Who: Richard Hardwell and random townspeople NPC (Narrative) What: Croatoan virus. Beware of knives and blood. When: Thursday, January 21, 2010 Where: A sleepy little town in Illinois. Warning: Blood, Gore. Death. Mentions of sex. The standard for Rick right now.
This wasn’t something that could be released from a small vial, or a pill that could be dropped into someone’s drink. There was no big toxic sludge to let go into the river, but then, this sleepy little town wasn’t near any big rivers. There was a small one that isolated the town just enough so that the virus wouldn’t spread beyond what he wanted it to. But then, something like this didn’t pass through water, either. In fact, all he had to do was spill a little blood, bring in a little sulfur, mix the two together and…well, no big boom.
This wasn’t exactly science after all.
But first, what he had to do was introduce it into the blood. And who knew a Gothic crowd ran so big in such a small town? All he had to do was show up at a bar, flash his eyes at some cute young thing dressed completely in black, skin whiter than Michael Jackson’s had been, and the next thing he knew he was drinking with a bunch of clones of the first girl in some small basement, all of them looking at him excitedly, like he was some new treat that they had bought themselves.
Sure, the drinking was to be expected. The drugs were to be expected too. And once almost everyone was passed out on couches, chairs, the floor, whatever there was, it was just him left, drinking from one of those plastic cups as he smirked, looking out on the scene that was in front of him.
And then his eyes flashed as he saw someone begin to stir, and he knew that the time was now. With a serpentine smile and lowered lashed, he reached a hand down to help one of the girls up, having her sit next to him.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” He asked, and she squirmed slightly in the tight grip he had on her hand. He barely even heard her name as he helped her all the way up, and began walking with her, hand and hand, up the stairs of the basement. Apparently the place belonged to one of the drunken boys passed out downstairs, which made this really easier.
Tugging her into the closest bedroom, he let her manhandle him onto the bed and both began to strip, a giant grin on his face the entire time. Who said that he couldn’t have some fun on the job?
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He was smoking a cigarette; the sheets pooled around his lap as he blew out some smoke and looked over at the sleeping form beside him. This had really been a wild ride; who knew that a small town girl could bend in so many ways? But now that she was passed out asleep, he could really get his work done.
Bending down, he grabbed the knife that he had stuck in his back pocket and pulled it out, looking at the dull sheen before sighing.
“Time to get to work,” He muttered, making a cut across his arm, near the crook of his elbow. He let it begin to run down his arm for a moment before he leaned over and gave the girl a kiss below her ear.
“Be good, kitten,” He said with a smirk as he made a cut on her arm as well, pressing their cuts together, the blood mingling together until he deemed it ready enough. Ruffling her hair for a little bit, he got up, got dressed back into his clothes, using part of the sheet to wipe away the blood and to make a small makeshift tourniquet. Once he was done with that, he coughed into his hand, and then smeared it across the windowsill. True, calling cards were always so cheesy, but a little extra sulfur never hurt anyone.
Yet.
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After that, it spread like wildfire, or, in this case, a demonic virus. He spent the rest of the day sitting at the bar, filling his own glass after awhile, once someone came in and grabbed the bartender. There were people with guns on the street, there were people running after each other with knives. Flecks of blood littered the street, and some people had been cut a little too deep.
He could see a woman lying near a drainage ditch with a butcher’s knife sticking out of her neck, her blood swirling into the water from the rain last night. Raising his glass in salute, he took another drink before wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. Tossing the glass behind him, he could hear the tinkling of broken glass as he walked out of the bar.
There was someone watching him from a store window across the street, and he raised his hand and waved, beginning to laugh as he saw someone grab said face and pulled them behind. Hopefully there was a knife in there as well.
It was almost like living in your own horror movie right now. Rick just took a seat on the side of the curb, leaning a bit against a street lamp pole. He saw guns, some more knives. People were going nuts, and yet, while they continued on like this, he knew that they were slowly losing their minds. The sulfur should be fully permeated throughout the town, and it really was only after hours and hours of watching that things had finally settled down.
Settled down in this part of town. There were no more really small towns, after all. This was the best one he could find, and as he totaled the number in his head, he watched the streets become barren, watched as bands of people with knives began roving out towards the woods.
He would help clean up, but then, that was always the best part. All he needed to do was wait for the infected to come back, take the bodies they had already stored in various buildings throughout the town, and everything would be burned, nice and clean.
Getting into his now very used and comfortable car, he turned the key into the ignition, beginning to laugh.
What a way to kill off 1,000 to 2,000 people in only a few days, leaving no trace of them ever living in this town.
All they would find were the words ‘Croatoan’ carved into a telephone pole, and not a single living soul in sight.