Variant Strain

Variant Strain - Epilogue 2

By Scriviner

Years ago, New York was subjected to a massive bioterrorist attack that wiped out Forest Hills in Queens, and devastated entire city blocks in Manhattan. Specialist troops from the US Army’s 1st Biological Warfare Command were able to isolate the biological agents that caused the outbreak and eventually tracked down and eliminated the masterminds behind the attack.

The casualties were massive and while the rest of New York pitched in to help, there was only so much that could be done. Miles Morales was from Brooklyn and was barely four years old when it happened. 

He just barely remembered his policeman father and nurse mother having to work long hours during that time, resulting in him spending days at a time with his abuela. 

As he grew older, the whole incident was glossed over in Social studies classes and everyone seemed to move on. If they had actually taught more about it, perhaps he wouldn’t have been as confused at the events that were happening in his school that evening. 

Miles ran. 

Sweat stuck his school uniform to his dark skin. The same sweat that caught in his tightly curled hair. Blood ran down from his brow. He wasn’t sure where the wound was or how he’d gotten it. All he knew was that it was threatening to drip into one eye and blind him.

This was a run of blind panic, floundering and scrambling over every obstacle, as behind him a mob of what had once been his classmates, some of whom were his friends, were lurching and stumbling in his wake. 

He had no idea what had happened. One moment, class had been going on like normal. The next, a strange red cloud seemed to blanket the building, seeping into everything. 

No one knew what was happening, but suddenly the campus went on lockdown, every door shutting and locking. This would not have been so bad, normally. They’d had enough active shooter drills that the student body as a whole knew how to handle that and what they were supposed to do.

Except… people began to change. His classmates began to collapse in their seats, convulsing and quaking. Their skin paled, becoming sallow and waxy. Prominent veins began to distend, growing massively engorged as flesh twisted and melted into new configurations. 

Screams. Not just from their class, but all up and down the hall. 

Screams from every classroom.

Screams from all over the neighborhood.

Those closest to the transformed were attacked and overcome. Swamped in a mass of bodies that flailed and writhed. Smashing, tearing and cutting into any that got in range. 

The locked doors trapped them in the rooms, but one of Miles’ quicker thinking classmates threw a chair out a window, smashing it open and giving them access to the athletics field, since their classroom was on the ground floor. 

Those who could, leaped out the window, some cutting themselves on the jagged broken glass, but that was nothing compared to the terror of their former friends and classmates surging for them. 

Miles joined those making their escape, and he ran. Other classrooms had similar ideas, but everyone ran every which way, a mass panic as those who hadn’t changed ran from those who had. 

He didn’t even consciously choose where he was running for. The key was that he was running away. He had no idea if anywhere was safe to run to. Only that behind him, closing in and practically breathing down his neck, was nothing but death and danger. 

Miles’ breathing was going hard and fast. He barely registered that the red fog stank like sewage and blood. It wasn’t as important as making more distance, but he breathed it in as his heart hammered away.

He wiped at the blood and sweat dripping down from his brow, staining his blazer’s sleeve, but that was the least of his troubles.

Absurdly even as he ran, he could hear music beginning to play in his head. 

Then you're left in the dust, unless I stuck by ya

You're a sunflower, I think your love would be too much

Or you'll be left in the dust, unless I stuck by ya

You're the sunflower, you're the sunflower

Miles bit down on screaming since he had to conserve his air, but it was absurd that he was probably going to die with that song stuck in his head. 

He could feel himself panting harder and harder, every part of him ached. Bruises and cuts making themselves known even as he could hear more of his classmates, still in their now torn up and ripped blazers and ties scrambling after him. 

Mile could almost imagine a sunflower blooming in his mind's eye as the chase continued. He was running out of steam. He knew with certainty he was going to die. He would be torn apart, just like everyone else.

The flower, not golden as one would expect, but made of raw red flesh, kept peeling back new layers in his mind while he kept slowing. 

Engram Memetic Processing Installing.

This was going to be it. 

Sorry, mom. Sorry, dad. I lo–

The music cut into his head once more, blaring louder, almost like it was trying to drown out his own defeated thoughts.

Or you'll be left in the dust, unless I stuck by ya

You're the sunflower, you're the sunflower

Installing: Survival-Murder

Y’all wanna live, right?

A voice with a strong mid-western accent spoke in his head. 

“Wha–?!” Miles blurted out. “I… yes?”

How badly d’you want it? The voice crooned.

“More than anything?” Miles whimpered.

Sounds like a strong desire. Stronger than tears.

“What does that mean–?!”

Good enough for me, boy. Now, hold up… this might sting.

Miles' entire body burned, heat flaring across his body. 

He could feel his flesh unfolding like a flower, twisting and reknitting in new ways as a new him was revealed. 

He screamed, his legs tangling against one another as he began to tumble and fall. 

The mob closed in.

Somehow he turned his fall, into a roll, then into a handspring, back onto his feet, almost by reflex he bent his knees… and leapt.

He was launched several dozen feet into the air, hurtling onto the top of the three-story tall administration building, taking him entirely out of reach of the mob pursuing him. 

Miles rolled to a rough stop across the roof. His clothes were torn up by the gravel tar roof top with every roll until he slammed into an abrupt stop against the cement lip at the edge of the building.

He was alive. 

He was safe.

Yep. Just as planned. The voice drawled smugly.

He had a voice in his head. 

Almost everyone in his school had been turned into feral monsters, but he was sort of fine.

Somehow. 

He scrabbled back to his feet and peeked over the edge of the rooftop to see what was going on below. 

Some of his other school mates were still running. They were untransformed, but the mob of monsters were going to catch up to them very soon if nothing else changed.

He was shaking. Adrenaline was running through his system, but he also realized that he felt different. Stronger. More steady. 

He wanted to help them.

Installing: Savior-Complex

A different voice spoke in his head this time. One with a Queens accent. 

Alright. I think we’ve got a lot of work to do, then.

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