#acureforsolitude

[jazztag]

A Cure for Solitude

From prompt #47 Tropes: Zombie whumpee, medic caretaker, whump, hurt/confort TW: Blood, mild body horror, bite scars, needles.

He doesn't remember how he got here. To be precise, he doesn't remember anything at all. At some point, he woke up from what felt like a long slumber, and now he finds himself standing motionlessly here.

The first thing he feels isn't fear to have forgotten. Nor curiosity for who he might have been. No, the first thing he feels is hunger. And God, it hurts.

So he starts walking with a purpose. And then he starts noticing other things, much less minor but quite important as well. His left leg lumps, feels limp, and hurts. Oh, every inch of his skin hurts, actually. He grows frustrated with every step he manages to make. He stumbles and loses his balance, and falls hard on the ground. He spays his knees and hands, but when he looks at them closely, he can't seem to see blood on them. There's only pale, white, even purple-toned skin that feels like ice.

He's so cold. And hungry. And suddenly, a delicious smell. Something that grows stronger and makes his mouth drool. And he steps up again and starts dragging his damaged feet towards that appetizing thing that seems to lure him.

The streets are empty. He finds himself entering a yellow and blue building, getting closer and closer to the scent of meat. He is completely alone inside what seems like a department store. And at the end of a corridor, he finally finds what he was hungrily looking for: a piece of red meat scattered on the floor.

And he practically launches himself towards it.

He devours the flesh hungrily, even licking the blood that has leaked from the piece. The hunger calms itself inside him, and finally, contentment seems to flourish inside his entrails.

But before he can get a breath out of it, he feels something fall on him. He finds himself on the floor again and fights to get free from what appears to be a net. It claws at his sensible skin, and it draws purple marks on it. He tries to escape from under it, but stops when he hears a new voice:

"Putting up a little fight, huh? You'll do"

He freezes on the spot. And then his tired gaze makes out a figure, coming out of the shadows. His first instinct is to call for help, but when he tries to, only a low growl escapes his lips.

The figure, a tall man, approaches him. The stranger pins him to the ground with one knee, putting his full weight on him. Then he grabs at one of his arms and lifts it free from the net. Scared, he now sees how the strange man takes a syringe out of one of his pokets and sticks it to his pale forearm.

He feels a strange sensation. It seems like something has been spread inside him. He panics and starts struggling again. And without a second thought, he bites the strange man on his hand, the one holding him down.

The strange man yelps and steps up, getting far from him. He massages his left hand, which now has a visible bite mark. A trail of blood draws from it, but the tall man doesn't look very bothered. He looks back, a growl of disgust in his face.

"This won't work on me," says the stranger; then, like talking to himself this time, he adds, "I'll find a cure. I will."

And before he can even make out any of his features, still laying on the floor and scared, the tall man disappears again into the shadows.

He eventually gets out of the trap. His arm is burning up. He no longer feels cold or hungry. He is now in a lot of pain, radiating from where that needle has been stuck.

And he tries to call for help again. And again, words don't seem to escape his mouth; only growls.

"H-he… Hel…" he manages to say between moans of pain.

He still hasn't figured it out, but he is, indeed, dead.

#promptfactory #originalcharacter #my ocs #prompt #whump #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee x caretaker #zombie whumpee #zombie x human #medic caretaker #zombie #whump writing #writing snippet #medical whump #acureforsolitude

[jazztag]

Jazz's Master List

Ongoing series RN (using my own prompts):

A Cure for Solitude: [From #47]

Tropes: Zombie whumpee, medic caretaker, whump, hurt/confort, bl. Plot: Wounded and disoriented, "W" finds himself turned into a zombie in a post apocalyptic future. Not even remembering his own name, he stumbles upon a human survivor who seems to be inmune to the virus, and who is taking it upon himself to find a cure. Said human will grow curious about W, the only zombie who seems to be able to comunicate outside of the usual growls. Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | Tagged as #acureforsolitude

An Encounter in the Snow: [From #18]

Tropes: hero x villain, WW2 setting, villain whumpee, hero caretaker, living weapon whumpee. Plot: Whumpee being a trained living weapon since birth with the sole purpose to destroy and murder the enemy in the trenches. He has no name, he is just a tool bound at the orders and mistreatment of the Regime. He has been named "War Monster" by the Enemy, the Resistance.

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 Tagged as #anencounterinthesnow

Prompts: TAG ME if you use them! I wanna see what you come up with!

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[jazztag]

A Cure for Solitude XVI

Medic is suddenly awakened by some loud knocks on the lab’s door. He checks the cameras, quite hoping it’s W who has decided to stop being an idiot and come to him again.

It isn’t. Instead, on the black and white screen, M sees the familiar face of Army no- Amy, the soldier woman who tends to patrol around the farthest areas in the city.

“C’mon, it’s important” rushes him the soldier, when M unlocks the big heavy metal door.

“What” questions M as soon as she comes inside his humble home. She is pacing around, uncomfortable. Finally, sits down on a near couch and lets her rifle rest on the floor. She looks to the floor.

“Remember when you promised me that?”

Medic disregards his annoyance at once and relaxes a bit. “Yeah”.

She looks then at him in the eye, and his smile shines, something than not even M, who has known the woman for most than two years now, has seen previously. Amy’s eyes shine with some tears strained in them, and there’s faith in there. M steps back a bit, a little bit taken aback by everything that’s going on.

“What? What, Amy? Speak”

The woman dries her eyes and steps up. She adopts a position of rest, as far as a military does, her gun on her side.

“They have approved Protocol T” and she smiles again. But M, on his side, his mouth closes shut.

“What do you mean, Protocol Test was something that our government banned after that fiasco with the Institute, they can’t…”

“Well, they now can! Remember the coup d’etat last year? Some commissions got created, some people left the government, new ones arrived…”

Medic walks frantically around the room.

“That’s bad. That’s really bad…”

Amy grabs him by the shoulders, stopping him in his tracks. She looks at him, half smiling.

“Don’t you get it? Now we actually can find a cure! Now we will all work towards the vaccine! No more gatekeeping, finally full Countries will start trusting each other with the information and…”

“No!” yells M, fleeing from her hold. He backs away into a corner, and repeats himself again, much quietly: “no…”

Amy furrows her brows and decides to let her weapon right there by the wall. She approaches M again, cautiously, but while following the scientist around the improvised apartment, her eyes start to wander around all the papers and documents that decorate each surface. A lot of medical words she has never understood. Then, half hidden under another pile, some random newspapers. Wait…

M arrives by the coffee machine and gets a fresh cup. He gulps it all down. He tries to get his hair away from his eyes for the fifth time.

“You don’t get it, Amelia. How could you? You just wait for results, and when you find them, you just… steal them”

Amy turns to the scientist, raising one eyebrow. Then she returns her attention to the newspaper cover, one from almost three years. There’s a group of scientists there, in the first article, a big photo with a lot of people and names, everything is smiles and handshakes.

“Medic?” asks Amy, without looking up from the paper. She grabs the dusty pages, and starts reading ”Is there something I should know?”

M starts pacing around, coffee in hand. “Not a virus, not a virus” mutters the scientist while shaking his head absentmindedly.

Amy keeps reading the page and stops by the big picture. He can recognize someone from the photo. Her eyes span nervously towards the bottom line of the picture, and from left to right, a series of names are written…

“M-Mel? That was you, on the team?”

M stops dead in his tracks and turns around slowly towards Amy. He then can’t keep it anymore straight and falls onto his knees, dropping the mug and breaking it in shambles. He takes off his glasses and starts crying frantically.

“It was all a mistake” he sobs uncontrollably “We were lied to and stolen…”

Amy walks towards him and yanks from his shoulders to get him up again and away from the cutting ceramic on the floor.

“You don’t need to carry all the pain and guilt by yourself anymore, Mel…” says Amy softly. You have help, now. They will let you guide them and…

“No!” M now is angry, his past is again punching him in the gut, and what he thought was something he was keeping controlled and forgot about, has returned once more. He eyes Amy, and the woman suddenly is scared. But M’s fury has nothing to do with her, that’s something she is sure of.

“There was never a mistake” speaks M, suddenly in a lower voice, more controlled manner. “There was never supposed to be a cure. The virus was the first phase of the plan, and now they are going to start the second phase.

Amy has her eyes fully open. “What- What do you m-mean”

“Three years ago I thought I failed on my research. But turns out, I just provided humanity with the most brutal annihilation weapon ever”.

M looks at Amy, and the both of them stare in shock at each other.

“You mean-”

“Amelia, answer me this one:

If you were to invent the atomic bomb, would you share the knowledge, or burn the plans and die with the secret?”

Taglist: @whump-blog @cupcakes-and-pain @crunchypuppy06 @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @kona-luu @hurtthemgently (comment to get added/removed from the list!)

#promptfactory #originalcharacter #my ocs #prompt #whump #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee x caretaker #zombie whumpee #zombie x human #medic caretaker #zombie #whump writing #writing snippet #medical whump #acureforsolitude

[jazztag]

A Cure for Solitude XIV

As M strolls down the corridor, a device emits a quiet beep. His attention is fully absorbed by the screen, where small dots drift slowly past a larger circle, each labeled with a serial number. Among them, a lone dot bears the label "W."

Coming to a halt outside the furniture store where he first encountered the creature a week prior, M notices a group of zombies near the entrance. They glance at him briefly, sniffing the air before losing interest and fading into the darkness behind him.

Faint streams of light filter through the cracked glass ceiling. The midday sun gently bathes the multiple furniture displays, offering glimpses into what was once a bustling commercial hub, now lost to the ravages of time.

The 'beep' starts getting louder as M wanders further into the vast halls. He keeps his eyes glued to the screen, where the dot labeled as 'W' remains, motionless. M notices some stains on the floor, a dark purple shade standing out on the concrete. He shuts off the device and drops down to his knees. Taking a closer look at the blood, he follows its trail and spots a big wooden closet against the wall. There's a clear handprint smudged on the handle.

The man walks quietly and stops right by the door, waiting to hear something, anything. But not a sound is heard. He opens his mouth, about to say something, but closes it again. He feels stupid. He doesn’t know what to say to a zombie. So he sits right next to the closed door and sighs. He crosses his arms and looks at his boots, absentmindedly. Then he hears a clear shuffle inside the closet and looks up.

“Don’t worry. It’s me,” says M. There’s an audible sob inside the wardrobe, and some more shuffling. M is about to add something more, but then again, he seems to be at a loss for words. For the first time ever, it’s W who speaks first.

“S-sorry,” mumbles the creature. His voice is muffled inside the wooden walls, but there’s audible pain in his words. M looks at his left arm, the one he bandaged last night. It still hurts; the bite got him deep. Even after a day, it still stings like hell, and he still can’t hold anything without flinching. M closes his eyes and nods silently.

“Don’t worry about it,” mumbles the man. He looks at the ceiling, at nothing in particular, actually. “How is your shoulder doing, though?”

W’s voice grows quiet. There’s more shuffling inside the closet. Then his weak voice: “H-hurts.”

“You need to rest, W.”

“Ca-an’t-t.”

M grows quiet. He finally gathers the courage to say it: “I’m truly sorry, W.” There’s an awkward silence. Then W opens shyly the closet’s door, popping his head out. His cheeks are wet from crying; his tears have left two purple trails that fall from eyes to chin. His trembling hands grip the wooden frame, and his curious eyes look at M’s. He is still mortified to come out of there, so he just stands there like an idiot. The dim light of the sunrays hurts his eyes anyway.

“I’m so sorry. I can’t fix it. I just- I just can alleviate it, I-… I” W’s hazel eyes observe the human’s bandaged arm. M looks back at him. The zombie is still stained from head to toe in blood, another human’s. He sits with his knees under his chin and hugs his legs, making himself tiny, still not daring to come out from his hiding spot. He looks so fragile, still covered in red nonetheless. W looks scared, embarrassed to look at him. But his eyes crave comfort, M notices. The Medic looks at his own hands.

“Humans destroying humans,” mumbles M. “Biologic weapons… We were so foolish, huh?”

W looks at him, without understanding. He’s so tired. He just wants to sleep, to close his eyes. He is also scared. He can’t help but freeze when the Medic gets up suddenly, startling him. Then his hazel eyes gravitate towards M’s gun, which he carries inside his case, hanging from his belt. The creature gets scared again, the memory of his shoulder hurting once again in his mind, like a fresh scar. W hisses aggressively at M and struggles to disappear inside the depths of the closet again.

The Medic stops right there, seeing W has hidden again from him. He looks at the weapon and curses, grabbing it and hiding it in his inner coat pocket.

“W… I am not going to hurt you,” speaks softly the man, getting nearer the wooden door. He peeks inside and distinguishes W’s tiny form, pressed against the wall and hugging himself. The creature looks to have been hiding there all day long since yesterday. The Medic inspects the tiny space and realizes the wooden alphabet toy is there as well.

Something clicks inside him. He remembers W’s eyes lit when telling M his own name. “Won’t you come out?” asks M. Hiding in the shadows, W shakes his head profusely. Then he stays quiet again, as if waiting for M to leave.

“Fine,” blurts out the human. He stands up. “You stink of blood anyway.”

W hears M walking away. He then smells his left hand. Indeed, he is still covered in dry blood. He sucks his fingers absentmindedly.

Taglist: @whump-blog @cupcakes-and-pain @crunchypuppy06 @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @kona-luu (comment to get added/removed from the list!)

#promptfactory #originalcharacter #my ocs #prompt #whump #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee x caretaker #zombie whumpee #zombie x human #medic caretaker #zombie #whump writing #writing snippet #medical whump #acureforsolitude

[jazztag]

A Cure for Solitude VI

The Medic motions for W to get a little bit closer. Maybe it’s his feverish brain telling the creature he has nothing to do against the human. Maybe he doesn’t care anymore, but the fact is, W scoots closer to the Medic, still draped in the confronter and deeply terrified of what the scary human is going to do to him.

M looks at the zombie with somewhat pity. He puts his hand on the other’s forehead, and W automatically embraces his warm touch, closing his tired eyes and letting M hold him for a bit.

“You’re really warm" and adds, more to himself, “That’s not normal." W feels the other’s touch disappear and sighs, already missing it. He opens one eye, and finds the human writing something on his notebook, absedmindly. He hugs himself again and pouts.

“Y-your -our f-faul-t,” says W, remembering the strange vaccines he’s been subjected to by M. The human keeps writing in his strange diary.

“I know, and I thought I was onto something since your body temperature was rising. But turns out they are only giving you fevers." W turns his head to the side. He doesn’t understand a lot, but as far as it goes, fevers aren’t something good, right? “Your body temperature is extremely low by default; no wonder any attempt at correcting that makes you sick.”

“Em-”

“I’ll need to start again. Maybe targeting the toxins is the way. Surely there’s something in there I’m missing or-”

“EeEM” cries W, and the Medic finally looks at him. The creature is again trembling, his hands are grabbing violently at the bed sheets and he looks to be in a lot of pain, increasing from time to time. His reddish eyes are getting wet, and there’s some purple liquid starting to flow down his nose. He’s burning up.

The Medic gets up immediately. “I shouldn’t have woken you up, you needed more rest," says M, some panic in his voice. The man then turns back to W’s side and inspects his eyes, one after the other, with a little flashlight that burns W’s hazel gaze and makes him blink rapidly. “Still irresponsible, but getting inflamed by the minute," says the Medic again to no one in particular.

W is starting to fall back into the bed when he feels two strong arms wrap him up inside the confronter and sheets and pull him up. He feels limp inside the makeshift burrito, and his eyes close, trying to protect themselves from the light. He feels a rapid heartbeat, but it isn’t his.

M looks at the zombie in his arms. God, he is small. W is resting against his chest and has started to mutter while hallucinating, completely out. The human makes up his mind and starts walking towards the base.

M knows the zombie won't die.

But for the first time in almost two years, the Medic feels again the urge to protect a life. Even if said life isn't, actually, alive.

#promptfactory #originalcharacter #my ocs #prompt #whump #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee x caretaker #zombie whumpee #zombie x human #medic caretaker #zombie #whump writing #writing snippet #medical whump #acureforsolitude

[jazztag]

A Cure for Solitude VII

W slips in and out of conscience for the majority of the trip. To the point where nothing feels real, only the pain. He grips desperately on M as if he were about to fall into the dark pit, as if not held. His memories mix with each other, sometimes becoming nightmares all of a sudden. He remembers being laid on a soft surface and suddenly feeling very cold again. His hands extend into the nothingness, searching for something to hold. It’s worse than hunger. Oh, so much worse.

The Medic observes the creature curl and tremble in his bed. There’s nothing he can do aside from making sure W doesn’t hit his head against the headboard. But nothing more. And he feels terribly guilty about it. He sits in a chair by the bed and looks at the zombie. A million thoughts run through his mind.

W won’t die. Of course. But his condition, like all the others, will torment him to eternity, making him seek meat to calm his hunger forever. Normally, the Medic wouldn’t think twice about it. Just zombies being zombies. But this one’s special, isn’t it? This one's self-conscious. This one not only feels pain but also fears and cries about it.

W opens one inflamated red eye and looks in his general direction. He has started to take big breaths, and for a creature who doesn’t actually need to breathe, this says a lot about his bad condition. “T-tall Ma-an”, says between cries of pain. M gets up and walks towards him, crossing his arms and standing tall on his side.

W looks straight at him, and his lips curl upwards. He struggles to smile, and with both hands in a plea, he starts to mumble.

“What…? What are you saying?" asks M, getting close to hear what the creature is saying. Between sobs and kind smiles, the zombie pleads to him in whispers:

“P-please. Em-m. E-em p-lea-ase”. The Medic gets even closer to W, so he can practically count each of his freckles sprawled around his purple skin. ”Ple-ase, end h-hurt. Stop-p it-t”

“I can’t, W. I’m sorry. I-”

“P-please. K-kill. M-me”

The Medic gets up. Furiously, he grips at his hair. He gets away from the bed, but after a couple of deep breaths, he turns around. W is still struggling under the blankets, fighting against what probably could be considered hell.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” mumbles M, starting to walk around the bedroom. His eyes focus on every notebook page pinned to the wall, all of them covered in scribblings, equations, and other information, all gathered from last year's research. Each one of them documenting a case study, each with results, samples, and tests. With descriptions and possible vaccines to try on new subjects. Each one of them bringing him closer to a cure.

And then, there’s W. A creature not like the others he has operated with. The actual first one with consciousness. And fuck it, for the first time, killing him is not an option, even if the zombie itself is begging for him to end his existence.

He can’t. He can’t manage to do it.

There’s something in W that makes all this research more valuable. That makes all these years of searching and testing worth it. Whatever the heck has happened with W, it has turned him into something different from all the others.

The virus has mutated in him.

W’s cries for help get louder, and the Medic sits again in his chair, surrending. For the first time ever, his humanity is being required for him to take a decision. No more operating on living creatures. No more beheading them when the vaccine fails, and his frustration makes him punch the wall and burn all his failed notes. This is him, now, in a room with a not-really-much-of-a-zombie pleading for him to end his suffering.

M looks at W. And wonders which of the two of them is actually human. What even means that? M starts to tremble. Has he forgotten? He gets up, and with trembling hands, he picks up a vial with a clear liquid inside. With a syringe, he pinches out the contents and approaches W.

He has to do it. Or he will never ever again be able to call himself the Medic. A Medic watches out for his patient at all costs. He can’t get egoistical in a moment like that.

Still trembling, he sits on the edge of the bed, and grabs W by the arm. The creature is burning up and can’t no longer focus on anything other than mumbling nonsense. His hazel eyes suddenly fall into M’s blue ones, and the Medic tries not to shake when he pinches W with the syringe and whispers:

“I’m sorry”

W doesn’t flinch when he feels the liquid entering his body. His mind relaxes bit by bit, and suddenly the blackness overcomes him. And finally, peace.

Taglist: @whump-blog @cupcakes-and-pain (comment to get added/removed from the list!)

#promptfactory #originalcharacter #my ocs #prompt #whump #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee x caretaker #zombie whumpee #zombie x human #medic caretaker #zombie #whump writing #writing snippet #medical whump #acureforsolitude

[jazztag]

A Cure for Solitude XII

W flees the scene, grabbing at his shoulder. He starts sobbing, walking down the corridor, with the only thought of running away: from M, from the humans, from everyone. But how is one supposed to flee from oneself? He wants to die so badly. Why can’t he die?

The bullet wound on his shoulder hurts like hell. Some purple drops stain the floor as his legs drag him down the unlit corridor, leaving a trail behind. He feels cold, extremely cold. Even though he is wearing his dirty sneakers, he feels like he is walking on ice. His clothes feel colder, the fabrics not helping keep the heat.

W walks for hours, slowly but surely, between stores, finally arriving at the furniture store, the one he recognizes almost immediately from the yellow and vivid walls. Seeking comfort, he enters almost desperately, and stumbles across the shelves, walking deep into the darkness. He continues to sob and cry, and his brain hurts more and more from thinking how M is mad at him. How M is going to hate him forever. And oh god, he is so embarrassed. He wants to disappear.

W wants to disappear so bad that when he finds the storage section, he stumbles across the first closet he finds, one against the wall and quite big and deep, opens the door, and closes it behind him. He makes himself smaller inside the wooden walls. He curls into a ball and embraces himself. His shoulder hurts a lot. His head is even worse. But his heart, his heart aches.

Lying in the darkness, W closes his eyes. This time, while trying to fall asleep, he doesn’t think about his own name, but M’s.

Taglist: @whump-blog @cupcakes-and-pain (comment to get added/removed from the list!)

#promptfactory #originalcharacter #my ocs #prompt #whump #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee x caretaker #zombie whumpee #zombie x human #medic caretaker #zombie #whump writing #writing snippet #medical whump #acureforsolitude

[jazztag]

A Cure for Solitude IV

He walks around the furniture store, stumbling into everything he happens to pass by. Disoriented, weak, yet well fed. His walk is erratic as always, sometimes falling on his butt or hitting his side on the wall. There’s no one near; complete silence surrounds him. He walks and walks, with the only idea of getting as far from the Tall Man as possible. He has hurt him once more, and now his entire arm is burning up once again. He feels feverish, his mind is heavier than usual, and it’s harder to think straight.

He ends up very tired and decides to rest, sitting against a wall. His eyes are closing by themselves, and he feels like he is dying, tho he knows he actually can’t. He would like to sleep. He would love to fall asleep peacefully, so he decides to try. He lays down and curls into a ball, embracing his wounded arm.

Oh, he is so dumb. He doesn’t remember how one is supposed to sleep. Just like every other small thing, he seems to have forgotten about it. Just like how to talk, how to move, who is he or what was his name.

Still laying on the floor, feeling very hot but freezing at the same time, he starts wondering what his name was, feeling pathetic at the realization he has forgotten the most important thing about himself. He thinks about common names. Like Steve. Steve is common, right? Or Tall. Is Tall a name? The Tall Man has it. That is his name. Is it?

Oh, how dumb is he. He should call himself Dumb. It should be his middle name. Maybe it is, and he doesn’t remember it because he is so dumb.

He opens his eyes, abandoning the idea of getting some sleep. He sits on the floor, knees right under his chin, and hugs himself. He looks at his strange surroundings. Inside this shop there’s a lot of beds and sofas. It looks like they are laughing and mocking him for not being able to fall asleep. 

He looks over his right side and something catches his eye. There’s some pieces of colored wood laying around in a pile. A store item sold in stacks. With curiosity he gets up and stumbles to get near the store shelf. His vision is blurry, but he can make out the vivid colors painted on the wooden pieces. With a trembling hand he takes one of the stored items and puts it right under his nose, and he finally makes out some letters. No, not random letters. It’s the alphabet written in a wooden plank. He sits again on the floor and looks at it for some time.

Maybe if he can remember his name, he should be able to remember how to sleep. For some reason, it makes sense inside his rotten brain.And so, he starts by looking at the first letter of the row, the A. He tries to concentrate, waiting for something to ring a bell. No luck. He reads the next letter, the B, and repeats the process again.

By the time he gets to the T, he is losing faith in his method. He shuffles to the next letter, his finger tracing the shape of the U. Nothing. He almost abandons the search when the W catches his attention. Maybe it’s the shape, maybe something else. But he definitely feels confident about that letter.

He ponders names starting with W. Maybe Wilson, Walter. Or just Will. But they all sound bizarre in his head. He decides to start the alphabet again, this time with W in mind. WA, WB, WC… Is WC a thing? It sounds familiar.

He abandons the search after touring through the entire alphabet again. Just W. That should do. He steps up and walks towards the first bed he sees. Still clutching the wooden toy he lays down on the soft mattress, getting under the covers. He closes his eyes and thinks about W, hoping he will fall asleep this time. He feels the pulse on his head, and every inch of his body is getting warmer by the minute. He feels terribly cold, tho. He tries to concentrate harder on the W, and makes himself smaller under the confronter.

#writing prompt #prompt #whump #whump prompt #promptfactory #whump scenario #whumpee x caretaker #my ocs #zombie whumpee #medic caretaker #medical whump #acureforsolitude

[jazztag]

A Cure for Solitude VIII

The first instinct that W has upon waking up is to cry. And so he does, sobbing and whimpering, covering his mouth as if trying to prevent his head from falling off his body. At least, he feels there is a possibility that it could happen, always feeling so frail and trembling inside his own skin.

When he finally stops and gets a hold of his surroundings, slowly his rotten brain processes what has occurred. He snuggles under the thick blankets and looks at his arm. He caresses the skin, but no pain radiates from there, as it usually happens when M sticks something in him.

The Medic gets up from the chair and approaches him. There’s something weird in his eyes, but thinking too much about what that might mean hurts W’s brain, so the creature terminates that train of thought. Instead, he tries to remember.

And suddenly he remembers the pain. He remembers how everything burned up inside him and how he wanted it to end. How he wanted to die so, so bad.

W, still covered in layers and layers of blankets, looks up at M, and before the Medic can say anything, the creature starts to cry again.

“You…”

M looks at him weirdly, sitting by the edge of the bed.

“You promised to… To end… To k- ki-”

W starts grabbing hard at his hair. His brain starts to hurt a lot, thinking about the pain, and the fact he’s still here, able to feel it, and incapable of escaping, incapable of sleeping, incapable of just- stop existing. M looks at the panicked zombie and decides to try and do something, or his newly subject would end up tearing his own eyes out.

“Hey. Hey, W. Stop.” He grabs both creature’s hands and pulls them towards his own chest. W feels M’s body warmth and gets a little distracted by the human’s pulse in his big human hands. The zombie finally stops breathing, and the Medic takes that as a sign he has stopped hyperventilating. Oxygen doesn’t seem to help the zombie at all.

“I couldn’t kill you because… You…” tries to explain the Medic, trying to find the words. “You basically cannot die.”

W looks him in the eye, without comprehending.

“Trust me, when I first started experimenting with… your kind… The first thing I did was find ways to kill the… undead. But it can’t be helped. I monitored a brain after being detached from the body. It still sends pulses through the nerves.”

W opens his mouth slightly. His eyes seem to follow and understand M’s words, and that’s saying a lot.

“Then I started cutting the brain into more little pieces, bit by bit, trying to find the core, trying to find exactly what makes you, well… you. But even in each littlest bit, there was always something alive, even if that cannot be possible. At all.”

W whines a little, trying to get free from M’s grip, but the human doesn’t need to apply much force to make W stay with him.

“I don’t know how to actually kill the nervous system in you. Do you know what that would mean? Being able to exist, somehow, but not being able to see, hear, feel anything? A vast nothingness. That’s what being immortal is. Existing in the nothingness. Do you want that? Do you really want to be nothing in complete solitude?”

W stops struggling and looks away. He opens his mouth again, but not a sound can be heard. M looks at him, something resembling pity in his eyes, frees W’s hands, and pulls up the pillow behind the creature so he can sit up. W does so and hugs his legs as usual, looking sad and hurt.

“S-solitude…” says softly W. “But you… y-you a-are he-ere.”

M shrugs, frantically searching for a more pleasing topic of conversation. “Don’t get attached, don’t get attached…” The Medic gets up from the bed and starts pacing around the room. W tries to keep up with him, but in doing so, his eyes get tired, so he looks instead at the wall, full of scribblings and notes.

“Anyway, did you sleep well?” suddenly says M, sitting at his desk and starting to write something on his computer. W blinks a couple of times. M turns to the creature.

“D-did I…I?”

The Medic laughs a little. W is so unapologetically unaware of his own being, it’s almost funny sometimes.

“I practically induced you into a coma, so you can call that “sleeping”, I guess. A human would have died with that dose, but you were knocked out for a couple of hours.” W nods, not really getting it, but agreeing nonetheless. “Did you have a dream?”

W shrugs and scoops closer to the edge of the bed, letting his feet fall down to the floor. He has no shoes, notices, and starts searching for them around the room with his gaze.

“Being unconscious lets you regulate and disable almost all of your functions, so that’s probably why it doesn’t hurt anymore. You got rested, basically.”

W finds his shoes neatly put next to another pair, right by a door. He starts examining the space and gets up. He finds himself in a small apartment. Actually, by the looks of it, it resembles a reconverted office, with a bed, sofas, and even a fridge.

“Will y-you” starts asking W, deep in thought. “Be a-… a-able to-o?”

M waits patiently for him to end his phrase, like he always does when talking to the zombie, like one does when talking to a child, or even a drunk friend. But W grows quiet.

“Able to what?” asks him the Medic.

“A-able t-to c-cure my s-solitude.”

M grows silent. The creature walks towards the human, looking at him with something resembling faith, pulling both his hands together, as if praying.

“Kill m-me? Sto-op-p the s-solitude.”

M turns back to his computer, massaging his temples.

“That’s what I’ve been working for, these past two years,” mumbles the Medic to himself. W’s attention span seems to change again towards something on the other side of the room, so the zombie leaves the conversation and starts walking towards what appears to be a pile of old electronic parts. M observes the creature again, deep in thought, and he concludes:

“You will be the cure. You have to.”

Taglist: @whump-blog @cupcakes-and-pain (comment to get added/removed from the list!)

#promptfactory #originalcharacter #my ocs #prompt #whump #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee x caretaker #zombie whumpee #zombie x human #medic caretaker #zombie #whump writing #writing snippet #medical whump #acureforsolitude

[jazztag]

A Cure for Solitude V

The Tall Man watches him sleep. At least, it seems the creature’s out of it. He is snuggling under the sheets and moaning softly. The vaccine might be hurting his insides right now, the Man is sure of it. He observes the creature turn around on his side and sees the alphabet wooden plank he holds against his chest. The Tall Man decides that’s the weirdest undead creature he has seen from them all. He appears to have conscience, he isn’t dead yet but his human functions are erratic, and his behavior makes the Tall Man wonder what kind of person that creature was before getting infected.

He’s been watching him. He’s always watching them all.

The Tall Man decides to leave. He will return when the creature is awake to get that sample. He doesn’t want to interrupt him in his sleep. After putting him through hell with each vaccine test, that’s the bare minimum.

He is already turning away to get back to the base when something is suddenly thrown against his head. Alarmed and a bit confused, he turns around, ready to fight whatever it is. In return, he encounters the creature fully awake, curled and looking scared against the headboard of the bed. The Tall Man looks at what has been thrown at him. It’s the alphabet wood plank thing-y.

“What the heck, you,” yells the Tall Man, annoyed. The creature looks mad as well, but still fearful of him. “Though you were asleep, damn”

The zombie looks suddenly very sad, and between sobs he lets out a frustrated growl.

“I… c-can can’t -t,” he gets his knees right under his chin, and hugs himself, still half covered in blankets.

The Tall Man grabs the alphabet from the ground, examining it. Now that’s interesting, he thinks. Being able to speak to one of the undead creatures should be great to gain more intel against his enemy.

“Have you tried to get very still and quiet your breath”, asks the Tall Man, getting near the bedside again. The creature rolls his eyes, and stumbles to get as far as possible from him. He uses the thick comforter to shield his tiny body from the Man, but even he knows that it won’t work to protect him from whatever the Tall Man plans to do. “You can’t… sleep?”

The creature seems to get even more sadder than before, and with trembling hands he covers his face. The Tall Man sits on the edge of the bed with caution, knowing full well the zombie is still very afraid of him. After some silence, he decides to lighten the mood with another question “What’s your name?”

The creature looks up at him, and then starts sobbing frantically. The Tall Man gets both his hands up, surrendering. He then looks at the alphabet thing-y still in his grip.

“Were you trying to remember?”, asks him, still trying to understand what seems to trouble the little creature. The other scratches at his nose and looks up again, meeting his blue eyes. Then nods.

“I-i on-ly-y have… o-one,” The Tall Man observes the wooden colored plank. He gives it to the creature, and after hesitating a bit, the zombie accepts it, quickly embracing the toy again in both arms. His tired red eyes look at all the scary 24 letters, and sniffles.

“Well, what it is”, asks the Tall Man, trying to sound approachable. He is self conscious about his big frame in comparison to the other’s. He speaks in a softer tone, and tries to keep his movements slow and predictable. The creature looks at him with tired eyes, and with a trembling finger he taps the letter “W” in the plank.

“W. That’s all you’ve got?” laughs the Tall Man. The creature gets a little bit defensive.

“W i-is g-ood-d” 

“W is… enough, yes”, the Man shrugs, not wanting to offend the other. The zombie, though, throws at him the plank, clearly annoyed. Then snuggles to get by the Tall Man’s side again and points at the letters with one trembling finger.

“Y-you you?”

The Tall Man looks away for a second. “Well, I’ve got more than one letter, that’s for sure”, says. “You can call me the Medic”, and while holding up the plank, he starts pointing at each letter while saying his alias. The creature looks at him weirdly.

“N-not a na-m, nam, n-name” W points out, accusatory. The Tall Man grows frustrated.

“That’s the only name I need and I go by” and his gaze turns dark, as if remembering something, something that happened years ago. Something that pains him to remember.

W tries to concentrate on the wooden plank, and with his finger, he tries to point at each of the letters like the Medic did. But after landing his index on the letter M, he fails to remember the next one.

“Mmm… mm… E-em”, and the Medic watches him quietly, like observing a child speaking his first words. The creature falls silent after that, and someone tells him W has actually forgot the rest.

“M is enough”, he says, and reasures W by pointing at the letter once more.

“Em is-s e-enough.”

#promptfactory #acureforsolitude #writing prompt #prompt #whump #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee x caretaker #my ocs #zombie whumpee #writing #short story #whumper becomes caregiver

[jazztag]

A Cure for Solitude III

The next day, the Tall Man doesn’t come. Instead, what comes is much, much worse.

Suddenly, his entrails appear to be on fire, and an increasing hunger eats his brain mercilessly, infecting his thoughts with the only desire to consume. His nose gets extremely sensible to all of his surroundings, and as if possessed, his body starts taking him out of the room of mirrors and into the big hall of the shopping center.

He finds himself entering what appears to be a supermarket. And for the first time, he isn’t alone anymore.

Walking by the corridors, he finds more creatures that, like him, seem to move towards smell. A rotten and absolutely tasty smell that covers the walls and makes them all congregate around the refrigerated sector of the store.

Alongside other undead people, he stumbles to get one of the packages containing raw meat, and after successfully getting his way onto one with raw seasoned chicken wings, gets thrown to the floor and stepped on by the rest of the orde. He embraces his little treat as if the most valuable thing ever and starts retreating towards the opposite wall, sitting by the dairies to regain his breath.

Now, still deadly hungry but less preoccupied by it, lets himself watch with morbid curiosity the spectacle in front of him: all the others fighting each other for the available meat. There’s a group of creatures that have started a fight over one piece of steak. There’s one who is chewing at another’s leg, and someone is on the floor, lacking one hand, and starting to eat their other one. So much chaos, so many animalistic growls and screams.

Still seated on the floor, he wonders if that’s how the Tall Man sees him.

Suddenly, there’s a big noise. And before he can even comprehend where it’s coming from, he starts hearing shots and gets on his stomach without missing a beat. There’s some commotion and shouting, and the rest of the creatures start running in different directions. There’s a vehicle right at the doors of the store, and it appears to have people, like actual, living people, coming down towards the orde. They are screaming “bloody zombies” and “kill them all” and each of them has a firearm.

He panics. One thing’s for sure: the Tall Man doesn’t carry any weapons, at least as far as he knows. Now, the image of people with guns fighting against animalistic human creatures terrifies him, and before he can comprehend anything more, he’s fleeing from the scene on all fours, not letting go of his chicken wings, tho. The actual people have started to lose against the zombie orde, and before he exits the store, he sees from the corner of his eye the way two zombies bite at one of the living people. Said person starts trembling on the floor, and in a minute or so, their eyes look soulless and their mouth opens hungry, for more meat. The former living person has transformed into another creature.

He turns away and disappears down the corridor, back to the furniture store, where he feels safer.

Maybe it’s the fact his brain ain’t braining anymore, or maybe he’s just very hungry, but by the time he walks past the room of mirrors and stops, he forgets about all the chaos outside and starts digging his decaying nails into the plastic container, trying to pray it open. His hands are trembling nonstop, clueless as to how to open the damn thing. He feels the hunger inside him again, and the panic settles. His movements get more and more erratic, and frustrated, the creature starts sobbing. The hunger hurts. It really hurts.

"Hey", he hears suddenly, and freezes instantly, recognizing the voice. His eyes try to focus in the dark, and he sees the Tall Man’s figure some meters away. He stumbles and leaves the food behind. Starts backing slowly, kneeling on the floor and lowering his head like a cornered dog. He is still remembering those living people with firearms, the chaos. And he wants nothing to do with it.

The Tall Man starts to walk towards him. And he panics again. Maybe the Man is one of the other living person’s group, and is about to shoot him on the head. Or worst, he wants to stuck another ouchie syringe on his arm. He is about to get up on both legs and start running as fast as he can when the Tall Man stops and crouches. The Man grabs at his food and examines it. The creature gets defensive over the chicken wings. The hunger hurts as hell, and he doesn’t want the Tall Man to steal those from him. So he emits a growl and something resembling the word “away”.

The Tall Man looks momentarily at him, unimpressed, and then with fairly easyness rips open the plastic envelope. He even looks smug doing so, and the creature rolls his eyes. Weirdly enough, the Tall Man doesn’t eat his food, he just stands there, as if inviting him to come get the food.

Maybe the Man doesn’t like chicken wings.

The hunger hits again in a wave of pain inside his intestines, and the creature bends over, grabbing at his stomach and yelps. The Tall Man observes in silence his pained movements, and decides to throw one piece of raw meat in the creature’s direction. The zombie lurks forward to the food upon smelling the decaying meat, and practically devours it in a couple of seconds. He then looks at the Tall Man, and at the rest of the food. And if asking shyly for permission, he motions towards the rest of the meat. The Man seems to understand, and backs away a bit.

The creature hesitantly moves forward, but when he has the rest of the food at arms length, it only takes him a couple of minutes to finish the rest of it. And when he is finally full and the hunger goes away and he is finally content, he realizes horrorized the Tall Man is onto him with another syringe in hand. Feeling extremely betrayed, he yelps and screeches like mad.

The Man immobilizes the creature with no effort, as he always does, like if dealing with a small and harmless small animal. And the zombie feels again his arm starting to burn from where the syringe and the unfamiliar contents hit. The Tall Man holds him down with incredible force, and the creature, while struggling, remembers (or maybe it’s an instinct) the way the other zombies bit at the living person, converting the human into one of them. And he closes his eyes and decides to bite his hand as well.

The Tall Man and the creature stop struggling against each other for a hot minute. The Tall Man looks at the creature in the eye, and then, weirdly enough, smiles. Before anything else is said, the Tall Man shows him the other hand, which has clean bandages around it from when the creature bit him, last time.

He doesn’t turn into one like me if bitten, thinks the creature. Weirded out, he starts backing away from the Tall Man, and the human lets him.

“You can’t turn me into one; no one can”, tells him the Tall Man. The creature scoffs, looking defeated.

“N-no… -t f-fair”, replies him. But he is more preoccupied with his arm right then, which has started burning as usual. The creature grabs at his limb and starts sobbing quietly. It’s getting bad again.

The Tall Man looks at him weird, like he does everytime the creature manages to speak an intelligible word. “I’ll be back for another sample tomorrow”, finally says, and steps up, towering over the creature with those blue, ice blue eyes.

God he is tall, thinks the creature, watching him disappear again into the corridors. Then he starts to shake, and embraces himself for the worst. Again.

#promptfactory #writing prompt #zombie whumpee #whump prompt #whump #prompt #whump scenario #whumpee x caretaker #my ocs #zombie #undead #writing #short story #acureforsolitude

[jazztag]

A cure for Solitude II

The Tall Man returns after a day or two. Not that he can recall the passage of time anymore, though.

By the time the pain gets a little bit bearable, he has already crawled towards another, smaller area. There's some big mirrors in there, and he can't help but distract himself with his reflection and the realization he doesn't even remember what he is supposed to look like.

He gets lost in his own hazel gaze. Who was he, wonders the creature. He feels pathetic. He doesn't even recall his name. Still clutching himself on the floor, he observes his own reflection. Something's wrong with his body, that's for sure. Maybe it's the weird angle at which his left leg bends or the purple-ish tone of his skin. He also seems to not be able to close his mouth properly, letting it be half open and drooling constantly. There's still blood in one of the corners of his lips. With a weak and trembling hand, he wipes it off. And then he remembers the scary Tall Man, and how his arm still aches from that syringe.

His mind gravitates towards what might have been his name previously. He tries to think very, VERY hard, but the only thing he gets is a slight migraine on his temples. He examines himself again in the mirror, one hand against the cold glass and deep in thought. At least, he wonders, he looks like a "he", the creature believes. But what is a "he" supposed to look like, again.

Suddenly, his nose seems to catch on a familiar smell. And with horror, delayed by his own foggy thoughts and tired mind, the image of the scary Tall Man appears again in his mind. He doesn't turn around; he doesn't move right away, instead focusing on the mirror and the reflection behind him.

And sure enough, he finds the Man a few meters away, at the door of the enclosed space (his only way out) and watching him from a distance. The creature doesn't move from where he is lying, but his mind starts to race itself with the only thought of escaping. His hands twitch, his body betrays him and suddenly he finds himself crawling on all fours and fleeing (or trying to do so) from the Tall Man.

And, for sure, the Tall Man notices and starts to jog behind him, catching up in no time and getting on top of him like last time, putting a lot of pressure on his small chest.

The creature lets out a yelp and tries to get away from his grip, but the Man is so strong that with only a gesture of his manages to turn the creature on his back and take both his arms, locking them in his own, right above his head.

He tries to call for help again. And again he only manages a little whine. The Tall Man looks at him without mercy on his eyes, but a slightly growing curiosity overall. His scent makes him, the creature, cringe away, a reminder of the past two day's pain. And even if he feels recovered from it, there's still the desire to get as far from him as possible.

He tries in vain to escape once more from the iron grip the Tall Man has on him. He then stops, realizing his wrists are getting bruised by his futile attempts, and gets very still. He lets out a sob and starts trembling. He closes his eyes, not wanting to look at his captor. He doesn’t realize it, but his mouth starts to spit words with no sound, something resembling a “please”.

The Tall Man looks at the zombie under him. With a calculated gaze he scrutinizes the creature, making sure the thing is too small and frail to even escape his body weight.The Man needs both his hands to work, after all. Another check, and he frees his grip from the creature’s wrists. He starts to prepare the syringe, and searches for the other tube in one of his pockets.

The creature under him doesn’t seem to notice being freed from the arms. He is still mouthing random words. The Tall Man finishes preparing the material needed and stops again to observe at the creature. 

And the creature opens one eye to watch what the other’s doing as well. They look at each other for a minute. The Tall Man then reveals a clean syringe, and the moment is broken again by the creature struggling again. Much so, that the Man speaks again, his voice rusty like last time.

“Not gonna hurt you this time, I just need a sample”

He keeps moving and struggling for a hot minute, before stopping, clearly understanding the Man’s words. 

“If you keep quiet I am gonna be gentle,” says the Man, seemingly trying to be soothing towards the creature. His eyes are blue, and the creature loses himself in them. And decides to trust the human, nodding slightly. The Tall Man still looks at him intently, like telling him not to try anything. The zombie then feels a pinch in one of his still raised arms, and the Man repeats himself: “Easy, easy.”

He starts breathing heavily again, but still looking at the other’s blue eyes, he decides to still trust him. He, though, can’t help but cry and sob again at the weird sensation.

“No… H-hurt. Pl-ea…see”

The Tall Man looks suddenly very intently at him. And the creature fears to have said something other than a plead. He has very little control of his body, overall. Has he actually said an insult, instead of what he wanted to say? 

The Tall Man looks like he has finished from whatever he was doing. He pockets the syringe and the tube, which is now filled with a purple substance. He then gets up from the floor, freeing him. His blue gaze doesn’t abandon him, though. His expression is worried. Worried?

“Put your hand on the wound, so you don’t bleed out” mumbles the Man, doing said gesture and putting his own hand on the inside of his elbow. The creature copies his gesture, getting on a sitting position on the floor and clutching on himself.

The Tall Man starts to back away. He looks weirded out. He’s mumbling to himself: “I understand you… and you understand me…?”

The creature finds himself alone again. He can’t help but look again at the mirror, and wonder what just happened. But thinking too much hurts his brain, so he just sits there, looking at his feet and wondering why his leg is bent so weird like that.

#promptfactory #writing prompt #prompt #whump #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee x caretaker #my ocs #zombie whumpee #medic caretaker #writing snippet #whump writing #zombie #fiction #short story #acureforsolitude

[jazztag]

A Cure For Solitude XIII

"This is a public announcement brought to you from your closest SCP. Please tune in for the latest medical news regarding the pandemic.

RIAD Type 2, also called Rabies Lyssavirus Autoimmune Disease, is a highly contagious virus which can be transmitted by saliva or blood, and it has no cure. It mainly affects the nervous system, altering its normal functions and destroying tissue.

Early symptoms of RIAD-2 can include moderate fever, excessive salivation, and migraines. The time period between contracting the disease and the onset of symptoms is usually from 24 hours to 2 days.

After the First Stage, the time before reaching the last stage depends on the distance the virus must travel along peripheral nerves to reach the central nervous system. For the average adult, this is at most 5 days.

By the Second Stage, the individual experiences a significant drop in temperature, alongside short-term memory loss and difficulty with speech. It is advised to quarantine after experiencing these symptoms.

After the Third Stage, it is mandatory to report to authorities. Symptoms include delirium, long-term memory loss, and tremors. At this stage of the disease, neurotransmitters will start failing, disconnecting the body from its core neuro-system. This can induce shock and cardiac arrest. The body will move without any biological response, cease breathing, and blood circulation will stop. Internal systems will fail, and tissue decay will begin. Most infected bodies can no longer move independently and will succumb to cardiac and respiratory failure, beginning the process of decomposition. Do not approach a Phase Three individual under any circumstances, even if unresponsive. The individual can still move on impulse and is highly contagious.

In the final Fourth Phase, if not deceased by now, the individual may exhibit an agitated, if not aggressive, state. Their remaining human cells, while decaying, will seek organic matter as a replacement. Individuals past the third and fourth phases are violent, uncooperative, and highly contagious. They are no longer alive and cannot be saved; they need to be properly disposed of. Please maintain a distance within the secure perimeter and alert the authorities of any possible breach.

Stay inside, stay put. Stay safe.

Now, onto the weather-"

Taglist: @whump-blog @cupcakes-and-pain @crunchypuppy06 @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl (comment to get added/removed from the list!)

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[jazztag]

A Cure for Solitude XVIII [Pt. 1]

W can sense a lot of movement right in front of him, but he doesn’t dare look up from his lap. He just awaits to be grabbed and manhandled by the scary armed humans, and he internally surrenders to the thought. He finally makes peace with the idea he can’t run away no more from his demise, whichever it is. But something, or someone, seems to call his name, and finally, his eyes snap open.

The first thing he thinks about is M. He looks up bit by bit, trying to focus on the hand that is held right in front of him. But that’s not M, right? They are wearing a black surgical face mask, but their eyes are distinguishable, not M’s.

“W, right?” says a womanly voice, her kneeling in front of him. She is holding a firearm, and she looks to be covered in moss, or something green that looks like it. W can’t step back no more because of the wall, so he gets very still. Behind the woman, other people have started to shout orders, but they are not shouting at them, the creatures. It seems two different groups of humans are arguing with each other.

“Hey,” says the masked woman again. W looks at her, still trembling like a leaf. He can’t see her mouth, but her gaze is warm, and there’s no disgust in his eyes. No, in fact, there’s even… pity?

“You’re safe, now.” And for once, W decides to trust the hand held in front of him. At least before the shots are heard and the chaos ensues once more around him.

Some time prior, the doors to the facility shoot open and M enters. Oh, he’s mad. He’s furious.

“Where the fuck is he?” starts yelling to the first two guards that run towards him. “Where do you keep them, huh? You animals!”

He shoots at nothing in particular, blind with rage. One of the armed guards falls to the ground instantly. Headshot. The other gets shot in the leg. M kicks him on the head and demands:

“Where is my fucking zombie?” The fallen man raises both hands, letting go of his firearm. M still is pointing at him with his little revolver, but his eyes spit fire.

“S-should be down with the others?” mumbles the man. M then half-smiles. He mutters a ‘thank you’ to the man and then shoots him in the head. He pays no mind to stepping on the body while advancing towards the stairs.

“Damn,” mutters Amy, entering the building right behind him. “Didn’t know you had it in you.” She secures the perimeter, more experienced and mindful of the operation, and hurries to M’s side.

“Only when they mess with my research.” M pays her a long look, and then takes from his inner coat pocket the beeping device. W’s signal is near, right downstairs. As they start descending the stairs, Amy eyes the screen as well, confused.

“So… Part of the experiments, huh?”

“Yes,” responds M, inadvertently grabbing at the device with a strong grip. “He’s objectively valuable, different from the others.”

“How so? How is he different from… I don’t know, that woman I shot the other day?” wonders the soldier, remembering when she stumbled upon the Medic last time he went to the Community Service Point. “He isn’t… aggressive?”

“There’s something in him, I’m still figuring it out,” he mumbles M, looking down. “He’s a fourth, but acts as a second.”

“If he’s a fourth, he wouldn’t be responsive, that’s impossible,” argues Amy. She looks away, suddenly a glance of hope in his eyes. “You sure?”

“That can’t get us far with your dad’s cure, but he may help into understanding how the virus behaves.” Amy sniffs a bit, then tries to shake the thought from her head.

“Something about the government, you said earlier, huh?” They enter the basement, encountering a new group of people. This one aren’t armed, but M pays no mind to shooting at them instantly. Amy ends the task by ensuring they are all down.

“Two years ago I stumbled upon a rabies variation while researching for a selective biological weapon. I was working for the government.” Amy follows closer behind, ensuring they are not followed. They start hearing a lot of voices; they surely are near it, whatever that is. M walks straight, his gaze directed towards the last white door on the corridor, half-open.

“You gave them the virus?” asks Amy, quite unsure of the answer. M stops to recharge his firearm. It’s old, so he takes his time, completely focused on it.

“Of course not. I protected it with my life. I tried deleting all data. I even quit because of health issues, allegedly.” Amy looks him in the eye. M can’t look at her while remembering all of those past times. “Months later, a remote region starts presenting some familiar symptoms. There’s no explanation; our leaders tell us not to worry. Some common cold, they say,” M scoffs. “But I started dating the various cases while they started spreading in the third world countries. The timeline was correct. It was indeed RIAD. And later on, it started mutating onto Type 2.”

“Zombies, huh?”

“Indeed. And everything started because my team were instructed to experiment on some samples from animals. We thought we were researching for new antibiotics, but we were actually blindfolded into developing a biological weapon.” Amy copies him and recharges her rifle, more quickly and showing more skill in doing so, though.

“The rest of your team?”

“Dead,” simply says M. After a pause, where the both of them look at each other, M fidgets with his lab coat, underneath his long jacket. “You can understand why this war of mine, then.” The woman nods. Something in her tells him he can trust her.

“How are you planning on entering, though?”

“I may have something in mind.”

“Let’s?” asks Amy, pointing at the door, where shouting, laughing, and screams can be heard.

“Let’s.”

“You’re safe, now.”

W grabs at the hand that is tended to him, and Amy pulls him up onto his feet. The first thing she notices is how light the zombie is. She looks back, where the center of the commotion is, shouting something over her shoulder. W looks towards the same direction. And what he sees terrorizes him more than anything.

M stands in the center of the room shouting orders towards the people and showing a strange badge. Words like “Militia” and “under orders” escape his lips, but W can’t focus on that. While other people try to calm him and the rest down, everyone shouting at each other and demanding to put their weapons down, W inadvertently grabs at Amy’s hand with more force. The woman notices it and turns towards the young zombie again.

“You’re safe, once we are out of here, love.” But W just seems to tremble more and more, his gaze focused on M. Maybe he is cold, questions Amy, seeing how the zombie is shaking. Then she looks towards M again.

“You have no right to treat these creatures like that!” is screaming M, directly towards a big man who looks to be the leader of the assembly. Everyone else has either left the room or is hiding behind their own weapon. Said big man opens both arms towards M. He is unarmed but looks completely calm. Maybe he knows M from far before.

“Come on, Mel. You heard the news. My people need to eat. This is just some business you’re stepping into.” The Medic looks furious.

“You’ve been killing on and on my subjects. I am not leaving without what is mine.”

The man laughs.

“Spare me 50, then. Pick one.”

“I’m not paying you shit, Ward.” M points his revolver to the other's head, but ‘Ward’ looks still unbothered.

“Give this ol’ man a break. Have you even gotten anything out from those rots, yet?” M relaxes a bit, and the atmosphere in the room seems to quiet down a bit. They knew each other then, thinks Amy.

W is still clutching at her jacket for dear life, and she starts wondering if she may not get the virus from the contact. She pulls her mask up but doesn’t break her handgrip on the little zombie.

“You wanna see what’s up? You wanna see progress?” asks M aloud, talking to the crowd “Surely everyone here has someone sick at home, and surely you wouldn’t treat them like that, huh?” M points and the horde of creatures that, just like W, look scared, cornered towards the white walls. Most of them are still feral, but everyone seems to have calmed down a bit, awaiting the outcome of the situation.

Ward looks away, crossing his arms onto his thick torso. “Well show us, boy.” M lowers his revolver. Amy doesn’t, though. She looks at the Medic, and he looks back at her, nodding.

“W, come here.” Says M.

But the zombie won’t move.

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[jazztag]

A Cure for Solitude IX

W watches closely as the purple liquid exits his own body and gets into the vial. The Medic keeps an eye on the creature, just to make sure the zombie doesn’t get scared and resist. W, though, seems to be in another place and time. Sometimes W looks to have logged off from the world, decides M. Oh, to be able to do so. The Medic finishes extracting W’s sample and extracts the syringe. Cleans up the wound and applies a clean cloth onto it, this time with more care.

'Put your hand and hold for a minute,' orders M, and the creature complies, still fixating the gaze on the window and without blinking much. 'It’s so difficult to test you when there’s no circulation inside you,' comments M casually. That’s the small talk he is used to—making short comments and observations about things. He has grown accustomed to talking into the nothingness, the walls being his own and only companion. Not that W is much better.

The zombie, seated now on a chair, keeps looking through the window at the blue sky. With almost 80% of humanity lost, nature seems to be taking up the space lost. The Medic looks through the glass as well. The TV mumbles later reports, seated on a corner by the opposite wall. No image displays anymore from the device, only monotone voices, broadcasting the news from the nearest center point available. W loses interest in the window, gets up, and walks casually (with some difficulty) towards the TV. He gets his hands on the screen, feeling the static on the digits. He gets scared at first and steps away. M watches the creature put his hand onto the black surface once again, and smile, confused.

'You’re so weird, ain’t ya?' comments the human, watching still from his desk. 'The creatures can’t be called human anymore. They seem to be irresponsible to pain. Irresponsible to dialogue. Doesn’t seem to react to loved ones or recognize them in any way. They only move towards the scent of flesh, being the human kind the most sought for.'

The Medic listens quietly to the TV, sighing at the misinformation. He turns towards his work and starts typing W’s constants into his database, along with all the other ones. Has he ever brought someone into his flat, wonders the man. He steals a look at W, who’s still rummaging around his living quarters, now fixated on the multiple LP’s under the screen.

'No remorse, no afterthought after killing nor consuming. This is for sure the worst epidemic in the history of humanity, surpassing the AIDS crisis for tens of thousands of victims.'

'And yet, we are still spreading misinformation, huh?' mumbles M, with somewhat spite in his voice.

W has managed, somehow, to take out a vinyl from outside its cover. M gets up immediately, realizing it’s his dearest The Other Side of the Moon LP. He rushes towards the creature in panic, and W gets scared when he gets surprised by the Tall Man, kneeling just inches from him. M grabs the vinyl from W’s shaky hands and motions towards the rest of the albums stored under the TV.

'Don’t,' he points to the retreated LP. 'No touching.'

W growls, frustrated, and shows M his teeth as an instinct. He then retreats, ashamed. The TV keeps spitting out bullshit: 

'Do not approach any individual with RIAD type 2 symptoms. The main symptoms include short memory loss, high salivation, and low temperature drop. After the third phase, it is mandatory to report to authorities and get into quarantine.' 

W looks closely at how M puts back the vinyl inside the plastic container and back into its cover. Kneeling on the ground, he protests a little. M shoots him a glare, and W gets silent, still pouting, though.

'Individuals past third and fourth phases are violent, uncooperative, and highly contagious.' M observes how W touches again the TV screen and yelps again upon making contact, having forgotten entirely he already reached and reacted to it. 'Stay inside your nearest CSP. That stands for Community Service Point. They are not alive anymore. They can’t be salvaged and need to be disposed of properly. Stay inside, stay put. Stay safe.'

M looks at the creature. He can’t help but draw a half smile when W coos again and looks at his own hand, searching for the origin of such tickles.

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[jazztag]

A Cure for Solitude XI

W gets hungry as soon as he leaves M’s lab. He is still in denial, but deep inside he knows he has to eat something. And rotten chicken wings won’t do the trick again. He craves more. And he is deeply embarrassed.

He still remembers those scary humans, shooting at them, calling them monsters. Is he a monster? He just wants to die, truly. But he is scared of not actually doing it so, as M had explained. He could not eat at all, become more and more unable to move, laying on the floor, no more energy.

But the hunger hurts. It hurts so much that instinct makes his body move on his own. The smells become extremely strong, and suddenly there’s the delicious smell of flesh in his nostrils. His legs start moving on their own, and W ends up walking down several flights of stairs and getting back to the shopping center, searching for the source.

He lets the smell guide him around the solitary corridors of an abandoned storage plant. His ears don’t work properly, so he doesn’t realize there’s more like him in the area until he bumps against another cold body. He steps back and looks weakly at the other person, a fairly young girl who looks as zombie as him.

The two look at each other, and W wonders what she could tell him, if she could talk. Aside from them two, a horde of zombies starts roaming the place, and W and the girl start following behind.

The scent grows stronger and stronger, something resembling flesh, but more appetizing. Salty, fresher, human.

The horde enters the main warehouse, and the screaming begins. W is totally taken out by the time he sees the first human and his body launches onto the other person. The human tries to shoot at him, but W has surprised them from behind, and between all the chaos zombies and humans are creating, he gets the upper hand and with a supernatural force, clearly born from the hunger and the necessity to consume, W gets the gun far from them and bites hard.

There’s something inside his being that suddenly feels alive. Like he never felt before. Something warm running inside his entrails. W eats and gulps, and the human, less human bit by bit, keeps screaming until his eyes stop moving. W feels the energy run inside him. He stops trembling, he feels stronger. There’s nothing except him, right now. Him, and the delicious smell, the delicious meat he cannot stop consuming.

Unaware of his surroundings and lost in a daze, W gets scared when a big arm grabs him from the shoulder and pushes him to the floor, far away from the now corpse. W is so out of it, he blindly struggles against the force, and after some seconds of back and forth and by instinct, he bites harshly at whoever is pinning him to the ground.

The creature stops moving when he hears a familiar growl. And he meets M’s blue gaze, and suddenly he gets very aware of the situation.

W looks around. There’s still people running and shooting at the horde of zombies. Looks like a group of people with guns and some experience with them, a few meters down the corridor. There’s other dead people lying around. The creature looks at the Medic again, and suddenly, an emotion replaces every bit of euphoria felt.

Embarrassed. W is totally embarrassed. He looks at his hands, and all he sees is red. His face, his clothes. There’s blood all over him. And he wants to scream. But can’t.

W looks up at M, who is grabbing his arm, which is bleeding profusely from the bite. ‘S-s-s-sorry-y’ mutters W, starting to drag himself over to M, but the human steps back. ‘Don’t you fucking dare step any closer’ shouts the man, and suddenly W sees a gun pointing at his head. But he doesn’t care. The horrified expression of M’s is worse than the fear of pain.

‘I tried. God knows I tried’ W tries to drag himself closer to M, but the human panics and shoots. The Medic pays him one last look, and with a mix of pity and regret, abandons the scene, leaving the horde, the human group still fighting against it, and W bleeding behind.

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