Chapter Text
It's standard procedure to give workers a minimum of one day off after a mandatory hospital visit.
Unfortunately for him, his appointment was on a Saturday. That means instead of sleeping in like he honestly should, he's up at six in the morning to get ready. Apparently capitalism doesn't care about how sick you feel.
But even much as he complains about getting up so early, it's completely out of his own volition. It takes him at least an hour to get ready. Hell, if he gets killed by his mysterious stalker, he's not going out with a dirty coat.
Having no other choice, he drags himself out of bed and into the shower. The shower starts off hot, then near boiling. The water relieves his aching jaw, and the burning of his coat grounds him enough to function as a somewhat useful member of society.
He stays there for longer than he would like to admit. Steam fills every crevice of the room.
It's hard not to think about it, the stalker. He picks up the body wash. It's not easy to come to terms with. He lathers it on a washcloth. He doesn't want to die. He scrubs hard, harder than he should. But maybe then he'll be able to see her again. He turns over and his single bar of body wash falls over, the thud it makes startling him out of his own head.
He eventually accepts his defeat and shuts off the shower. He grooms himself until dry and puts on casual clothes. There's no need to dress up where he's going. Jeans and a sweater will do.
Leaving the bathroom, he decides to skip yet another meal, his stomach still betraying him. He grabs the bare necessities: his phone, wallet, and gun.
Finally, he hastily throws on non-slip sneakers and is out the door.
By nature he is wired to be constantly on edge. His ancestors were hunted for practically everything they had, and so eventually someone in his bloodline had to learn that paranoia meant survival. In elementary school he would jump out of his seat when someone tapped him on the shoulder. In middle school he swore the janitor was out to get him. Even now he remains that scared little kit on the sidewalk, wondering if every step he takes would be his last.
Every corner is looked around, every rooftop inspected, every camera side-eyed, and yet he could not quell his growing fear that he would be the next victim of The Corporation.
He feels ridiculous, he's sure that he would be ready if anything happened. Maybe the figure wasn't even looking at him?
Maybe he’ll be okay. He's just dramatic.
Finally reaching the steps to the subway, he goes down two at a time. At this point, he could probably get to work with his eyes closed as he jumps the turnstile and waits for the train. Lord knows he's not going to be able to find a job near where he lives, so his daily commute has him going further downtown.
Luckily his train arrives right as he does too, and he steps on. The air is musty and the lights are blinding. Like usual, he's the only one there.
Already feeling tired from the short commute, he slouches into a seat and puts his head in his hands. The ride gives him a moment to breathe.
He's been off his rocker since he visited The Hospital, he knows it. It could technically be a placebo but anyone thinking rationally would know that there's something else that could be a possibility.
He goes to pull out his phone when he looks up to see one other person with him. He doesn't remember them being there. A white hare sporting a brown hat and a similarly brown mustache. Unlike himself the hare seems fully invested in their phone, nonchalantly scrolling through what is likely social media.
Who is this?
He is kind of a loner, but he definitely knows a new face when he sees one. Who do they work for? What do they want? His train is usually empty. His heart starts beating faster. Maybe this is the stalker. Stalkers usually know your route and stuff right? This feels like a stalker situation.
Alone with one other person underground in a confined space with no witnesses… he has to keep his guard up.
The few minutes that passed felt like eternity; he looked over at the other passenger at least once every ten seconds. You never know when they might strike and he doesn't want to be off guard when it happens.
Out of nowhere the passenger stands up and starts stalking towards him. There's hunger evident in his stance. Slowly he looks away, too scared to look fate in the eyes. He begins to reach for his gun when the hare walks right past him! Oh thank goodness they were just getting off at their stop. He follows timidly behind. As he exits the train he looks to see where the hare might have gone and finds that the other is missing. At least there's more witnesses here.
Deeper into the city there are more people, probably because it's further away from The Hospital. While it may not be bustling per se, there are actual signs of life.
Passing through a few groups of people, he climbs back up the stairs to ground level. Pigeon droppings line the sidewalk and actual cars fill the pothole-full road. You don't learn to appreciate these things until they're stripped from you.
Nevertheless he has a job to do, and thankfully it's just down the street on the right.
The place, like every establishment nowadays, was small and family owned, tucked in between two larger businesses. The name ‘Holy Carp!’ was displayed proudly above the door. Before walking in he stood there, trying to get himself in the right mental state for the chaos that will be the next eight hours of his life. With a deep breath in, he opens the door.
Before you can even register what you're looking at, your nose is barraged by the smell of fish and seafood. The second thing you notice is tons of ice in which somewhat fresh fish lay on top of, separated by fake leaves. A recent hot spot for carnivores.
“Hey kid! Finally decided to show up?” exclaims a gray wolf’s feminine voice from behind a register, snarky but not unkind.
“Hey boss. Sorry I'm late again,” he says less than enthusiastically, sickness clear in his voice. He walks behind the register and into the kitchen, grabbing his hanging apron.
“You're lucky I like you!” Sing-songs the boss's voice from the front of the market. He doesn't look back.
“Sidney’s in a good mood today,” he points out as he ties his apron around his waist and rolls up his sleeves.
“We got a big order from the restaurant down the street. Good for Ma that she gets to work the front, but we’re swamped back here. I need you to start carrying your own weight dude. Get started on some cod,” Marc, another gray wolf says over a pink salmon, not even looking up from what he's doing.
In the months he's worked here, he's gotten more used to the industry, but he still gets queasy around the products. His biology isn't made to digest any type of meat, let alone want any. The funny thing is that no matter how many companies say they're hiring, it seems like none actually want employees, even less ones with a record. He’d rather never have to walk into any of these kinds of markets, but it's not like he ever had a choice in the first place.
Looking around, he sees the other mercilessly cutting open and gutting fish for the order, completely focused on their work. With a sigh he puts on gloves and walks into the cooler to grab a cod.
This is the point where he usually starts feeling nauseous, and he anticipated that with the way his stomach has been acting that this time would only be worse. Oddly enough, he didn't feel a single thing, even as he brought the cod to his station.
Placing the fish on the oversized cutting board, he then began the meticulous process of getting the fish ready to cook. As weak-willed as he is, completing the same process over and over can act as a type of therapy. It calms his thoughts somewhat, all of his energy getting put into fileting the fish, even if the fish is smelling different from usual.
First cut along the stomach, it doesn't matter if the organs fall out. Then cut along the gills towards the head. After that, cut along the spine towards the tail and then from the spine towards the stomach. With your filet, remove the skin and leftover tissue. Finally, throw away what isn't edible. Rinse and repeat until your paws cramp up.
It's easy to fall into the rhythm, even if the rhythm is gutting fish. Right now he would take anything to distract himself now that he can't even talk to Charlie anymore.
He almost cuts himself as he gets a jolt of pain and drops the knife. It’s usually his paws that cramp up. This time it seems like it's his… gums? He feels around his mouth with his tongue, not feeling anything out of the ordinary. Now that he thinks about it, he does have a bit of a headache too. He feels his jaw, still trying to assess what's wrong in vain. He sighs, chalking it up to The Hospital messing him up. Like what is becoming his own personal motto at this point: why bother if there's nothing you can do about it?
A voice speaks up from behind him before placing a firm hand on his shoulder, bringing him out of his musings.
“Hey bud. You've been at that for a while, why don't you take your lunch break with me? I’ll be in the break room,” Steven, a white wolf says, flashing a smile. Out of everyone who works here, he and Steven have gotten along the best. Unlike his brother, Steven actually tries to be friendly to him so they usually spend their breaks together.
Finishing up the fish he was working on, he takes up Steven on his offer.
He carefully removes his gloves and wash his hands before untying his apron. He makes sure to avoid Marc, making a beeline towards the staff room.
The room is surprisingly larger than you would expect, and it's clear that the room is well loved. In the center lies a large circular table, with various different types of chairs scattered around it. Along the wall are mostly empty cabinets with a microwave and a similar empty fridge in the corner.
By the time he gets there, Steven is pulling out his lunch: a large bowl of raw tuna. “Hey! How's your day been?” enthusiasm must run in the family.
He tries his best to match Steven’s energy. “Y’know… same old. Maybe a little under the weather,” his poor attempt at anything but misery doesn't go unnoticed.
“Your day isn't going to get any worse if you have some lunch. Where's your…carrots or something?” He sits down at the table, opening his lunch.
He sits across from Steven, his posture mimicking a shrimp’s. “Dont eat carrots,”
Steven tries his best to be inclusive, but he tends to miss the mark, “and I don't think I can stomach lunch right now.” He doesn't look Steven in the eyes.
“I mean, the food you eat is impossible to not be able to stomach–” Steven looks up at the thousand yard stare aimed directly at his lunch– “are you okay? Please don't pass out on me you know I can't afford an ambulance,”
Physically shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he sounds even more tired than before, “yeah… i’m fine,” he says before going straight back to staring at the lunch in front of him, “just haven't eaten yet.”
“Im sure it’s nothing,” Steven says, waving his fork at him, “y’know, my brother gets stomach aches all the time. It’s probably because his girlfriend’s cooking is atrocious. We all know it but he eats it anyway. Marc’s a good guy like that when you get to know him–”
His stomach announces he's thinking less about Steven’s story and more about his lunch. “uhh… yeah,” he supplies absentmindedly, eyes still burning a hole through the food before him.
“If you’re hungry I bet I could–” Steven starts before he is interrupted by the sound of the rabbit’s chair screeching on the concrete floor.
“Sorry. I need a breather,” is all the explanation Steven gets before the other is out the back door. He doesn't follow.
He simply stands outside, leaning on the walls of the narrow alleyway. His paws find purchase in the gaps of the brick wall.
There's a midday chill that bites through his thin sweater. It grounds him enough. Even outside the place it still smells like fish. It’s overwhelming yet he can't get enough at the same time.
He doesn't want to eat it, he doesn't think he would even be able to properly digest it, but he's so, so hungry. He hasn't been able to eat in days but this is the only food that doesn't make him nauseous…
Get a grip! He needs to get a grip. Looking for any type of distraction, he grabs his phone from his back pocket, nearly dropping it in the process. He opens his social media accounts. At least, he tries to. Every app that he's ever posted anything regarding The Hospital on has been deleted. Every time he tries to log in he gets an error message.
His accounts have been blocked more times that he could count, and yet this is the first time they’ve been fully deleted. It was more than just social media accounts to him; it was his life’s work! And it's gone. Just like that.
His hands are fully shaking now. Hell, maybe he was tearing up a little too. They definitely saw the video. He guesses that he really is famous enough for The Corporation to go this far. Then again, when is Charlie ever wrong?
Before he has any time to re-think his actions, he throws his shitbox of a phone on the floor, smashing it to pieces. His posts were the only thing that mattered and now that they're gone he can't bring himself to care anymore. They were his only connections back to her.
At least now that can't track him anymore. The Corporation put in a chip to track him, he bets. That has to be why they keep finding him. Maybe there's a spy watching him though the camera too. If anything he should have smashed it earlier!
Wanting to get away from it all, he walks back into the break room, not bothering to lock the back door. Steven says… something. He’s sure Steven couldn't hear anything happening outside so does the thing where you just smile and laugh and hope the other person didn't ask a question and walks right past him. Opening the heavy metal door with more force than he should've used, he's back to the hubbub that is the kitchen.
He re-ties his apron, rolls up his sleeves and puts on new gloves. He easily falls back into the mundane routine of his work, not sparing a second to think about everything. That's something for future-him to worry about.
Gut the stomach. Remove from the spine. Skin and take off any excess. Repeat. Gut the stomach. Remove from the spine. Skin and take off any excess. Repeat. Gut the stomach. He should feel calmed down by now. Remove from the spine. But with every repeat of the cycle, skin and take off any excess, cut off a piece for yourself,
he just gets hungrier.
Holding the small piece of fish in his hands he brings it closer to his eye, smells it, inspects it. How do carnivores eat meat every day? Why does he want it too?
He opens his aching jaw for a singular, traitorous bite before it slips out of his hands.
A loud slam of the door makes everyone in the kitchen jump. He immediately turns around to the entrance, instantly on edge.
He's the first to see her, her eyes wild and ears pulled forward.
“Lock every door!” Sidney yells manically. Something is very wrong.
Without question, Marc hurriedly locks the door to the break room, uncaring of who might be inside.
While he remains frozen, Marc speaks up for the both of them. “What's happening?” he impatiently yells back. He can't be left in the dark.
“The little shits made it to the city! Don’t open that door,” she points to the door leading to the break room, “if you want to keep your head,”
It's not hard to guess what she might be referring to, but he's been tracking anomaly activity for almost a year now but they've never been this deep into the city before. They tended to stay far away from populated areas and he was never able to figure out why. Obviously nobody was prepared for this.
“And where the hell is your brother? Go get him,” she's clearly panicking.
Shit! He's still in the break room. He tries to yell, tries to do anything but just can't. He's frozen where he stands, knife now fallen to the floor, watching the chaos happen around him.
You’d think that having so much knowledge about anomalies and their attacks would make him feel more secure in this kind of situation, but it only makes him feel worse. He knows only one in twenty people make it out of these alive, the paper was peer reviewed and everything. It might be too late for Steven.
He feels like he's going to throw up and pass out at the same time.
It's just then when he hears frantic banging and kicking on the door, with incoherent shouting accompanying it. It has to be Steven!
The others come to the conclusion at the same time.
Marc, being far braver than he thinks he'll ever be, creeps towards the door with one of his butchering knives. Sidney says behind, also clutching a knife. The banging suddenly stops, putting everyone on edge.
Were they… too late?
His mind goes to what could've happened to him, each scenario worse than the last. If he strains his ears he can hear the rapid heart of everyone in the room.
To everyone’s relief the kicking resumes, now seemingly trying to bust the door down rather than get their attention.
Marc slowly unlocks the door, knife held up. The rabbit pulls out his gun with shaking hands, pointing to where the door opens.
“Relax, relax! It's me!” Steven gasps from the other side, putting his hands up in a placating gesture, “let me in,” he says weirdly calm. He must've locked the back door and didn't want to be alone.
Seeing no reason to keep him out, Marc drops his weapon and fully opens the door.
How did he know to lock the back door?
As soon as Steven walks into the kitchen Sidney runs over and envelopes him in a hug, having feared the worst. Marc makes sure to lock the door again and pats his shoulder in a matter of affection he doesn't usually show. The scene is peaceful despite what may be raging outside, and he lowers his gun, watching the family awkwardly. He could remember a time when that was him. When he had someone that loved him too.
Despite the moment Steven isn’t happy or relieved. In fact his face shows no emotion at all. Steven was staring straight at him.
He remained staring straight at him even as Sidney had finally broken free from their hug. Even as his arms fell limp once apart from his mother.
“Steven, are you okay?” Sidney puts her hands on his shoulders. Marc is still by his side. “Can you look at me please?”
His eyes remained locked on him even as he opened his mouth, then opened it further, then fully unhinging it wider than what should have been physically possible. With each installment every bone cracking, deforming and mutating could be heard. This wasn't Steven.
Sidney’s scream is something he doesn't think he will ever be able to forget. Each and every frequency of that blood curdling scream was etched into his memory from that point forward.
She falls back onto the floor, hard. Just ten minutes ago that had been her son. Now her son had a gaping maw bigger his head and a freakishly long tongue to match. Each of his sharpened teeth protruded outward towards its victim. A mimic. Steven was dead even before this thing had been let into the kitchen.
In seconds Marc was standing in front of his mother, meager knife pailing in comparison to the beast before him. Even then it was held firm towards the infected, his eyes daring it to try to hurt Sidney.
He can't let this happen. He can't stand around, not again. With shaking hands he brings his gun back up, remembering how Charlie had taught him to hold it. Nobody seems to notice. Nobody notices the sheer grip he has on the machine. Nobody notices the pain in his face either.
He can't afford to hesitate. He aims the gun in the anomalie’s general direction then closes his eyes. The trigger is pulled.
Instead of the loud explosion, a click resonates through the entire room. The gun wasn't loaded.
…
Like a floodgate opening, the click sets off the anomaly which roars at Marc. Sidney jumps off the floor and cowers behind her now only son, not daring to leave his side. Marc, with a daring look in his eyes, charges at the beast and then…!
The monster bites Marc’s face off.
The room is filled with a horrific crunch of each bone being shattered followed by a tear of muscle being ripped from his body. Marc falls limply to the floor right where he stood in seconds. It wasn't a mighty brawl, it was a fight he was never going to win. The remnant of his head is left oozing with blood and mangled up to the top of his forehead. His entire snout had been eaten.
The anomaly, brazen and manic, has its full attention completely on Marc. It eats like it hasn't in years, scarfing down anything it can in a horrific display of violence. Its entire maw is stained brown and red alongside its toxic green saliva.
Sidney sobs. She is left heaving, her entire body left gasping for air.
Everyone has different reasons to sob, but this isn't a 'I just got broken up with' type of sob. This is a pure, unfiltered and raw sob of a mother who has just lost both of her kids and the entire life she had been building with them in the span of half an hour.
A mother should never have to outlive her kids.
He runs out of the room. He is a spineless, useless coward and yet he runs anyway. He's really not sure why, it's not like he has something to live for anymore. He's acting completely on instinct.
Distantly he hears the sob suddenly get cut off, then a thump.
He doesn't look back, he can't afford to. He throws the good-for-nothing gun he had been too scared to drop out the window beside the locked door and jumps out.
He doesn't know how long he ran for, just that it was long enough for people to be back in the streets without a care in the world. Why are so many people continuing life like nothing happened? How could they be living their best life after what happened to him?
He ducks into yet another alleyway and vomits. Or at least he tries to. He heaves for what feel like an eternity, ribs caving in on themselves to get anything out of his already empty stomach. His eyes are watery as he holds on to a nearby wall for support. Still, nobody notices.
Eventually he sits on the grimey alleyway floor hidden in between dumpsters that look as bad as he feels. His heart is racing, his muscles sore.
In the corner of his eye he sees a black figure watching him from a rooftop and this time he accepts whatever fate has for him. He has nothing anymore. If he had just loaded his gun, they would still be alive. He will never forgive himself.
He slumps over and everything goes black.