Cut Loose

A/N: This is one of my more recent works, a Prototype/Left 4 Dead crossover that DarkGidora first brought to mind. His brainstorming on the concept led him to write Prototypical Evil. Mine led to this thing.

It fits somewhere into the continuity of A Hero's Mask and includes two characters exclusive to that story (as well as Cpl. Dunn and Pvt. Ramirez from Modern Warfare 2), so if you haven't read it to its most recent update, it's not going to make a whole lot of sense. Nonetheless, have fun.

One day, the world woke up and then everyone, including the neighbor John, was a zombie. Or an Infected, if you wanted to get technical. Anyway, it was pretty much the dawn of the end of the world since not everyone had a gun and there were worse things out there than rabid cannibals. Not by much, but meh.

Alex Mercer, the unstoppable viral engine of death, had promptly escaped containment on Manhattan once BlackWatch was distracted and now, with his sister Dana and their mysterious (and strangely cheerful) ally Inky in tow, was heading south, in hope of somewhere slightly less apocalyptic to set up base.

It had been a few nights (they only traveled at night so Alex wouldn't have to defend two people) into the whole "Infected infestation of the East Coast" event when Inky finally said, "You know what? It's days like this when I actually miss BlackWatch."

Alex, who had been busy sticking a Claw through the face of a weird undead with tentacles that had ended up dragging it to him instead of the other way around, stopped and looked up. "Why, exactly?"

She waved a hand and said with a shrug, "Well, you don't see them letting this spread to fifteen cities, do you? If it weren't for you being impossible to hurt and me being invulnerable at night, you have to admit we'd all be in pretty deep shit."

"Speak for yourself." Dana muttered from beside her, wielding an aluminum baseball bat with deadly efficiency. She hadn't really been any good at using a gun before, so they'd just found her a blunt object to whack the zombies with. It had been startlingly effective—who knew that by hitting zombies with baseball bats you could rip their torsos off? Sure hadn't worked in Manhattan.

"No, I see them letting it spread fucking everywhere and then nuking what's left." Alex grumbled as another fifteen Infected dog-piled him. Or tried to.

Dana and Inky both got out of the way and Alex predictably released the Tendril Barrage Devastator and promptly killed everything within range.

From their vantage point on top of a gas station, Inky said, "I wonder how those other idiots are doing."

Dana gave her a dirty look and said, "How about you worry about how these idiots are doing, stupid? They're crawling up the fucking walls."

Inky looked down. "So they are. Ed, sic 'em."

The tiny creature threw himself into the fray and within five seconds the sidewalk ran red with blood.

Dana gaped. "Something that small can do that?"

"I know. Awesome, isn't he?"

Alex, who was easily dismembering a Tank, didn't even notice.

BlackWatch Captain Robert Cross was, as usual, having one of the worst days of his life. Tells you something about his life in general, doesn't it? After being pulled from Manhattan because there had been an outbreak somewhere else, the army (including BlackWatch) had been told to control the Deep South while the Marines held the island. Except Cross already knew that ZEUS had escaped, and he could tell just from looking at the new mess that it was going to be a hell of a lot worse.

Redlight was more dangerous, sure. It was because the Infected all shared one mind and could, to a certain degree, plan. But this super-rabies stuff was everywhere. And this time there was no convenient mutant to act as an engine of destruction against the tide, though Cross would probably be shot if he ever said that out loud.

So, that was how he'd ended up taking a small squad on patrol for survivors. Granted, he'd had to take THOR, too, because his superiors were at a loss to control something as strong as the Infected and almost as vicious that was nonetheless on their side, and two D-Codes to make sure he didn't flip out and kill someone he shouldn't. It had started with one of the D-Codes taking on two Tanks at once and losing once a Witch stumbled into the fray. Granted, nearly a hundred Infected had already surrounded them, so his survival was always a bit iffy, but having your internal organs ripped out by a wandering Witch was probably one of the worse ways to go.

And the other one? A lone survivor (who didn't survive for long once THOR finally flipped out) had killed him with a grenade launcher, apparently mistaking the huge supersoldier for a Tank even though they looked nothing alike.

Of course, the situation had devolved even further than he'd expected. Now, frankly, he was babysitting a pair of Army Rangers who'd been separated from their squad and cursing every minute of it. It didn't help that one of them had nearly the same voice as ZEUS, but with the Southern accent that was endemic around here. It was a little unnerving.

"We are screwed, man. We are totally—!" Cross tuned him out, just as the other Ranger apparently had some time ago.

THOR, meanwhile, was picking his teeth through the face mask with a long claw, apparently bored out of his mind. At least he'd stopped growling once he'd been allowed to kill three of the freaks in hoodies. The screeching seemed to annoy him.

Rrrrrrrrr. Cross immediately pulled the phone he'd used in Manhattan out of his pocket before remembering that it was the one ZEUS could contact him through. "Amaaaaaziiiiing graaaace, how sweet, the sound—!" Oh well. Click. "Hello?"

"Heeeeeeeey~"

Okay, he recognized that voice all right. It wasn't ZEUS, but its owner was just as bad. "What do you want?"

"Just wanted to know if you were still alive. Clearly my prayers have been answered."

"Uh-huh. I wasn't aware they'd let you into a church." Cross said, "And was there a point to this call, aside from that?"

"Yeah. Where are you? We're not in Manhattan anymore, but I think we're in—in Philadelphia? Oh, he read a sign."

THOR had looked up from his attempt at dentistry and was now staring that the phone with interest.

"I'm a lot further south." Cross said. "Why?"

"We're trying to figure out where not to go. Thanks." There was a shout of "Aleeeeex, we should head west!" and an answering "Why the hell can't we go south?"

"You have two superpowered mutants on your team. Why are we a threat, exactly?" Cross asked dryly.

"Oh, it's not that." THOR was looking away now, at something slightly past the Rangers' backpacks. It wasn't a good sign. "It's just that wherever you are, the Infected follow. We can cut a bloody path through the Infected to get to you, though. If you wanted us to. Alex has a pretty good overland speed."

"Sounds like a good deal, but I'll have to get back to you on that." Cross said as THOR leapt over the Rangers' heads and smashed into a hooded Hunter in mid-air. Cross sighed mentally and dropped the phone back into his pocket before going to help the Rangers calm the hell down, since the battle was already decided.

About a minute of furious clawing later, THOR had another torn hood to add to his collection. Cross honestly wondered what the hell the vicious little mutant did with them.

Alex was taking point again. In their little group, that didn't actually mean much since Inky transported Dana via riding a gigantic shadow-centipede-thingy anyway, but sometimes it was just annoying. Sometimes he got about three blocks ahead of them and that was when he got in trouble.

Alex did not know how to make a bad entrance. He did know how to make a loud one, though. The method of choice tonight was apparently the great Bullet Dive. Right into a horde of Infected. Reducing most of them to giblets.

"Well, if nothing else, he gets style points." Inky said idly, watching the bloodbath from the roof as, behind her, Dana stuffed her baseball bat down a Smoker's throat and shoved it off the building. A jet-black tendril swept across the concrete and suddenly the roof was clear of zombies. Well, until the next group showed up from the fire exit or something.

"That's nice." Dana grumbled. "What are we going to do, smash our way to Disneyworld?"

Inky shrugged under her shadow armor. "I don't really want to meet up with BlackWatch again. They'll be pulling out west from down south if they can't hold the Red Line this time, either."

Dana, who had not been paying attention to the redhead, was looking down at the parking lot where her brother was just clambering out of the massive crater he'd made in the concrete. And was being shot at. That was slightly more important. "ALEX!"

They watched as Alex turned one arm into a huge black shield made of biomass and, over the sound of gunfire, couldn't hear the approaching Tank that both Inky and Dana could see. Inky glanced at the nearby buildings—no lights at all. Good.

About two seconds later the Tank was being hoisted into the air by its deformed little legs and eaten alive by Inky's most recent pet design—Centipedon. That wasn't really its name, but damned if she could figure out a better one on short notice. It'd probably implode by sunrise, anyway.

There was a scream from somewhere nearby. "Super-hoodie dude!"

Inky facepalmed. "Aaaaaannd we have idiots on site. Just great."

Dana looked down at where the gunfire was coming from. "Is that a group of normal people?"

"Probably. Only normal people aren't a good thing." Inky sighed and swept them both up in a tide of blackness. "Hey, Alex? Tank."

The next few minutes devolved into senseless violence as Alex promptly threw himself at his newest opponent with claws outstretched.

"I don't think he gets enough exercise with these things." Inky remarked once the feeding session was over and it was okay for Dana to look again.

"How do you figure that?" Dana asked, taking her hands away from her eyes.

"Well, these things are really slow." Inky said after a minute, as Alex flipped a car and attracted a horde once the alarm went off. "And I swear Tanks must be like the worst steak ever, given the fact that it probably has steroids coming out its ears."

"Uh-huh," muttered Dana, "I'm not listening to this."

"Okay. Show's over, anyway." Inky said—Alex had cleared the entire street via Tendril Barrage. "So, want to go down and play nice with the crazy survival freaks?" she asked with a devious grin.

Dana sighed. "Sure. Just…avoid the blood."

"Why? We're all doused in the stuff."

"Just do it."

"Okay."

A few minutes later, since the last of the horde had been brutally stomped into the asphalt, the four actual humans in the area finally came out of whatever secluded corner they'd been hiding in. Variously, they could be described as a biker, a college-aged girl in pink, an old man about Randall's age with a beret (and then there were sudden flashbacks to yet another specialized task force not so long ago), and an office worker, if the tie was any hint. All of them were covered in an assortment of scratches and bruises, but none looked ready to give up yet.

"I'd ask how you four managed to survive this long," Inky remarked, "but the guns probably provide all the answers. Anyone got a spare melee weapon?"

Wordlessly, the girl handed over a crowbar. Dana took it and said, "Thank you," but only after a minute of uncomfortable staring on both sides.

"Well, introductions are in order." Inky said clearly. "Everyone calls me Inky already, and as far as I'm concerned that's what you'll call me, too. I also answer to "psycho bitch" and "what the hell are you doing, you dumb broad?" Any questions? No? Moving on."

"I'm Dana," the amateur reporter said after a minute. She pointed at Alex, who was busy reeling in a Smoker that had stupidly tried to entangle him. It would end messily. "That's my brother, Alex. He's sort of like our human buzzsaw."

"You have got to be fucking kidding," muttered the old man, but he said in a louder voice. "I'm Bill."

"My name's Zoey," the college girl said. "That's Francis, and that's Louis." She indicated the biker and the black guy in a tie in turn.

"I can already tell we're going to get along like a house on fire." Inky said brightly, shaking Zoey's hand.

"And I hate you already," grumbled the biker.

"That's nice." Inky said, apparently not actually processing the remark. "And since I hate the Infected marginally more than I hate ordinary humans, we're going to pretend to get along until Alex flips out or you feel like splitting off from the group with a walking WMD."

"We're all going to die, aren't we?" Louis whispered to Zoey as Inky flounced away to tell Alex to stop stomping on the poor gasbag. They watched as the man sprouted tentacles and apparently began to absorb the hapless Infected. It was just about the first time any of them had ever pitied one of them.

She thought about it. "Well, did you ever see a movie called Thing?"

"No."

"Then here's the ending: yeah, we're all gonna die."

About fifty feet away, Inky asked, "Did they notice that one of those shots took your jawbone off on one side?"

"No." Alex said as he reached out and grabbed an Infected by its head and threw it using MuscleMass. It disappeared somewhere over the next block's worth of buildings. He paused. "It's going to be a mess when they find out."

"I know. And it'll be hilarious."

"So long as you get Dana out of the way, I don't care."

"Deal." She immediately turned around and ran back to the group. "Heeeeeeey guys!"

Alex, meanwhile, kept up his game of skipping Infected across the cement. It was much better than skipping rocks. For one thing, they screamed.

"At least this isn't as bad as Manhattan." Ramirez remarked without much humor, once the next horde closed in. It was getting ridiculous—it felt like they had to shoot through more swarms of zombies than should have been anywhere outside of New Orleans. It was just getting harder as they headed toward CEDA's last known secure position.

Hacking their way through the swamps in full combat gear sure as fuck hadn't been fun, and now that they were on drier ground it seemed like the Infected were pouring in to make up for lost time. Sometimes they almost missed the mudmen—the creepy fuckers didn't have much of a hold on any of them, since Ramirez and Dunn both wore goggles, the BlackWatch captain seemed to carry a face-shielding gasmask everywhere, and THOR didn't seem to need to see to aim.

Well, provided that everyone got out of the water first. He seemed to like electrocuting things.

Luckily for them, the little electricity-producing mutant that followed Cross around almost seemed to be having fun with cracking down on every one of the weirder enemies they ran into. The Tanks were often found with their eyes boiled out of their faces and little burns shaped like handprints all over them, and sometimes Ramirez would look up and see a Hunter tackled out of a midair pounce and slammed into the concrete two stories down, head-first.

As for the soldiers without superpowers, it was a little odd to see the skills they'd honed for totally different purposes put to use.

Dunn wasn't a whole lot of use, with the entire situation apparently having broken his mind worse than after the Manhattan thing, but he was also paranoid as all hell and could shoot the little cackling Jockeys practically from around corners. And he'd freaked out so badly on a Smoker that'd grabbed him that even the BlackWatch captain had been impressed by the carnage.

The BlackWatch captain himself was no slouch, despite being nearly twice Ramirez's age and covered in scars. He could duck and dodge with the best, and one time a Charger had tried to knock him off a building while they were scouting around for a place to rest for a few hours. Cross had sidestepped the hulking bastard and cracked it so hard in the face with his shock baton that it'd wandered right off an eighty-foot drop while stunned and chocking on its own windpipe.

Assuming they made it back to civilization, Ramirez figured he owed the man a few drinks.

As for Ramirez himself…for better or for worse, he'd started picking up little jars of Boomer bile and improvised pipe bombs from places they'd stayed. In a strange way, it was fun to turn the tables on the belching, irritating fuckers that seemed so intent on calling hordes nigh-continuously. And wiping out huge groups of Infected by having them go on suicidal chases after explosives? Yeah, that was fun, too.

But was all of it fun and games, especially with their new toys and skills? Fighting through the abandoned sugar mill, which had been infested with Witches until they'd put Semtex over all the exits and blown the damn thing to kingdom come? Not so much. Ramirez had needed Dunn to stitch him up after that fiasco, which was just about all the other Ranger had had the presence of mind to do that didn't involve combat. It was a little sad.

They hacked their way past the newest horde before finding a place to rest—one that THOR had easily cleared out using nothing but his claws, as usual—and as they were bedding down Ramirez sighed. Looking at the place they'd chosen—a balloon factory, of all places—was reminded of the incident in the carnival, with all the zombie clowns. That had been the last time Dunn had been particularly coherent—the BlackWatch captain had just looked at the man and shrugged before smashing a squeaky-shoed bastard in the face with a garden gnome. Ramirez remembered wondering what the man's idea of a day job was. Specifically, he remembered thinking, Well, now I'm never going to sleep again.

And now he had insomnia. Hooray.

The next day somehow managed to suck even more than the previous one had.

It was something like the fifth day of nonstop shooting once THOR had run ahead looking for Hunters. That part never really changed—their group psychopath would hunt down anything that didn't look or act like a normal Infected and leave Ramirez, Dunn, and Cross to kill the rest of the crowds en masse. Ramirez usually ran out of pipe bombs and boomer bile on days like this, and today was no exception.

Still, they managed to clear the street through judicious use of firepower. Or, at least they thought of it like that. In reality, they sprayed anything that moved with bullets.

Eventually, like he always did, THOR came back. But this time he was running back—and being trailed by four apparently normal humans. Who were all being chased by another horde of flesh-eating zombies.

Ramirez found himself agreeing with both of his companions when Cross groaned and said, "Well, fuck," and when Dunn panicked and started screaming.

That was when THOR made an abrupt about-face and ducked past the humans, running full pelt at the horde. Ramirez ducked under a leaping Hunter, which was deftly deterred once Cross kicked it in the face, and then the entire situation seemed to explode like a MOAB had gone off.

Or maybe that was just THOR letting loose with the lightning, all at once. Given that charred bits of people were falling from the sky, Ramirez guessed it was the latter.

About six hours later, all eight of them were gathered on an isolated rooftop after making sure the Infected couldn't get anywhere near without tripping the C4-linked traps lining the only doorway. THOR had eagerly cleared out the Hunters and Smokers in the area after that. It was a bit of a miracle, but Dunn had somehow managed to regain enough of his mental stability to check everyone over for injuries and had shot a Smoker on a nearby rooftop while in the middle of telling THOR to stop attempting to act like ZEUS. Now THOR was curled up near the edge of the roof, sort of like a cat but with more menace, and Dunn had lapsed back into his ignoring-all-people-and-conversation mindset.

"You're all from the Army?" asked the middle-aged black man who had identified himself as Coach.

Ramirez glanced at Cross, who was looking at the remains of the city below, and at Dunn, who was going over the medical supplies while clicking his tongue in disapproval, before saying, "Pretty much. Dunn and I are Army Rangers. And Cross is…is that classified?"

The older soldier nodded.

Ramirez turned back to the civilians. "Okay…but his outfit's basically Army, but their job is aggressive disease control. And the psycho over there is his responsibility." Ramirez jerked a thumb at THOR, who was looking at all of them and not blinking.

""Aggressive"…?" repeated the black woman with the pink shirt and huge earrings. If Ramirez remembered right, her name was Rochelle.

"Our job is to control outbreaks like this." Cross said, looking back at the group. "By any means necessary."

"So it wasn't CEDA killing the refugees, it was you?" asked the guy with the Bostonian accent and the cheap suit. His name was Nick.

Cross shrugged. "We have a policy for potential carriers. That's all I'm at liberty to say."

The mutant in the corner growled as Nick started to get up.

"I wouldn't do that." Ramirez said, eying their resident mentally-unstable homicidal maniac. "See the psychopath? He likes Cross. If the captain can't kill you, you can bet your cheap suit he can."

"What the hell is he?" said the white kid with the Dixie accent and the baseball cap. Actually, he probably wasn't that much younger than Ramirez was, but the way he talked threw him off. From the round of introductions, Ramirez remembered the guy's name was Ellis. Weird name. "I mean, we've seen some freaky shit…"

Ramirez shrugged. "He's a mutant. A mutant what, hell if I know, but he's a good siege-breaker and likes killing things."

"What, a tiny thing like that?" Nick said dismissively.

In retrospect, that was where all their problems started.

Why there was a helicopter in the air was anyone's guess—as far as Cross knew, there hadn't been any transmissions to the effect of "by the way, we've got a transport helicopter big enough to drop a Stryker in a hot zone flying over New Orleans" in the last few days. Nonetheless, he wasn't any less relieved about finally having a way out of this hellhole than anyone else in their group. Well, except perhaps THOR, who was busy ripping a Charger's head off after having pinned its larger arm under a concrete support beam.

As the chopper descended, Cross wondered what a Boeing CH-47 Chinook was doing so far from an active military base, but he decided he didn't care. Everyone else had already spotted the huge helicopter and they were fighting their way toward it, with THOR bringing up the rear and throwing sparks as he pounded away on the Infected to drive them off.

To Cross's surprise, the rear of the aircraft started to open in midair and a red-haired woman and an old man appeared, with the man carrying what looked like an anti-tank guided missile launcher. The woman signaled to the pilot, who kept the aircraft steady in the air as the old man took aim.

Glancing back, Cross spotted three Tanks charging toward their group of eight and swore mentally as he saw one of them pick up a car. He needn't have worried, though—THOR hit the first two with lightning he'd apparently been saving up for a week and the missile plowed straight through the third in a classic case of death by irony.

The woman shouted something and the next thing anyone knew, they were being yanked onboard the helicopter by two college-age women, a biker, the old man and the redhead from before, and a black guy with a tie who looked like he was, frankly, dealing with the whole situation better than Dunn was. The last ones to be hauled onto the chopper were Cross himself and THOR, mostly because a Smoker had grabbed Cross's ankle and THOR was trying to launch himself at it so he could rip it wide open, but the redhead had cut Cross free with a knife and spoken sharply to the frenzied mutant.

In the end, the chopper was able to take off inside of two minutes—THOR was calmed and now sitting quietly next to the redhead, Dunn was being given sleeping pills so he'd finally calm the fuck down, and Ramirez was already napping on top of a sleeping bag, exhausted. Cross sighed and slumped against the wall of the aircraft, just glad that, for now, the situation was under control for once.

He was, of course, interrupted by a voice. "Hey, is that you, Cross?"

Cross looked up and saw the redhead looking at him curiously. "Do I know you?"

"I should hope so," she said with a grin. "Don't you remember me trying to kill you? I knocked you off a building."

Cross thought about it. So if HECATE was here, then… "So, that means Mercer's here, too?"

"Look up there," she said, pointing at the pilot's seat. While the copilot's seat was also occupied—one of the college-age girls had decided to take up the position—it was hard not to recognize the hood and jacket even from the rear of the aircraft. The woman was talking to the pilot in hushed tones. "He's the pilot."

"He ate the original one," grumbled the biker. "Then he wouldn't let us off. I hate flying."

The woman in pink with the ponytail just sighed. "For the last time, Francis, he. Was. A zombie. The guy was turning as soon as we got on!"

"Vomiting blood, lunging at us, the whole shebang," HECATE agreed solemnly. "Alex ate him for the good of mankind."

"And I couldn't throw him out the fucking window because this isn't an Apache, so don't ask." ZEUS snapped without turning around. "Now everyone shut the hell up or I'm dumping you idiots back in the city and flying this rig to Costa Rica."

HECATE grinned. "He's been in a shitty mood all week. We found a few fuel depots, but he blew one up by accident so we had to grab a new helicopter."

"From who?" Cross asked, despite already knowing the answer. The Marines sure as hell didn't use Chinooks.

"The United States Army, of course." HECATE told him. She gave a mischievous little giggle. "With you guys on board, we've got a former Green Beret, two Army Rangers, one BlackWatch captain and a BlackWatch psych ward escapee, along with me and Alex. And a mess of civilians, too. We've all been through the world's biggest shooting gallery, and it wasn't fun, but now we're out of the woods until this helicopter runs out of fuel. So, now that you're safe for the moment, what're you going to do?"

Cross gave her a Look and then glanced at the rest of the passengers. Ellis was regaling the girl in pink with tales of zombie slaying, complete with hand motions. Nick was griping (but not too loudly, in case THOR took offence and attacked him again) and being joined by Rochelle and the biker, who seemed to get along well enough. Coach and the old man were talking strategy with the office peon. Dunn and Ramirez were both sleeping, as was THOR. ZEUS was keeping them on track due west, and the girl who'd been talking to him was apparently going to take a nap.

"We're all tired," he said at last. "I'm going to sleep and forget this ever happened for a while. You?"

Her smile became a very faint one. "Same here." She yawned and grabbed a survival blanket, then spread it over THOR and herself and curled up to sleep.

And off they flew into an uncertain tomorrow.

A/N: This is a result of a random idea involving too little sleep and hanging out on the Prototype_fic Livejournal comm, as well as DarkGidora's forum. Hope you all thought it was fun.