destruction never really gave much thought into interior design.
The apartment was largely barren, with the living area that was right at the entrance being void save a small television and a lumpy couch colored a charming shade of ‘piss yellow’ as Dana had so eloquently put it. A large portion of the room was cut off by counters and floored with white tiling, the counters holding several appliances that meant little to Blacklight, clearly the kitchen. A small oaken table with cheap-yet-classy oaken chairs around it was close to the kitchen area, marking the dining area. In the middle of these two areas was a hallway that led to two doors; one of which led to Dana’s room, the other led to Blacklight’s woefully underused room.
Blacklight walked into the kitchen, putting the bags he was carrying on the counters before opening the refrigerator and the pantry. He then, without moving from his spot, began methodically sprouting versatile blunt tendrils and sending them to grab various groceries and putting them in their designated space. He heard Dana’s laptop keyboard tapping, so he knew he could do this quickly without her walking in and getting freaked out.
Soon, everything was put away, and the plastic bags left behind were swept into the garbage with a remaining tendril, before all of his extra limbs retracted into him.
He then began walking down the hallway to Dana’s room, which had a slightly open door with light shining out of it.
He brushed his way into the room. The room had the same green carpeting and brown walls, with a simple bed with blue covers and a computer desk complete with a swivel chair, which was currently occupied by Dana, who was on her laptop that Blacklight had bought for her. She couldn’t use his laptop anymore, as it was destroyed when the Leader Hunter took her. Blacklight shivered in the memory of that unacceptable failure.
“I’m home.” He said.
Dana immediately jumped out of her seat, spinning around to face him. “Jesus fucking Christ, Alex!” She shouted, holding a hand to her chest. “You scared the hell out of me!”
Blacklight frowned. He hadn’t been trying to be quiet; he could have sworn she would hear him. If he wanted to remain undetected, he could easily make absolutely no noise whatsoever, considering he has no need to breathe and he can change the material of the bottom of his ‘shoes’ to a sufficiently soft material so his footsteps aren’t heard.
“Sorry.” He offered.
Dana made a ‘brr’ sound, shuddering her shoulders in an exaggerated manner. “You’re like a fucking ghost, sometimes.” She said, brushing past him and walking out the door of her room. Blacklight wordlessly followed her out into the hall.
“Seriously, would it kill you to fucking knock on a door, or something?” She asked as they walked into the kitchen. “Oh, and did you remember the tortilla chips?”
“Yes.” Was the straightforward reply. Blacklight omitted the fact that he couldn’t forget anything even if he wanted to.
Dana hummed in response while she opened the pantry, rummaging through their supply of non-refrigerated food.
Dana insisted that Blacklight couldn’t cook. This was probably because the Alex she knew was inept at the culinary arts, so Blacklight figured it best to let her believe that. While he had already explained that the people he killed are a part of him, he was very vague about it. She didn’t seem to get that he literally consumed people and absorbed everything about them, and he intended to keep things that way for the sake of her views on his humanity. He really didn’t want to explain to her that the reason he became so good at cooking was because he devoured a few retired master chefs (and a few who were still in the business).
Really, it was hard for Blacklight to think of a skill he hadn’t mastered due to the number of people he’s consumed. He can do anything from piloting a Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird, to writing a unique 3467 line advanced PL/S code. Yet rather comically, Dana believes he is incapable of operating a stove.
Dana retrieved the unopened bag of tortilla chips from the pantry, before opening the refrigerator and retrieving a jar of salsa. She has a preference for spicy food, Blacklight had long since figured out.
Blacklight remained silent, watching his sister set up a light snack. He was wary of saying anything, as she had slightly furrowed brows and was clenching her jaw. He knew from experience that this meant that she is angry, and she will either say she isn’t angry or tell him a false reason if he asks. Blacklight figured the best way to find out what is making her mad is to wait until she tells him herself.
Manhattan’s rooftops were almost always clear ever since the outbreak. Even if the urban legend known as the Monster of Manhattan wasn’t known for bounding across roofs like he has rockets in his heels, many learned their lesson when the more ‘evolved’ infected began to appear. They enjoyed climbing up the buildings and ambushing prey from the roofs, and they tended to first clear the roof they were ambushing from of civilians with extreme prejudice.
Most would assume the large ‘ape’ creatures were the ones who tended to do this, though this was false. They did not often dwell far from the epicenter of a particular infected zone, and they were not ones for subtlety. Most Manhattanites have never seen one and lived, and those they did see usually came with sightings of the Monster of Manhattan, as he is the only reason they would go so far from their hive.
The infected that stalk the rooftops are known for their speed. They are capable of scaling buildings startlingly quickly, and keeping pace with speeding vehicles. Despite their speed, they are still only a bit more durable than an average human being tends to be. In groups, they like to use their speed and numbers to quickly overwhelm groups, while a few evolved would rather remain undetected and attack singular targets.
Contrary to popular belief, those who are infected are not entirely animalistic. They retain some examples of human intelligence, no matter how far and few between these examples are.
For instance; the group of six evolved standing upon a rooftop looking through the window of an apartment which holds the infamous Monster of Manhattan within seem to know that the element of surprise is key when dealing with a target significantly stronger than they are. They also seem to understand limited squad tactics, with some of the evolved infected taking positions on other rooftops waiting for the others to make a move.
However, that is where their intelligence ends. Were they more intelligent, they would understand from experience that they could not so much as even annoy the Monster of Manhattan, even if he remained perfectly still and didn’t fight back. Any being with common sense would know better than to attack the Monster of Manhattan with anything less than an army at their back, and even with the army they would attempt to avoid the encounter at all costs.
But those infected with Blacklight are not known for their understanding of common sense.
Dana dipped a chip into salsa, held in a small plastic bowl on the coffee table in front of the yellow couch, or the piss-couch as she likes to call it. She then threw the chip into her mouth and began chewing.
Despite not looking in her direction, Blacklight could sense this with clarity that would stun any human in his metaphorical shoes. It’s amazing the kind of information you can gather by simply being sensitive to the air around you. A shame human skin is not the same way.
Dana was watching some reality show about teenagers. Blacklight knew Dana wasn’t really watching it; her eyes glazed over the way they are. She’s thinking about something. Probably about the subject that has seemed to have slowly frustrated her more and more over time.
He was beginning to wonder if he should say something.
“Uh-“
“How strong are you?” Dana cut him off.
Blacklight turned to see all of Dana’s attention on him. He took a moment to articulate a sufficiently intelligent response.
“What?” Social interaction outside of a set role to imitate is startlingly difficult.
“I mean, like, what’s the heaviest thing you’ve lifted? I know you’ve got super strength and all that like some kind of comic book superhero, but I’ve never really been clear on how strong you are.”
Alex knew what she meant the first time. He just really didn’t know how to answer. He doesn’t actually know the limit of his strength, just like how he doesn’t actually know any of his limits. He wants to run faster? He tries harder and just like that; he runs faster. Want to be stronger? He tries harder and he’s stronger. Limits aren’t really a measurable value for him as they are constantly changing. He supposes the heaviest thing he’s lifted was a hive he uprooted from the ground as a personal test of strength. That involved sprouting many elongated tendrils to latch all over the building to get a solid enough grip for the feat, whilst sprouting several more to shred any infected that tried to get close enough to interrupt him.
Really, what was he supposed to say? Surely Dana knew enough about physics and the human body to know that if he were human performed the feats of strength he does almost daily, the sheer force being exerted by himself would rupture any organs within him and grind his own bones to dust. Humans simply aren’t meant to be as strong as he is.
He ultimately decided to play it relatively safe.
“I lifted a taxi over my head once.” Not really a lie. He’s done so with countless vehicles. He often used cars as projectiles against military vehicles and particularly difficult hunters. He once threw a refrigerated truck half way across Manhattan in an attempt to hit a distant helicopter. It was a bullseye.
Judging by the stunned look on Dana’s face, he provided the wrong answer.
“You lifted. A car. Over your head.” Shit.
“It, uh, took a lot out of me.” He offered. That was a lie. He could juggle several taxies all while sprinting faster than a sports car up a ninety degree incline and he would not feel exerted in the slightest. Even during the first few minutes he was awake, he was capable of picking up a car effortlessly and throwing it with enough distance and velocity to bring a helicopter out of the sky. Saying it took even a little bit out of him would be nothing short of a complete lie.
“Jesus Christ Alex. You’re like fucking Superman! You talk about lifting a fucking car over your head like it’s no big deal!” Dana ranted. Blacklight had to disagree with the Superman comparison. He was nowhere near as noble as the fictional character is depicted, and he is pretty sure that he wasn’t strong enough to pull a planet out of orbit. He kept his musings to himself, however, as he was pretty sure the original Alex was not an avid reader of comic books.
The woes of being an information sponge that absorbs peoples’ memories and experiences; he once accidentally ate a comic book enthusiast and now he knows countless trivia about fictitious characters. How annoying.
“I… thought you already knew I could do stuff like that.” He tried.
“Yeah, I figured you were super-strong and all that, but I figured it would be a little more… realistic. Like you could lift one end of a car a few feet off the ground like those dudes in the Strongman competitions only without all the massive bulging muscles. I didn’t think you could literally lift a fucking car over your head!” She said, animatedly gesticulating above her head.
Blacklight didn’t think he said or did anything too wrong, but the way Dana was speaking to him made him feel like a jackass for some reason. The men he consumed seemed to believe that all women had a special talent for this sort of thing. The women he consumed seemed to proudly agree with that notion.
“I mean, is that even supposed to be possible? Can a human skeleton even support the weight of a car over it?” Oh no. This is what he was afraid of.
She’s going to ask how, and somehow she would figure out that he doesn’t actually have a skeleton, or organs for that matter. From that she would figure out that made him technically not human, and technically not alive. From there she would find out that he is technically not her-
“Ah, screw it. All this talk of defying physics is making my head hurt. Can you get me a soda?” She asked, shaking her head.
The resulting sigh of relief that Blacklight repressed would have had enough air pressure behind it to shatter the bones of an elephant.
Blacklight wordlessly complied, getting up from the couch making an audible creak as his weight was lifted from it, and walking to the kitchen.
He heard something.
By the time he turned around, they had already broken through the apartment windows.
Six of them. Evolved. Humans mutated beyond recognition, with large tumorous growths used as makeshift armor. Some of their limbs were twisted into impromptu weapons as if to imitate Blacklight’s methods of weaponization.
Dana was screaming. They had locked their eyes on her form. They were so fast. They would already be on her by the time Blacklight even flinched.
Dana was screaming.
Dana was in trouble.
Dana was threatened.
Dana.
Is.
Threatened.
Somehow through strange chance, the panicked flickering of Blacklight’s very biology activated something buried deeply within his ever-changing genetic makeup.
In a literal flash, everything suddenly stopped making sense.
My brother can lift a car over his head.
That thought would not leave Dana’s head for even a minute. Her brother was literally a comic book superhero.
Then she thought for a moment. He’s always going out doing what I assume to be dangerous stuff involving the military and the infected. Is he bulletproof too?
Really, he being bulletproof would explain a lot. Also open up quite a few questions as to how that is even possible, but it would also explain why he’s so careless when it comes to military personnel and his own safety. Obviously he’s got some kind of resistance, if those dumb internet stories about him are anything to go by. She doubts he can survive a tank shell to the face, however. She saw how quick he is, so he would probably just dodge such an attack.
She decided to ask him if he’s bulletproof and was about to call to him from the couch when suddenly the windows broke with a deafening CRASH!
“Holy shit!” Dana cried, jumping back to her left and scrambling out of the couch. She faced the place the windows were previously just in time to see the horrific former humans dashing towards her like bullets.
Dana then did the thing any sane person would do when faced with a bunch of roaring, horribly mutated ultra-contagious super-zombies that want nothing more than to rip you apart.
She screamed. Loudly.
Things only went downhill from there.
The entirety of her vision flashed white just before one of them was on top of her, and suddenly everything stopped making sense.
The sensation of being pushed through a very, very thin tube overwhelmed her, twisting her stomach and disorienting her more than she had ever felt before. Considering she experimented with acid back in college, this was quite a feat.
When the white left her vision, she could barely make out colors. Everything felt like it was spinning and she felt like her stomach was suddenly filled to the brim with boiling water. Her heartbeat was the loudest thing in the room to her.
Until she heard it.
A bestial roar louder than anything she had ever heard before.
With her limited locomotion, she managed to move her arms to cover her ears, only to unceremoniously roll off of the couch she was unaware she was still occupying due to lack of balance. She clenched her eyes shut when sunlight invaded her sensitive vision. The bestial roar ended, but many more scary sounds soon followed.
The unmistakable moaning and screaming of the infected. Alex. Alex is getting torn apart! Get up! Get a lamp and… hit something! Your brother needs you! Super car-lifting and sword-arm-shifting powers or no, there had to have been at least five of them!
Before she could even think about getting up, she lurched forward as her stomach disagreed with her. She heard the sound of gurgling and vigorous slashing and slamming, as well as a stray scream, but could make out little else.
Then all was quiet.
Save her own nauseous moaning, of course.
“Dana!”
She was suddenly unceremoniously turned to lie on her back as her vision continued to swim.
“Dana! Are you okay!?”
Alex! Alex is alright! What happened to the infected? She tried to voice her thoughts.
“Al- bluhh.” Came from her mouth instead.
Dana’s vision finally stopped swimming enough to make out the form of her brother’s head, still in that stupid hood looking no worse for wear. Her vision focused enough to see the concern in his strangely reflective eyes.
“Never…-urp- better… What… The fuck… Happened..?” Dana’s heart lifted a little bit to see Alex’s relieved smile. It makes her feel little again, like back when the two of them were surviving the wrath of their poverty-stricken mother. Her brother’s comfort and concern made those years bearable.
Whoa, I’m out of it. I’m getting nostalgic after almost getting eaten by what are essentially zombies.
Alex lifted his head and looked around, as if their surroundings changed. She could still see the apartment roof above him. What is he looking at?
He looked back down at Dana, his gaze one of confusion. “I… don’t know what happened. Can you-“
He suddenly stopped mid-sentence and looked to his right, akin to a dog that heard a dog whistle.
“Wait here.” He said, before suddenly dashing out of her vision.
“Alex wait I- what the fuck!?” She called out, confused and a little offended. What the fuck had he heard? Does he have super hearing too? She is going to ask that after he gets back.
As she struggled to get her bearings and sit up, she noticed something else she would have to ask her brother when he got back.
Like why was a section of the apartment cut away?
And why is their apartment in the middle of a forest?
“When did my life get so fucking weird?”
Brandon Hinze was having a good day, all things considering. Good days are hard to come by after the outbreak, so he was determined to enjoy it.
He met a pretty girl today, finished up payments for his car, and even got a pizza to celebrate.
Pizza; the New York experience condensed into a cheesy treat. It would take more than a measly apocalyptic viral outbreak to break down the Manhattan way of life. Come Hell or high water, Brandon would enjoy his pizza while sitting back and complaining about the rest of the world whilst watching television. Like a true Manhattanite.
These were the thirty-three-year-old man’s goals as he walked down the hall to his apartment, pizza held with both hands just to make sure he wouldn’t drop it due to his own clumsiness.
Then he dropped the pizza, and his day was very swiftly ruined.
He didn’t drop his pizza due to clumsiness, or anyone bumping into him. No, he dropped his pizza because a flash of light and a tube-squeezing sensation later, he was too disoriented to even tell which way was up.
Or he was, until there was suddenly a… thing right on top of him.
Then in a snap, perhaps from pure adrenaline, his vision cleared.
The person straddling him had somehow crashed through the hallway wall, as the hole behind it proved.
Then he realized the person’s massive red tumorous growths distorting its features, the red-tinged foam in its mouth, and the pain of elongated over sharp fingernails in his side.
It was about at that moment that Brandon screamed.
In his panic, Brandon threw a wild swing at the infected man, clocking it in the jaw hard enough for it to jump away from him. Standing over his prone form, the creature was ready to finish the job-
When a giant serrated black whip suddenly shredded its way through the wall behind the creature, slicing the creature’s arms and upper torso into pieces. Brandon once again screamed bloody murder as the blood of the former human drenched him.
Brandon then looked up, and realized that the wall that had just been sliced through by the black thing was the only thing supporting the ceiling, as the other side of the hallway seemed to cease to exist after the flash.
In a series of movements too quick for his hazed adrenaline filled mind to follow, he somehow rolled out of the way of the collapsing roof, and found himself on blood-spattered grass.
Brandon didn’t even question the change of scenery, as he simply got up and sprinted into the forest that had appeared in front of him, hoping to get as far away from the infected as possible.
In his panic, he didn’t consider that getting scratched by the infected man and then getting drenched in his blood would infect him. His only goal was survival and running at this point, his mind having dropped all other forms of logic.
So run he did, unsure of where exactly he was going. He simply ran.
He ducked under low hanging branches, scuffing himself up as he scraped through thorny bushes. He was so pumped up on pure survival adrenaline he didn’t even notice the scratches.
What he was becoming increasingly aware of was the burning sensation spreading from the claw mark in his side, seeming to burn particularly ‘hot’ in his major arteries. Every heartbeat, he felt like lava was being pumped into his veins. His mouth was inexplicably dry, his eyes becoming dry as well, making him blink more often.
Even as his rationale was returning, he didn’t pay it mind. Be it denial or the fact that he knew that the infection took at least a day to show symptoms, he believed that at least these things were unrelated.
For some reason, though, an overwhelming sense of euphoria was overcoming his other senses. The run felt more joyful, the burn in his veins becoming pleasant. He was laughing, to him, whimsically, to any other listeners, hysterically.
He could see a light. The tree line!
Fluttershy wasn’t having the best day. It wasn’t a bad day, per say, but she can’t really classify it as a good day when a big scary flash comes from Everfree Forest and scares all her animals.
Angel was still clinging to her leg, shivering. Her animals, the poor dears, had mostly scattered and hid upon the big light.
Fluttershy was worried. Everfree Forest was known for its odd occurrences and uncontrollable weather, but that wasn’t thunder. Even if it was, her animals would not react the way they did. It’s almost as if they know something she doesn’t.
-Not that she holds it against them. They can keep whatever secrets they like. Fluttershy doesn’t like being nosy.
Fluttershy had just finished convincing Angel Bunny to let go of her foreleg when the strangest creature came from the tree line a little ways away from her cottage. At the sight of any other strange creature running out of the scary forest laughing hysterically, she probably would have bolted into her cottage and hid under her bed. But this one was covered in b-blood.
The creature was clearly sapient, if the clothing was anything to go by. They looked nice- they must have been very expensive to make. The being looked like a… minotaur of some kind. But ooh what was she doing? She was just sitting there criticizing the poor creature’s appearance when she should be helping! Bad pony!
She was about to go to the creature, still laughing hysterically -it must be delirious, poor dear- when it suddenly hunched over and dry heaved.
Fluttershy was half way to the creature when it suddenly began vomiting profuse amounts of blood. Fluttershy’s eyes widened, and her wings locked in terror of the gruesome spectacle. But she steeled her resolve, still determined to help the poor dear before it is too late.
The creature stopped vomiting blood, settling for gasping and shivering violently. Fluttershy took one step towards it when its gaze snapped up to her, its tiny eyes bloodshot and unfocused. It was, much to Fluttershy’s horror, grinning widely. Fluttershy once again cursed her own cowardice, freezing in terror at the poor dear’s pain. One last time, she steeled herself and took another step.
Then a black serrated tendril flew from the depths of Everfree and speared through the creature’s torso.
Time slowed down for Fluttershy as she watched chunks of flesh and bits of what seemed to be ribs erupt from the being’s chest. The blood -so much blood- seemed to gush from the wound as the creature choked and gripped the emerging part of the tendril futilely, the mad grin never leaving its face as if its facial muscles were locked in that position. It choked and hacked as a waterfall of crimson flowed from its mouth, bits of who-knows-what flowing right with the blood.
The creature was then dragged by the tendril back into Everfree, leaving a large red trail. As soon as it left Fluttershy’s sight, all she could hear was stabbing and slashing sounds, then silence.
Fluttershy stared ahead blankly, her face pale, her eyes wide and her pupils pinpricks. She almost felt like her jaw was touching the floor.
She then promptly lost consciousness.
Had she remained awake for just a few more seconds, she would have seen a creature similar to the first, this one wearing a hood, step out of the forest into sight.
Blacklight was very confused and concerned.
Confused because somehow a large section of the apartment building, particularly the section containing he and his sister’s apartment, had suddenly been transported into a random forest that he did not recognize through unknown means.
Concerned, because the man he had just chased down and consumed was infected just under a minute ago and was already at the final stages of infection; complete memory loss and dementia. Blacklight could tell; he had consumed the man and didn’t even get enough information to draw his name up.
Meaning an infection that is supposed to take a day or two to manifest had manifested within fifty seconds.
That is very, very bad.
Blacklight walked from the tree line, extending tendrils to run along the ground and absorb all of the blood the man had spilled on the ground. He was not about to risk anything.
Blacklight looked to his left, to see a very hobbit-esque cottage with many animals surrounding something, all with expressions of worry.
He creased a brow in confusion at that. These animals are very expressive. That… is not normal.
He didn’t contemplate it further, as he had other things to worry about. Like a very confused very vulnerable sister probably waiting for answers.
Oh, and he left a bunch of mutilated infected corpses, so he should probably get there before she-
Blacklight paused the thought with a deadpan as he heard a girlish scream echo from the forest.
Too late then. Blacklight sighed despite having no need to breathe.
‘This is going to be a fun conversation’ was his last thought before he sprinted back into the forest towards his sister.