Snippet #2065365

Across the city, a towering office structure was going through what was supposed to be a normal day. Several burly men in suits were standing by the main door, and stepped forward when a much shorter and leaner figure approached, but nodded in acknowledgment once they got a look at his security pass and let him pass. Said person, Ishmael Ardura, had to take a much different approach to infiltrating the city and the target organization. Indigo Foundation, long time concern for the PSCTF, and only now were they acting. It was at least a few hours before the bus of students that had another member would arrive, and while having friendly faces here would be potentially useful, it also increased the risk of detection. But it was what it was. He had went ahead of the rest of the team, integrating with the security section of a closely linked corporation, a medical firm that supplied a healthy amount of all sorts of pharmaceutical drugs. For what, security grunts like himself were not told, but it was suspicious the amount being sent with exclusive rights. He had been with another truck full of these supplies, and had recorded the contents to forward back to command at a moment that would not risk detection. He entered the security office, and relieved the man who had been working the graveyard shift, and after a few pleasantries, sent the man on his way. As soon as he was gone, he flipped on a recorder to keep all the video and audio footage for future dissection. Then something caught his eye, the experimental medical department was having some issues with a patient.

Hitting a switch, he called up the security chief and told him what was going on. Soon enough half a dozen guards were there, helping the doctors restrain the patient. Usually allergic reactions occurred, but something was wrong here. Considering several guards suddenly backed off, yelling silently on the cameras in that section, as the man started twisting and mutating in unnatural and unusual manners. A giant clawed hand, the other gone completely, slammed the doctor into the wall, clearly dead. Ishmael cursed, silenced .45 pistol already in hand as he stood up. The guards were pouring 9mm fire into the thing, to no avail, and they were dead. Ishmael kept moving, leaving the camera room behind, he could already hear yelling in the building for the situation to be contained. Problem was that others were also changing, but they were slower shifts than the patient had been. The thing was rampaging through the few people who hadn't started turning yet, and several hollow point .45 rounds tore clean through its midriff. The thing turned and roared, but nothing was where the shots came from. Several more rounds hit the thing, and it swung to the right, finding only an empty magazine on the ground. It was confused and angry, but not for long.

The front of its face blew outwards, Ishmael standing behind the thing, not showing a hint of being disturbed. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, he lit one and returned the pack to his pockets, taking a drag before heading for the exit. The evacuation alarms were blaring, some dying fool probably pulled them down. Holstering the pistol back in his jacket, he kept walking, a thin trail of cigarette smoke following him. Diving around like that had left the large thing confused, and open to a clean execution shot to the back of its head. By this point, he had reached the front of the building, and found the dead security chief. Something had turned his stomach into something comparable to marionette strings, and paused long enough to collect his security clearance. He had healthy access to more than just this building, so it might help. Worse came to worse, better than leaving it for someone else to find. He vanished into the streets, dying coffin nail left next to the dead chief, heading for his apartment in the area, and then would figure out what to do from there.