Blood Pack Technology (4)
The path downward was wide and dark. Click. Motion-sensor lights flicked on block by block as we descended. Click. But the darkness stretching out ahead was so profound that the lights overhead only amplified our unease. It felt like we were just spotlighting our position for whatever monsters lurked in the shadows.
The blood production facility resembled a brewery. Massive storage tanks, big enough for three orcas, clustered in the corners, surrounded by unidentifiable machinery scattered everywhere. Probably equipment for synthesizing and purifying blood, but that wasn't my field, so I had no clue. Thick black industrial hoses dangled from the ceiling, feeding into the tanks. Trickle-trickle. Leaks seeped from cracks in the ceiling and walls everywhere. In the worst spots, water streamed down like actual waterfalls. Without floor drains, the place would've been flooded. On top of that, drafts whistled in from somewhere, making chains from the machines and ceiling sway with a clear, eerie chime. Combined with the dim lighting, it created a profoundly creepy atmosphere.
Rumble! Thunder echoed down here—something we hadn't heard in the clinical lab above. There must've been cracks leading all the way to the surface. It was a bit odd, though. If it was from the defense forces' firefight and the commander's suicide bombing, the floor directly above should’ve been affected too. But up there, no leaks, no thunder.
When we reached the heart of the blood production facility, we spotted a pile of corpses stacked up. Three variant Infected stood blankly in front of it.
"So those were the reason the quarantine hadn't lifted?"
I knew what they were. We had specimens in my museum, after all. Roughly two meters tall, humanoid shapes. Their limbs and torsos looked like dozens of ropes twisted into spirals, blood-red in color. No heads—just a mouth full of teeth around the neck area. They'd threaten with those teeth to draw your gaze, then ambush with dozens of tentacles stabbed into your body to suck out your fluids.
Thwack! A 12.7mm round punched through one’s solar plexus. While making stuffed exhibits for the museum, we'd dissected enough Infected to map their anatomy. These Bloodsuckers—as I'd named them—had no brains, as you might guess from the lack of heads. Instead, they had insect-like nerve clusters, and uniquely, hearts. That was their sole weak point, located right in the central solar plexus. Protected by incredibly tough bone, it could shrug off an adult man's axe swings or even 9mm pistol rounds. Even with 5.56mm, ten shots averaged only three penetrations.
The counter was overwhelming firepower or targeting the thinner bone plating on the back. By the time the remaining two noticed their fallen kin and turned toward us, rounds were already flying their way too. Thwack! Thwack! Both took massive holes in the solar plexus, flailed for a bit, then collapsed. As blood pooled on the floor, I ordered the squad members to sweep the facility. I stayed back with one for guard duty, inspecting the central corpse pile.
Not Infected. Pure humans, or ones who died mid-mutation.
"The results of all those 'euthanasia' reports overflowing from upstairs, huh."
Disposable test subjects from the clinical research lab above. At least a hundred bodies, conservatively. Most were in black body bags, but each one torn open roughly, exposing the corpses inside. The visible skin was mummified, shrunken tight.
"Why are they all piled here? Blueprints show the morgue upstairs."
The upstairs morgue had been empty. I'd figured they shipped out post-experiment bodies immediately since keeping them was pointless. Guess not.
"Did those things drag them here?"
I pointed at the downed Bloodsuckers.
No other explanation. This must be their nest—and dining hall.
The squad finished sweeping their assigned sectors while we talked.
About fifty meters away, one squad member was sprinting full-tilt toward us.
Bam! It flew dozens of meters backward, smashing into a machine.
"Kiiiek." It gave that telltale glitched-robot screech I hadn't heard in a while. It tried to stand, but its leg hydraulics were wrecked. It managed a few steps before collapsing, a massive shadow falling over it.
The culprit: a massive hose plunged into a nearby blood tank. Or what we'd thought was a hose.
Crunch! A tentacle thicker than two grown men could encircle snapped the crawling squad member's waist. But it wasn't trying to crush or impale the robot. Sluuuurp! It was sucking out fluids. Like an African elephant snorting up a human body through its trunk? Horrific wet gasps echoed from the slimy mucosa inside. The tentacle maw bristled with thick teeth for punching holes in prey.
Clang! They gnashed greedily. The metal robot body held, but the hydraulics blew.
Those desiccated corpses? This thing's handiwork. It'd ripped the body bags with those teeth, shoved in its maw, and slurped them dry. No need for more observation. We opened fire as one.
The tentacle was insanely thick, but sustained 12.7mm fire overwhelmed it. It thrashed, spraying flesh and blood everywhere. Problem was, this was just a fraction of the beast.
From the facility corner—the direction the squad member had come—a colossal roar erupted. Like thousands of phlegm-choked war cries mashed together, utterly repulsive.
A gigantic abomination clung to the walls and ceiling around the corner, hidden by blood tanks. Anemone-like, but with only about twenty tentacles—each as thick as ancient tree trunks.
Crack! Blood tanks shattered around us as giant tentacles yanked free and retracted to the body. The tanks were bone-dry; not a drop leaked from the rents.
"GRRAAAAAHHH!!!"
It bellowed loud enough to rattle eardrums. Leaving it to scream would draw outside Infected, even if they couldn't enter. Getting chased by a horde on our surface evac? Pass.
We unloaded max firepower on the main body. Chunks of ruptured flesh rained down. But where the hell was the weak point? In games with giant monsters like this, there'd be a massive eye or obvious "shoot here" spot. Not this thing.
Vrrrooom! One tentacle whipped vertically at us. Boom! Concrete floor blocks exploded, shrapnel flying. We dodged by hairsbreadths. Another tentacle gaped its foul maw at a firing squad member. It juked aside, but the tentacle whipped around and coiled it like a snake.
No dodging that. It hoisted the squad member airborne and squeezed with monstrous force. Like a kid in an anaconda's grip. Robots had superhuman strength, but the size difference was brutal. Other squad members fired to help, too late. Bearings, bolts, and parts rained from above.
Thud! A moment later, a crushed scrap heap hit the floor. Four squad members left.
"Ignore the tentacles. Focus the body."
Shooting tentacles would burn ammo for nothing. Squad members evaded incoming strikes while hammering the core.
I dodged attacks too, thanks to Artemis. She predicted strikes from tentacle swells or pre-moves, timing my boosts perfectly for safe evasion.
Boom! 12.7mm and shotgun HE rounds slammed the body; it roared in agony. The vibration prickled my skin from afar. Then, something amazing: the wall it hung from cracked faintly, then erupted in dust with a roar.
The tentacle horror was moving! I'd assumed it fixed in place. Nope. Behind the anemone-like front stretched a slug-like body the size of three or four buses. It crawled to the opposite wall, crumbling concrete like wafers.
Whoosh! Rain poured from the massive hole it vacated. Stronger drafts cleared the dust; faint sky showed at the tunnel's end.
This tentacle beast had been plugging a passage from the basement to the outside with its body. Maybe it'd burrowed in seeking blood.
Squad kept firing amid the chaos; it bled profusely, screeching in pain.
Problem. Rain's easing; Infected hearing the noise and swarming.
"Bulkheads?"
I asked without much hope.
Still sealed.
We'd empty our mags and that big bastard might still stand. "Plan B."
The diagonal tunnel exposed by the beast. My eyes and shoulder cam locked on it.
"We go out that way."
Let's go that way.
We said it in sync. Steep and high, but reachable—and it'd lead outside. We bolted for it. Sacrificed one squad member as bait up front; the rest three covered me. Bait flailed arms, skipped playfully, and fired solo. It worked.
Squad hit the tunnel; they linked into an impromptu ladder. Victory poses, ankles gripped, leaning on the wall. Wrist strength bore the others' weight—no problem. I climbed over them. At the top, I leaped and barely hooked fingers on the ledge.
Krunch! As I hauled one foot up with a grunt, the bait got mulched by tentacles.
Three ladder bots below, but no way up for them now. The scrap-flinging tentacle horror approached. Squad disbanded the ladder, scattered firing. Gunfire echoed everywhere.
I used my hooked foot as leverage, heaving my chest onto the ledge. Crunch! Another smashed. Two left.
I strained upward; my support arm slipped on the slick goo—probably from the beast's body. I fell backward.
Kyaaaaah!!!
Artemis panicked. Her divine intellect simulated infinite scenarios in a blink—probably saw me die a hundred thousand ways splatting below.
But I didn't fall. Three fingers clung to the ledge.
Boom! One squad member exploded. Grabbed by three tentacles and crushed—he'd pulled a grenade for suicide bombing. One left.
I summoned final strength, clawing up. Tougher than pull-ups in my promotion exam.
"Run!"
The second I crested the ledge, she screamed it. I was already sprinting.
"Kieeeek!" Infected roars drowned the rain from the surface. Steep incline, slick with slime—I slipped repeatedly, Artemis squealing cutely each time. In calmer circumstances, I'd have recorded it.
Tunnel end in sight.
"Entrance clear?"
"Still safe!"
She monitored via drone. Whoosh! Fresh air and cold rain massaged my body out of the tunnel, cooling my battle-heated frame delightfully—but no time to savor.
"Kieeeek!" "Kyarr!" Hundreds of Infected charged from under a hundred meters away. I sprinted all-out.
"Grrroooar!"
Oh, that bastard again. A Lugnut barreled through Walkers like a buffalo. Bipedal couldn't match quadrupedal; distance closed in seconds. No need to look—ground-shaking vibrations chased right up, hot train-whistle breath on my neck seconds later. Revulsion prickled my nape.
I sensed death.
KABOOOOOM!!!!! Pressure behind vanished. World-shattering roar, massive whooshes overhead. Thermos-sized casings rained on the ground ahead. Behind me: one leg that used to be the Lugnut. Still planted firmly, thick thigh bone wrapped in meat, steaming from the stump before toppling slowly.
Splaaat! Hundreds of pursuers shredded like they'd crossed an event horizon into a spaceship's path. Black Hawk's chin-mounted 30mm chain gun erupted like a volcano. Over 80,000 joules—four times our service rifle's—hosing at 600+ RPM, atomizing everything behind me.
Asphalt exploded skyward where rounds hit. Unlucky cars shredded like paper. 30mm punched through, yanking vehicles off roads. Boom! Tracer arced into a fuel tank; one car exploded in flames. Nearby Walkers engulfed, flailing—then mulched by incoming shells. Blood geysers briefly dimmed the blaze; spectacular.
Crash! Blood-red tentacle burst through Blood Pack Technology's first-floor glass. The beast, having finished the last squad member, chased in rage. But Artemis had clocked it slinking over the windowsill.
Chain gun swiveled, hosing the building. Shells bored into the tentacle maw, churning through meat to exit the other side. Flesh and gore flooded the first floor. Insane firepower. The massive tentacle exploded earthward; dozens of windows shattered, glass shards flying.
"Kiiieeeek!" Infected below suddenly glass-sharded, bleeding, screeching.
Slice! A one-meter glass shard cleaved a Walker. One clutched its 60%-severed head, toppling. Another flailed with a chest-spanning pane—like a cat post-nut removal with a cone. It shook its filthy teeth futilely; glass blocked everything. No Walker bites today.
"Grab on."
Ladder dropped from the helo. I snagged it; chopper climbed sharply.
"Kieeeek!" Closest Walker lunged, grabbing my ankle. Added weight nearly yanked my arm free. Close call.
Thud! I stomped its maw, cheekbone, nose with my other boot. It clung stubbornly. Heel to the eye finally popped it; dying screech as it plummeted to asphalt.
It shrank, reaching futilely. I clambered aboard exhausted. Fatigue crashed.
"Good work. It's over now."
Battlefields are like British weather—smooth sailing until suddenly shitstorm. Rediscovering that forgotten truth, I collapsed. Legs dangled out, swaying in wind. Rain eased; thunder stopped.
Grrrowl. My stomach thundered instead. Ravenous hunger hit. Had I burned this much stamina lately?
"Want tonkatsu."
Flat on back, hand over eyes. Home for a hot bath, then Artemis's tonkatsu—pork loin 8:2 eel fat. Then the expedition felt done.
"User preset #2. Extra crispy."
Artemis remembers everything. Thumbs-up from flat on my back; her laugh rang out.
The helo cut the sky. Toward our home. Our Shelter.
Leaving screeching Infected, flames, and smoke-wreathed city behind.