Chapter 4

Snow crunched under heavy footsteps as the group trudged along slowly. Their neat uniforms were dull and faded, yet gave them an authoritative air. Near the center of the group, dressed in a yellowish uniform that at one point may have been white, stood three individuals. Scientists, they appeared to be.

The leader, at the forefront, stopped. Pale blood littered the snow, dulled by days of snow and weathering. Chunks of flesh and fur sparsely dotting the surroundings, caught on hooks of icy rock.

Picking up a tuft of fur, he remarked, "Lynx. At least a few days old, maybe more, in this weather."

Another person, a woman, nodded her head. "What could have killed it?" She peered at the snow, looking for signs of footprints.

The snowy wasteland was devoid of life, hills and plains of ice stretching endlessly.

One of the soldiers procured a box, allowing the fur and flesh to be collected inside. The cold temperatures would preserve it for a while more, and the research taken from those samples would be a big asset to research on the Anomalies.

They walked onward, the soldiers mainly scouting for danger, and the scientists scribbling rapidly in their notebooks from time to time.

Their fingers had reddened from the cold, beginning to turn blue with frostbite. Faces pale, they finally stopped to rest.

Each soldier carried large, hefty backpacks holding weeks worth of supplies. Firewood, was a necessary commodity.

The group gathered around a pitiful flame, shielding it from the wind and warming themselves at the same time.

It would be a great relief when the scout returned with news of shelter. They would set out immediately, spirits lifted.

The house was fairly small in size, but it served its purpose. The door creaked, its hinges decades old and dying to be oiled.

Carefully, they entered. "Captain," a voice called out, "I think you might want to take a look at this."

His voice was muffled by walls, yet the captain heard him clearly. As he made his way toward the bedroom, he was greeted by another soldier.

"The door's locked," he explained, "and the room smells of rot. I suspect an Anomaly to be inside."

Humming, he acknowledged, "it's far too quiet for it to be alive. I suspect our lynx killer lives here. Break down the door." Practiced hands loaded up the gun at his side. Click. Click. Clack.

The door flew open, slamming against the wall. The opened door allowed the scent of rotting flesh to be released, causing a few to gag.

The Anomaly, as suspected, was laid down on the bed in a sleeping position. Flesh seemed to melt off the body, sticking to the bed in heaps of ooze.

'At least,' the captain thought, 'we needn't witness insect decomposition. Although, I'm not sure if this is much better.'

"Check for signs of mutation," he ordered sternly as he walked further into the room. Eyes scanning every surface, every stain, every scuff.

"Clear," the soldier reported back.

"And the rest of the house?"

"Clear as well."

"Well done. Take a rest."

"Yes, sir." The soldier saluted, and left the room.

Unit 1 was by far the most reliable unit in the Southern Fortress, due to one person. Their captain. Some considered him insane, and many others would agree.

The missions he chose to take on always had high difficulty ratings, oftentimes, death was to be expected. There were two types of people who followed him. Those who sought fame and honor, and those who had nothing left to lose. Sometimes, it was both.

Soft footsteps sounded as a scientist walked around the captain, further into the room.

Taking interest in the news of a suspected Anomaly, he had made his way over.

Seemingly disappointed, he remarked, "bacterial decay. Judging from the rate of decay, it seems that its been a while."

"I assumed as much," the captain sighed, "those bastards made sure to drill as many things as possible into my head."

"Congratulations, then, for succeeding."

The captain scoffed, pulling out a cigarette and putting it up to his lips. "I don't suppose you have a lighter?"

"If I had one, I wouldn't offer it. Fuel is important, especially in this sort of environment. Suppose you had a few leaks in your skull when they drilled that into you."

He was ignored, the captain choosing to take comfort in the motions of smoking, holding the cigarette to his lips and back down again.

"You know damn well that the Institute is no haven from the apocalypse. Outside, there are Anomalies, and inside…" he shuddered, "they may as well be Anomalies as well."

"You dare to insult decades worth of research as an Anomaly? Careful, you might just end up as their next subject."

"As if they have enough holding cells to add me to their collection."

"After 004 esc-" the scientist caught himself. He was used to life in the laboratory, where everyone around him was similarly a scientist. As a result, he accidentally disclosed classified information.

"Escaped? Do continue," the captain remarked.

The click of a gun was heard.

The captain smirked, "do you have the authority to execute me? Or the ability to get back safely on your own? If so, by all means, dispose of me. If not…are you so naive to think I'll let a threat to my life stick around?"

"Tch," the scientist scoffed, putting his gun to his side and storming out of the room.

"Seems like his brain is taking a break after leaving the laboratory."

His crude jab was left ignored. Infighting would not lead to anything but death, and there was already plenty of death to go around.