lives we could feel
good
about winning. We were fighting a superior force for a change. We weren’t mowing down refugees.
Except when we were.
I remember running across my first—mop-up. Containment. Whatever word they used to whitewash the whole
massacre
thing. I’m climbing down off the rooftops, coming down a fire escape into this little cul-de-sac off William Street and there’s a pit dug into the road, lined with PVC. A couple of mercs are standingthere shooting random civilians, and the cloak gets me close enough to hear them talking. They’re yucking it up because they don’t even have to go out hunting, you know, the civvies come to
them
, all of ’em heading the same way like salmon swimming upstream to sp—
What?
I don’t give a flying fuck if they were infected. They were
civilians
.
Yeah, that’s how they always justify it, isn’t it? Quarantine, protecting the population, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. All that shit. Let me tell you, these assholes were not racked by remorse over the
necessary evil
they were committing. They were
laughing
. They were using those poor bastards for
target practice
.
’Course, you’re trained that way. It’s an old trick. Never call them
civilians
, never learn their names. It’s tough to kill a fellow human being. In fact we make it a point to
never
kill human beings. We kill
niggers
and
ragheads
and
terrorists
instead. You know what they call infected civilians down in the zone, Roger? Pizza Pockets. Pukeheads. Because of the way they explode when you shoot them. Their insides are all pulpy, like rotten fruit.
When I saw those first few victims I assumed it was just some random alien fungus or something, you know, like that flesh-eating disease. But it’s more than that. It doesn’t just eat you, it doesn’t
just
turn you into a walking mass of tumors. First it
reprograms
you. It gives you purpose. Something to live for, something to die for. Some of those guys, you’d swear that getting raptured was the best thing that ever happened to them.
Sometimes I almost found myself feeling envious.
Not everyone down there was CELL, of course. There were some good guys as well. Every now and then I’d see MPs or medics from the Red Cross trying to intervene,
Dude, it’s a meat-grinder in there, you keep going that way Squiddie will have
you for appetizers
. But the infectees, they didn’t
care
. They
wanted
to meet the Squids, they
wanted
to be consumed, it was like their own personal ticket to sit at the right hand of Jesus H. Christ in the Great Hereafter. I even saw a couple of Bible-thumpers, they snuck into the zone on some kind of self-appointed missionary patrol. It was almost funny, watching them try to
un
save all these poor doomed bastards who’d got to “Heaven” before them. But those CELL goons, man, they weren’t interested in saving souls. All they were after was something to kill that wouldn’t fight back.
What do you think I did? We’re supposed to
protect
civilians, right? That’s the official job description at least. So I did my job. I blew those assholes away with extreme fucking prejudice, and I’d do it again.
Chain of command, huh?
Is that the best you’ve got?
Anyway I keep on keeping on, closing on Gould, closing on Gould. He says it’s safer in the subway so I give it a shot, but it does not go well. Not all of the infected are pilgrims, you know, not all of them have seen the light. Some of them are sane enough to be scared shitless by what’s happening to them, some of them just need a dark place to hide and rot away. The subways are full of them: sobbing, suffering, telling anyone who’ll listen that it’s not that bad, they’re getting better, that they’ll be right as rain this time tomorrow. Some of them look almost as healthy as you; some aren’t much more than gurgling puddles of slime. And those scuttling things are everywhere, those tick-things I ran into back in the decon tunnel.
good
about winning. We were fighting a superior force for a change. We weren’t mowing down refugees.
Except when we were.
I remember running across my first—mop-up. Containment. Whatever word they used to whitewash the whole
massacre
thing. I’m climbing down off the rooftops, coming down a fire escape into this little cul-de-sac off William Street and there’s a pit dug into the road, lined with PVC. A couple of mercs are standingthere shooting random civilians, and the cloak gets me close enough to hear them talking. They’re yucking it up because they don’t even have to go out hunting, you know, the civvies come to
them
, all of ’em heading the same way like salmon swimming upstream to sp—
What?
I don’t give a flying fuck if they were infected. They were
civilians
.
Yeah, that’s how they always justify it, isn’t it? Quarantine, protecting the population, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. All that shit. Let me tell you, these assholes were not racked by remorse over the
necessary evil
they were committing. They were
laughing
. They were using those poor bastards for
target practice
.
’Course, you’re trained that way. It’s an old trick. Never call them
civilians
, never learn their names. It’s tough to kill a fellow human being. In fact we make it a point to
never
kill human beings. We kill
niggers
and
ragheads
and
terrorists
instead. You know what they call infected civilians down in the zone, Roger? Pizza Pockets. Pukeheads. Because of the way they explode when you shoot them. Their insides are all pulpy, like rotten fruit.
When I saw those first few victims I assumed it was just some random alien fungus or something, you know, like that flesh-eating disease. But it’s more than that. It doesn’t just eat you, it doesn’t
just
turn you into a walking mass of tumors. First it
reprograms
you. It gives you purpose. Something to live for, something to die for. Some of those guys, you’d swear that getting raptured was the best thing that ever happened to them.
Sometimes I almost found myself feeling envious.
Not everyone down there was CELL, of course. There were some good guys as well. Every now and then I’d see MPs or medics from the Red Cross trying to intervene,
Dude, it’s a meat-grinder in there, you keep going that way Squiddie will have
you for appetizers
. But the infectees, they didn’t
care
. They
wanted
to meet the Squids, they
wanted
to be consumed, it was like their own personal ticket to sit at the right hand of Jesus H. Christ in the Great Hereafter. I even saw a couple of Bible-thumpers, they snuck into the zone on some kind of self-appointed missionary patrol. It was almost funny, watching them try to
un
save all these poor doomed bastards who’d got to “Heaven” before them. But those CELL goons, man, they weren’t interested in saving souls. All they were after was something to kill that wouldn’t fight back.
What do you think I did? We’re supposed to
protect
civilians, right? That’s the official job description at least. So I did my job. I blew those assholes away with extreme fucking prejudice, and I’d do it again.
Chain of command, huh?
Is that the best you’ve got?
Anyway I keep on keeping on, closing on Gould, closing on Gould. He says it’s safer in the subway so I give it a shot, but it does not go well. Not all of the infected are pilgrims, you know, not all of them have seen the light. Some of them are sane enough to be scared shitless by what’s happening to them, some of them just need a dark place to hide and rot away. The subways are full of them: sobbing, suffering, telling anyone who’ll listen that it’s not that bad, they’re getting better, that they’ll be right as rain this time tomorrow. Some of them look almost as healthy as you; some aren’t much more than gurgling puddles of slime. And those scuttling things are everywhere, those tick-things I ran into back in the decon tunnel.
Similar Books
