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--- Sewers --- --- --- --- ---

Quick thinking was something both the man and the viral dogs had on their side. The man was carefully trained, even bred, to seek out the best possible tactical advantage. The dogs were unified by one mind, able to process and decide at a moments notice. This is why the two sides accustomed to easy victory were still fighting.

The beast thrashed as David jammed a combat knife into its side, the ride up tearing the wound even wider. Acetic viral bile would spill out from where the dog's internal organs used to be. Some would spill onto the wielder of the knife, most would mingle harmlessly with the muck. With innards spilled and the weight of the soldier on top of it the beast collapsed into a lifeless heap.

The mighty kick sent the second reeling but footing stayed strong. If the creature had a jaw instead of mandibles then it may have been broken. The third bit into the rifle despite the fact it was engaging in a shoving match it couldn't possibly win. It was only trying to buy time for the one at David's feet to attempt to ground david once more. This time the mandibles spread the gaping maw wide, and lunged forward to consume David's foot whole. Barbs would dig into boot or flesh as the dog attempted to inch up David's leg like a snake, holding flesh where viral juices would attempt to dissolve it.

The three injured kept circling around.

--- Front lines --- --- --- --- ---

McCraig and Drake were in the centre of the battle by the time they met. Close enough to see Gabe's RPG tear into one of the living spike launchers and nearby cocoons. It seems they were actually thinning the ranks finally. Perhaps this assault was almost over.

"Good on you son." The commander told the mercenary reporting to him, "These things eat gunmen like you wouldn't believe, a trained blade is a good thing to have."

He would barely be able to finish before a wave of five bladed cocoons charged at the two fighters. McCraig fired off his last burst towards the group before slinging the gun over his shoulder. Needless to say the errant bullets did very little against the fast moving cocoons and it was indeed hammer time.

Most deeked to avoid the fire, but one determined viral made a jumping leap towards Drake.

Back in the base a man emerged from a tent, obviously a communications officer. In his desperate attempt to reach the front lines he almost tripped over a woman curled up into a fetal position. That wasn't the worse part of his day though, the worse part was when a viral spike lobbed high burst through his thigh, snapped bone right in half and practically took his leg out from under him.

"GODDAMNIT!" The officer screamed as he fell bleeding to the ground. He wouldn't be so easily hindered though as the message he carried had to get through, "They're sending reinforcements!"

He was still yelling through the pain.

"Somebody needs to tell McCraig that we can pull back to the wall! We're getting reinforcements!"

--- Tower --- --- --- --- ---

There were no tendrils bursting through Stryphe's side, only an image in his mind. Something was preventing twelve from a complete and utter physical take-over. If he could the demon would have been a gibbering sack of flesh the minute he stepped foot in the tower. But that was the way things go, Twelve would have to settle for a mental take-over.

"Don't loose yourself so soon Stryphe." Twelve's own green eyes seemed to have a devious glisten of their own, "How will you ever hear the best parts if you loose your mind now?"

That was the point the ceiling tiles and floor boards splintered open. Impossibly thick tendrils shot forward to restrain the demon before he went into a rage. They would wrap around wrists, ankles, and his torso just slightly tighter than they needed to. If the grapple was successful, they would tear the his hands away from the wound and hold him spread eagle in the air.

"Stryphe... I'm doing you a favour, don't you under..." The Omipraga variant was cut off by the sound of static coming from a communicator dropped sometime during the battle.

"Stryphe." A woman's voice echoed through the top floor, "Jake sent an SoS signal. Are you OK? Repeat, Are you ok. If necessary Joseph can sen..."

The interruption was returned when twelve stepped on the device to silence Claire's voice.

"Joseph... Stupid man..." And then that grin.

I can't be held back!

With the kind of unnerved calm that only a soldier of David's presumed caliber could take, he squeezed the trigger of his rifle. Firing it from a reverse held position, and aimed at taking apart the top of the beast's skull that was trying to slowly swallow his foot.

As that was done, the combat knife was let go and the rifle was pinwheeled in the left hand, with the right hand waiting to grasp it's side, and let loose strafing fire to the ones still circling.

All of this done while David was still low to the ground.

((Er, Joseph? We're waiting for you, buddy...))

FF-Class Airship - Vengeance
10 miles northwest of St. Agrippina.
Several hours after departure from Barton Town.

First Officer Vicks walked down the long corridor to the quarters of High Priest Alexander Worthington, lightly rapping on the door with his skeletal knuckles, then entering when he was bid to enter.

"My lord, a message awaits you from Archmage Zauviir."

Alex followed Vicks to the briefing room, where surprisingly enough the archmage was awaiting him. He recognized it as only a projection though; Valas was in charge of running the necropolis in his absence, and couldn't possibly be away for very long. The high priest took a seat at the head of the long conference table that occupied the center of the room. Vicks took a seat next to the captain, who was also in attendance.

"I was not made aware that we were making a detour, Master Valas. What is this about?"

"Apologies for not filling you in sooner, my lord," the archmage replied, "but you seemed occupied with the taking of the city. I have come across a discovery which could serve to expand our fledgling fleet. You are currently ten miles from the city of St. Agrippina; a city which has been under siege for some time now by what appear to be undead. Further scryings have proven this to be otherwise, however. These "zombies" are not dead. Unfortunately I cannot know any more than that until I have actually studied one of these creatures, but that is not what I have sent this crew here for."

"There is an airship museum located deep inside of the city, where a majority of these creatures are gathered. The ships stored there may be of some use to us if we are able to refurbish them and make them work once again. I have already briefed Dr. Iskugawa on the matter. However, you will not be receiving his services. He is too valuable of a commodity to send away at the moment. Instead, we will be field testing the new soldiers he has manufactured for us, which will be gated directly to the ship once preparations are all set, along with an expert who will instruct you on their capabilities and how to command them. They are to only be a diversionary force, drawing the creatures away while you take a select few to infiltrate the museum and tag any airships fit enough to suit our needs. I leave the choice of vessels up to you, my lord. The expert I am sending with the new troops will also have the magical tags for you to use, along with a rough schematic of the museum's layout. Once they are in place, the ships will be moved to storage here."

"What are we facing down there? What are these... creatures?" Captain Krik asked.

"I cannot answer that until I have actually studied them, but they should be considered a high risk threat. If not for their sheer numbers, then for their undetermined powers and abilities. Do try to keep the destruction on a reasonable level, captain."

"Of course, Master Valas," Krik replied.

"How many of these new soldiers will we be receiving?" Alex asked.

"We have only managed to created twenty. It's not a lot, but Dr. Iskugawa has placed a lot of faith in their abilities."

"You place too much faith in the human," Alex commented.

"Perhaps, but he serves us well. If that is all, then I must get back to my work."

The archmage's image vanished.

"Finally, some action! This better make up for the time we wasted in Barton." Captain Krik excitedly got up from his chair and left the briefing room, with Vicks trailing behind him. Alex lingered in thought for a moment, then he too left, returning to his quarters.

They had ten hours to get their affairs in order before they reached the city. Everyone would have their own tasks to prepare for, and their own ways to prepare for them.




For James Black, his destination was the infirmary. The men from Division Seven were waiting on him, and though he didn't realize exactly what he was in for, he knew that things like this were going to be a lot more complex than them handing him a shiny new gun to play with.

He'd grossly underestimated exactly what was in store for him, however. From the minute he arrived in the infirmary the men were like a hurricane. They already had his file from the CI records, but they needed to give him the third degree about every little thing regardless. They had to take his measurements in every conceivable way for proper fitting alterations. They gave him pills and injections, took blood samples and gave examinations. Catalysts for the chemicals they were preparing to pump through his veins and slow-release vitamin and mineral supplements. And the most unpleasant surprise of all... one severely wicked laxative.

"You bastards."

It took a little over an hour. The men worked fast. But the work was far from done. There was that severely wicked laxative to contend with, after all... and, of course, while he was trapped for a few hours in the lavatory he'd have to go over the manual for everything they were giving him. He had to sit there going over reports while at the same time some brainiac sat in a folding chair just outside the door describing everything in detail and answering his questions. It was imperative that he know exactly what it was they were giving him, and how to use it...

Hour three... As soon as he escaped the lavatory they had him drink a gallon of water... and then he went to bed. Three hours of torture and he needed a nap before he was doing anything else. Perfect timing, as well, because the Division Seven men were still fine-tuning their equipment and making alterations.

Hour five... the gallon of water kicked in. Following that, James went back to bed.

Hour seven... he was dragged out of his nap and back to the infirmary. However, there were two more injections, and many more needles. One in his right arm, and about a dozen in the back of his neck.

Hour nine... after walking a couple of laps around the ship's halls, James was finally getting comfortable in the monkey suit they'd stuck him in. After stopping back at the infirmary again to confirm that everything was on the up and up, he headed for the bridge for one last consultation with the colors.

Retcon response:

"The ship isn't fueled by babies and oiled by goat's blood. If something's going to get infected, it's going to be you."


The bridge was remarkably unimpressive for something so massive. The room was large, for certain, complete with two decks and a dozen seats for bridge crew at their controls; but it lacked the flashing lights and high-tech atmosphere that one might come to expect from the control center of an advanced airship.

There was an enormous segmented window that covered the underside of the bow of the ship; spanning 180 degrees to the front and sides and reaching from the ceiling of the second level all the way to below a railing set into the floor, which was separated from the base of the windows by a lowered walkway that rounded the front. As far as a massive viewscreen... there was apparently none. Only an expansive sheet of fiber optic polymer that sat between the control deck and the windows like another window that had been strangely placed square in the middle of a room.

There was a minimum of security, apparently. It was clear that a number of the operators were carrying a sidearm at their positions, but as for armed guards there were only two stationed on deck: one beside the door and one beside the ramp leading down from the second level. They did not wear the same uniforms as the bridge crew. They were UGH soldiers on contract with Creation Industries.

Why not use their own men? Simple matters of secrecy. Their own men had families, homes, and lives to go back to. They had their own interests in mind and would be more able to walk out with stolen material or information. UGH soldiers had none of these things... and while under contract their lives were forfeit. Any information leaked due to the UGH would be cause for a swift and merciless execution by the UGH. The professional/client trust demanded it. Such is the nature of the business world.

"Mr. Herring, if you'd be so kind," the President stated flatly as he gestured a hand outwards from where he stood on the second level.

A redshirt man sitting at a console to the left punched a few buttons, having already been preparing for this since the President had returned to the deck. In a moment the polymer sheet flooded with backlighting and an image was projected onto it of the current satellite view of the city.

Oh, and the head of security and chief of medicine were there as well, at some point. Just so all the bases are covered.

With a nod, Drake acknowledged the Commander's recommendation then returned his attention to the approaching Infected. His now revealed eye blinked a couple of times as its cat-like pupil adjusted to the light, and a small smile seemed to cross his features.

Drake: It's good to be able to see.

His eyes dart back and forth between the approaching cocoons as the berserker lumbers forward, followed by its support. With the flailing arms only a foot from him, Drake makes his move. He leaps forward on a left-diagonal, shielding himself with his left bracer from the berserker melee while bringing his blade up and around to strike at the Infected's exposed back.

Drake: "En passant!"

He shouts the classic chess term as his katana blade bites into the mouldering flesh of the Infected and whips his head to face the remaining drone, his right eye narrowed and seeming to reflect a phantom flame as the cry announcing reinforcements echoes in the background.

((I'm back!))

Stryphe was drowning in a pulsating sea of agony, his scarred flesh barely able to contain the malevolent virus anymore. He could feel the twisted glee of the omnipraga variant within him, free of it's dormancy.

"You," He inhaled sharply then coughed, mouth tasting of blood and bile, "you cannot use me, 12." His voice was shaky and slow- he had to force the words past the pain and the sickly, sedated feeling left with him after the sensory distortion earlier. "I... nngh!"

He tugged at his restraints, strained and agonized, causing the viral tendrils to coil tighter around his limbs. Chunks of ceiling fell to the floor, some of the debris slipping through the splintered ground and into the infested foundation of the building.

"Mine is no mere sack of flesh that you can afflict at will," He seethed, glaring vengefully from behind dusty, sweaty locks of hair, "so you'd better kill me..."

((The following events will have to be summed up in another, single document at a later date. Pulling this character from limbo.))