Will ran wildly through the desolate streets, dodging and weaving through his undead opponents. Long ago had he lost his primary means of defense, a salvaged riot shield modified with smooth titanium blades fixed into its face. It was a shame, really; he had rather liked that as a weapon. No time for nostalgia now, however. 

After getting about a hundred feet from the nearest biter, he ducked into the most in-tact building nearby; it appeared to be some sort of long forgotten organization's HQ, with a large glass face and a circular floor plan. After walking into the large double front doors made of heavy glass, he scanned the large, open room of the building. The roof was high, vaulted and huge, at least thirty feet into the air. The room itself was stamped in white, and appeared to be nearly untouched by the world outside. There was one rather odd thing that occurred immediately to Will, and it was rather pressing on him.

This room had no doors.

"Fucking hell..." Will gasped, panting after his multiple close encounters on the outside. He glanced out through the enormous transparent walls, and estimated that he had about five minutes before those damn biters would arrive at the front door, maybe less. Right. 

Will hurriedly gathered his remaining weaponry on a modern style desk near one of the curved edges of the room. After slinging his backpack off and emptying it's contents onto the flat surface of the desk, he had the following checklist made.



Medkit, no bandages left/gauze

Pocket knife

About 30 (?) feet of rope

Body armor

Wool mask

About two days' worth of food

After a moment’s hesitation, he gripped the ornamental pen again and wrote, circled, and circled again one large note. 

I'm fucked.

Afterwards, Will began equipping himself for what he assumed would be his last stand against the plague that had devoured the lives of so many before him. Just as the beasts approached the gargantuan glass surface of his private mausoleum, something bashed Will on the back of the head; he went down immediately. He felt something dragging him back further into the building, towards the other side of the massive curved room. He glanced behind him, unable to see his captor, although he was certain that it was one of those... things. Through the blurry portals of his eyes he noticed a rectangular crack in the wall; whatever had him pushed on it, and it opened inward, slowly. So. They were intelligent, then. Will pondered what life would be like on an Earth where they ruled. Would they rebuild the cities? After a grunt from behind, he felt another thud and was sent into a world with only darkness.

Will awoke several hours later. He was lain down in yet another white room, with a large mirror on the northern side and a simple white bed in the middle. His clothes had been changed, and he had none of his previous gear. Instead, he had a key, small, simple, and brass. He struggled up from his bed and, after retrieving the key from his pocket, headed towards the door. On the door was a note; it read thusly:

The key I've given you is a Skeleton key to the building; it opens every door here. When you're ready, leave this room and head to the left, fourth door down on the right, with the big yellow door. My name is Dr. Wesson, and I mean you no harm. I have been attempting to find a cure for this epidemic, or at least a vaccine. I think that you could be of benefit to me, so I'm afraid I must ask you for your help.

Will grunted general consent, and thought of something; how did he look? If he was, in fact, meeting someone who could save humanity, perhaps a decent look in the mirror inlaid into the wall would be appropriate. After about five minutes, he had his deep black hair set into it's old wavy format. He did the sort of pose one does when one think's that they're alone, and vainly admired his own physique; at his absolute prime, Will stood at about six foot three, weighing two hundred pounds of lean muscle. It was considered that, if anyone could survive the apocalypse, it would be Will.

Treading down towards the indicated room, he pushed open the large yellow door. He was shocked to see a figure in a hazmat suit, but, remembering that Mr. Wesson was a doctor of some sort, he wasn't panicked. The man quickly finished whatever he was doing and took off his helmet; the man was rather old with a sad, lonely face. Underneath his rough shaven face and deep white hair he boasted two gloriously blue eyes, deeper than the ocean's greatest abyss. Will was shocked to see such a vibrant color in the eyes of one so withered, but it really didn't matter.

"Ah, so you're awake. You must be William Tanner. You really hung onto your wallet after all these months? Ah, well. Take a seat, Mr. Tanner." The man had a sort of quite but jovial demeanor to his voice, welcoming thought and speculation. Certainly the voice of a scholar.

"Please, just call me Will." He took a seat on a nearby lab stool and endeavored to avoid touching all the colorful, smelly and above all possibly dangerous chemicals positioned at the work area. 

"Ah? Just as well. Now, if you read my little note then you'll know what I've been doing for the past oh, five months. Yes, I know. That means I really haven't been up to the surface much. I only saw you in your potential little struggle because of the security cameras; very lucky for both of us that I trekked to the security office today, eh?" He smiled vaguely at Will, encouraging a response.

"Uh... yeah. Thanks. Now, you mentioned that you needed help, and I guess I owe you a little for saving my life. So, what's up, doc?" He realized that he may have said something wrong when the doctor began to frown. "Did I say something wrong?" Will queried, realizing that the man was surrounded in very sharp tools far away from Will. He couldn't afford rudeness.

"No... no. It's alright. My wife used to call me that... 'What's up, Doc?'... Just like that. Just like you before all this happened..." said Dr. Wesson, vaguely indicating the world. "Please, just call me Dr. Wesson or Doctor. Thank you."

"Alright Doc... Dr. Wesson. What do you need from me? I'm at your service." Will was still attempting to remain very polite to the man who currently owned his life. 

"Right. So, all I need from you is a blood sample and I need you to stay in the bedroom you were just in for a few days. You'll be provided with food and all the entertainment you could hope for, but it's a must that you stay in that room while my testing goes on. Deal?" Now, Dr. Wesson erupted into a smile to show his blazing white teeth. He reached out his hand, and Will accepted the terms and shook it. A few days of safety? Who wouldn't accept that in this hellish world of biters and street gangs?

So, Will spent several days inside of the room. He was allowed all the books he could handle, and was even given a few portable game systems, all of which he had thought were out of power and extinct. Apparently he was admitted to go to the restroom in the room directly to the right of the door, just so long as he washed entirely before leaving. He hastily accepted all terms presented, as being provided for was an experience almost foreign to Will. 

After the few days were up, he awoke from a short slumber to find yet another note on the door.

My tests are complete. Please come down to the room next to my lab for the final stage of testing. I'm afraid that I must ask you to be sedated for just a few minutes so I can see how your body works unperturbed. This is purely to be sure that my results are 100% accurate; please grant me this one last whim.

Shrugging with indifference, Will wandered down to the specified door and went inside. Dr. Wesson was already there, in his hazmat suit (Will had no concept of why he was wearing it) and obeyed as he was instructed to lay down on the bed in the room. It was the sort of bed you found in doctor's offices everywhere, with a cold, black surface and mechanical parts to allow movement. Will gladly lay down on it's surface and allowed himself to be sedated. 

He awoke sometime later, how much time is unknown, as no clock was readily presented to him. He was in a different room, with much, much more dangerous looking chemicals in it, in vials and containers that looked as if they had been created by a drunken glassblower with a bad case of the hiccups. Dr. Wesson stood over a lab bench across the room from him, no longer in a hazmat suit, but rather a lab coat. Will struggled to get up, but found his wrists quite incapacitated by the strong leather bounds on his arms.

"What's going on?" mumbled Will hazily, still a little woozy from his sedation.

Dr. Wesson looked at him with a hunted look. "You must understand that this isn't my choice, which this MUST happen... please, God forgive me." 

"What are you babbling about, man! Let me out of these bounds! I thought we were friends!" William had lost all hope for safety and thus began to reason with madness.

"I'm so sorry... I had to keep you, you were my last hope. Um. Let me explain myself. You understand the function of a hazmat suit, yes? And I've been wearing one quite a lot recently... that is because the air has something in it. I was using you as a lab rat... I'm so sorry..." Dr. Wesson paused to wipe what resembled a tear in his eye. "I... I needed someone in optimal health. You fit the bill, perfectly healthy. Your blood type is perfect for this purpose, O+, can be given to any blood type but other O+, but I'm afraid that they'll be quite out of luck. You see, a mutagen was released into the air in most rooms of these labs. By now it'll have thinned out, but I put just enough in to mutate your blood to become not only somewhat immune to the disease, but a cure for others, it may even work on the already lost. I'm afraid that, to be certain, I must do one more test..."

It was here that Dr. Wesson reached for a silver tray on a portable stand and wheeled it over to where Will lay. "The best I can do is to sedate you for the entire process... I'm so sorry... This is for the sake of humanity, right? For science? God forgive me, but this is the only way."

As Will's vision darkened, he felt the first of the blades cut into his abdomen, still hearing Dr. Wesson mumble his apologies.

At least, Will thought in the dream-like state of mind found just before death, it was for science. 


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