Note: All dialogue translated to English for your enjoyment.
"I wonder what it is he dreams about."A soft voice breaks the silence, just about as loud as the hum of the machinery. The huff and puff of outdated and overused equipment serenaded the room daily with its struggling persistence. Her hands soft, fingers spindly before her old age, and her nails kept manicured and painted red. She tucks her favorite patient in as the day yearns on, assuring his blankets are fresh and snugly swaddled. The other woman in the room, checks her appearance in the mirror, fixing her low ponytail. Her icy blue eyes staring back at herself, darting to the corner, she pins a banana clip adorned with a cheap bejeweled flower to keep her bangs at a constant side sweep. Wiping her face a tad she exits, and speaks "Does it matter? I mean he's been here for four months now and not a thing has changed."She wasn't the caring type, mostly she came to work because it was her only source of income. However, the nurse that did care kept close watch. Particularly, this patient, the silent teenager, comatose for no reason. Her other patients were all too sick to be nice. Some could barely speak, but what utterances they could manage were demands for more drugs. This one, however, seemed to be in perfect condition, a conundrum for his body looked like he was in the last stages of terminal cancer. The tests had come back, and the numerous ailments this boy had within his body was unimaginable. She thought that he must dream of a place and a body that didn't hurt everywhere always. It made her tear up...But why wouldn't he die...What was in him that kept his body alive...Sheer will she supposed.
The two nurses left. But it was already to late. It was so amazing, and devastating, to think that something as delicate as the clicking of a lock on the rusty door could bring about the boys awakening.
With great breath, he rose to the land of the living once again. And just lick the clicking of the lock, two mechanisms working in unison to complete one goal, his body had done something to that likeness. No one knew it yet but he was a mutant, with a very distinct ability...Or abilities.
It took only the sum of an hour for the wing he was in to be reaped by his mutation. What was found, the leftovers of other human beings. Puddles of mucus-like substances in the beds, bathrooms, and hallways. Their bodies dissolved by his pestilence. This pestilence was so visceral and carnal, and yet it seemed as if the boy was unaffected by his own mutation. With the exception of the symphony of diseases riddling his body, some yet to be discovered, he was fine.
The authorities managed to remove the rest of the patients from entire hospital, which was the size of a football field, three stories high. But not before another band of police officers and workers were destroyed by the sickness. Patient Zero otherwise known as Pathogen, was quarantined within the hospital, which now had a 100 foot radius barricade. No one enters, and he didn't leave.
Having had their fare share of turmoil the citizens of Georgia quickly moved to destroy the child. The Russian government happily obliged their request for military strike, and literally bombed the building. And to their horrific awe, the child was nearly unscathed, apart from his arm missing in the rubble. He himself was weak, but not weak enough to know that he was now a target. And when you are targeted, you run.
NOW...
There is a ship on the pacific, shipments of imports from Russia, a dead crew, and one scared, deadly teenager heading towards the west coast harbor of Washington State.
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