Prototype fanfiction

[Shadowed Valor]

Prototype: The Uncivil War

He wasn’t always this quiet. He used to be normal. He just to have a job, a girlfriend, and more. He had a life. All that changed after the infection spread in Manhattan. His family had turned into lifeless, walking corpses, and his girlfriend was killed by men wearing black suits. Yet somehow, he survived that chaos. That hell.

He walked the streets filled with death and infectious sludge. As the situation grasped his shellshocked heart, he sat on a vacant, broken bench in the middle of Times Square. The tears started to form. He would not have to cry himself to sleep, however, as the voices of men wearing black gas masks come up from behind him and knock him into the ground.

~

He wakes up, dazed and confused, in what seems like a hospital room. That was his guess, anyway, as the lights above him signified illumination for an operation. A shadow looms over him and pokes the young man’s torso. The doctor had yet to realize his patient had just regained consciousness.

“Bring me the data chart on the table over there.” a tall shadow said, looming over the boy. “Yes, doctor!” was the response from the right of the now aware teenager. Another shadow pops up and hands a black square to the other.

“We’ll commence the operation on patient number 4057,” the doctor says, looking at the notes his assistant handed him. “Name of subject is Thompson, Kyle R. Date is October 31, 2011.”

Three years! What happened in between? What’s going on? These thoughts cycled through Kyle’s mind until he felt like he was going to burst out of his own body. His eyes twitched uncontrollably, and his head began to ache.

“I am now taking the scalpel and preparing to dissect the lower part of the torso, hoping to see any major changes to the body--!” The doctor stops in mid-sentence, just now noticing Kyle’s erratic motions. “He’s awake! Everybody out of the building! Now! Prepare the detonation charges!”

Kyle slid off of the table, still grabbing his throbbing head. The sounds of footsteps and screaming only made his headache worse. “God dammit. Where am I?” were the first words that popped out of his mouth since waking up. His question, however, would go unanswered as a female voice relays dire information to everyone in the building: “Attention, C4 charges are live. Please clear the area. Thirty seconds until detonation. I repeat, C4 charges are now live...”

As the PA system informed the staff of the explosives, Kyle stumbled out of the room and into a white hallway, devoid of any living beings save for the flies and the occasional rat. “Twenty seconds until detonation.” The PA reminded.

“Son of a b***h!” Kyle yelled, beginning to stride down the hallway, looking for a flight of stairs to run down. He finally came across the fire escape out the window. As he put one leg out, someone from below yelled “********! He’s getting out from the fire escape! Blow it! Blow it now!”

Before Kyle could decipher what they said, a sudden heat emitted from behind him. As he looked back at the inferno rushing towards him, he decided then and there that he would rather be a new paint job for the pavement than a burn victim. So he jumped. He pushed with all of his strength and will to get away from the oven’s increasing range.

How far he leaped, however, was something he did not expect. And then his vision faded to black, passing out in mid-air.

--

The young man woke up on a rooftop, with a cat licking his blackened face. As he pushed himself up, the cat ran off to join his other alley friends. Kyle gave the feline one last look before he turned around to see the building he was in only moments ago in a raging blaze.

Kyle carefully peaked over the ledge to see not firefighters trying to put out the fire, but doctors standing around a helicopter that had just landed. From it, men in black uniforms emerged yielding M16s and grenade launchers, talking to the panicking doctors.

“Where is the infected one?” one of them said. Or, at least, that’s what Kyle thinks he said. The helicopter was making too much noise to confirm anything. What he was able to hear, though, was the doctor’s response. He seemed to be more angry and confused than the black-suited soldiers, which made his voice that much clearer over the propellers.

“Oh, you mean the freak-show that just suddenly came to life right on the slab?” the doctor yelled, “Well, I don’t ******** know! The only thing I could see was his body flying out of that window! He probably escaped and is now looking for blood!”

They didn’t assume I was dead? Kyle thought, I just jumped out of a window from an explosion! Hey, come to think of it, I really should be pushing daisies by now...

He wasn’t able to complete his thought before he heard gunshots from below. The teenager looked down on the ground and saw the men in black board the helicopter, leaving a trail of deceased doctors and nurses in their wake.

“Oh s**t.” was all Kyle could make of the situation. “If they find me, I’m dead! For some reason, they want me dead! Why do they want me dead? I should be dead by now! Dead, dead, dead!”

The insanity of the situation was enough to make him keel over and vomit. But he only paced back and forth and tried to sort out what just happened. “Ah, ******** it!” he decided, and climbed down the building he was on via the fire escape.

His feet met the wet pavement with a light splash, such was the greeting with most dark alleyways. He rubbed his arms to warm himself up from the autumn weather. It was at this point, much to his embarrassment, that he was still in a hospital gown. He looked around for something that could pass as clothing and spotted a drunk, homeless person that was staring at Kyle as though he were from outer space. The gown-dawning teenager did not really care who thought of him at the moment and walked up to the man. “Excuse me, sir! I need your coat! I’ll pay you for your troubles--!”

The half-sober hobo threw off his coat and, yelling “Don’t kill me!”, ran off in the opposite direction. I guess he thought I was a loon, Kyle thought, which is fine by me.

He graciously took the coat from the ground and wrapped it around his body. It wreaked of alcohol and drugs, but at least he was warm. “Now I just need to find out where the hell I am.” he announces to no one in particular, and walks out of the alleyway.

~

“He’s escaped!?” a Blackwatch soldier yells, smashing his fist on the table. “That’s the third one that’s run off so far! Any more and we’ll have to nuke the entire city!”

“Sorry, sir!” another soldier responds, “We failed to see him upon landing, but I’m sure he could not have gone too far.”

“Then why aren’t you out there looking for him?” the leader snarls.

“Bad weather is rolling in, sir.” the solider informs his superior, “Our helicopters would have gotten lost in the weather, as well as many other problems.”

“Such as...?”

“Radar jamming, surprise attack from other infectious life forms, and so on. You should know this by now, sir. We can’t advance or stand our ground when winter comes around.”

“I know exactly what it’s like.” the leader growled, clenching the hot cup of coffee in his hand. “However, the destruction of the BLACKLIGHT virus take precedence over the safety of the men. If you continue to give the enemy space during hard times, they will only grow stronger and multiply.”

His face obstructed by his mask, the soldier’s eyebrows arch downward in contempt toward his commanding officer. Nevertheless, he salutes him and walks out of the room, prepared to order his men to go back into the city.

The leader resumes sipping his coffee as he turns on the television, switching it to the news.

“--which brings the deathtoll to 550,000 human beings, including the soldiers fighting there. If the infection spreads and the fighting continues, experts hypothesize that one year from now the human race will be extinct. Shelters are already being made to accommodate apocalyptic condtions. And now for your local weather.”

~  

[Faust Collins]

Heres one, (credit to the guy at gamespot.com for the base)
Army sniper first class Michael Sharpe juggled three gas grenades for his audience of 11 in the locker room. Always one to showboat, Sharpe loved to do stupid things, especially when it could get him time in the hole from his commanding officer.

"Hey man, you think you can do one more?" Sharpe's spotter Ortiz asked. He lobbed another gas grenade Sharpe's way, nearly catching him by surprise only to have Sharpe deftly catch it and add it to his aerial arsenal.

"Hah, gotta try harder than that, Ortiz," Sharpe said, an arrogant smile across his lips. Not a second later, the locker room's door burst open as commanding officer Hamilton blared at Sharpe with the concussive force of a depth charge.

"SHARPE!"

The cocky sniper was so startled, he nearly lost control of his ordinance, yet managed to catch all four in his arms, where he set them down and snapped to attention, along with the rest of his unit. "Sir! I was, uh.."

"CAN IT, SHARPE! I CATCH YOU JUGGLING GRENADES ONE MORE TIME, I'LL DEEP FRY YOU ONE IN A CHIMICHANGA AND YOU CAN EAT IT SMOTHERED WITH YOUR CHOICE OF SAUCE, YOU GOT ME SOLDIER!"

Already at attention, Sharpe forced himself to become even stiffer as he responded, "SIR! YES, SIR!"

Hamilton eyed his unit, frustrated that he still had a wild one in his squad that others looked up to. He'd have to work on that later, because now there are much more pressing matters at hand. "Debriefing in the meeting room, as of 10 minutes ago! MOVE!" Hamilton left the locker room, leaving his intimidating aura in the room, urging the men to get their suits on and head to the meeting room.

"Dumbass," Ortiz snipped at Sharpe, and was met with a wet towel to the face.

**********

When the team took their seats, Hamilton turned on the projector. Several pictures of a war-torn Manhattan were displayed on the roll-down screen. Bodies were strewn across the ground, while other bodies were loping around, clearly deformed. The group of soldiers began to murmur to themselves, when Hamilton cut them off.

"What you are looking at is a city under siege by a biological weapons attack." He clicked on his projector's remote, showing more devastation. "The people of Manhattan are being mutated into an enemy none of us has ever experienced before." Advancing to another slide, it showed a group of soldiers draped in black body armor with special goggles on their faces. "These are BLACKWATCH operatives, a special task force designed to try to fight back the infection. We are going to be deployed in the heart of Manhattan island to supplement this task force and to take down a special target."

The next slide showed a man wearing a jacket with a gray hoodie.Where his left arm was, a braided cord of darkened tissue dangled, with sharp blades that looked almost like a set of claws. "This is Alex Mercer. He's not like the rest of the infected. He's far more dangerous. He's also impervious to just about everything they've thrown at him."

Another sniper, Calloway, rose his hand, and waited for Hamilton's nod of acknowledgement."Sir, if I may, if Mercer's invulnerable to attack, what good can we do?"

"Good question, Calloway." He advanced a slide, showing the hooded man lying on the ground, head completely mutilated. "This is a rare shot of Mercer down. One of the BLACKWATCH soldiers was lucky enough to land a headshot, but before they could contain the subject, Mercer regenerated, and then sent out a radial of razor sharp tendrils, killing everyone in the area, and then fleeing the zone. What we will be doing as a sniper squad is laying down suppressive firepower on Alex Mercer's head long enough for BLACKWATCH to contain him. It seems the only way to really slow Mercer down is to keep the head blown apart. He immediately regenerates when shot anywhere else on his body."

Another hand rose.

"Yes, McClearly?"

"What else can we expect on that island?"

Hamilton advanced more slides. "Your most common enemy are infected civilians but they pose very little threat. In fact, don't bother wasting ammo on them. You can simply club them with the butts of your rifles to get past them. What you need to be careful of are these things." He clicked his remote again, showing four grotesque pink creatures larger than grizzly bears. "BLACKWATCH calls them Hunters. They're fast, tough, and relentless. Do whatever you have to in order to take them down. Any other questions?"

The room was silent.

"Alright, we're breaking up into three teams of four. Each team will be dropped in hot from helicopter, and will then split up into pairs to occupy adjacent buildings along this section of Broadway." Hamilton ran his finger down the map, indicating where they'll be landing. "When you reach the buildings, you are to enter and immediately take position on each building's top floor. We will NOT be using roofs, as Mercer is capable of jumping extremely high, and we'd only be making ourself out as sitting ducks. When you get a shot, you take it. Now gear up and head to the choppers."

**********

As the three helicopters flew in from the southwest and into Manhattan airspace, they took in the gravity of the situation. The entire skyline was engulfed in not just smoke, but a red hue. Buildings were either on fire or in rubble, or nearly on the way to collapsing. It was like 9/11 all over again, but on a much broader scale. The helicopters broke tight formation and began to spread out along Broadway approaching their drop-zones, when chaos from the ground met the air.

As one chopper flew along the south side of Broadway, the pilot was alerted by a blaring sound coming from his radar. An object was speeding their way, and at the last second, he barely avoided it by pulling all the way up on the control stick.

"WAS THAT A CAR?!" shouted Allendale, completely shocked. He looked down on the street below, and he saw a giant worm-like creature that had emerged from the concrete like an overgrown tree sapling. It picked up another vehicle, this time a city transit bus, and it leaned its muscular red body back, as if getting ready to catapult the bus at them.

The pilot, Chandler, saw the creature as well, and he already prepared himself for evasive maneuvers then the city bus exploded in the hydra's grip, ripping its jaws apart like a firecracker inside a pineapple. The soldiers traced where the shot came from, and saw a heavily armored tank barrelling its way down Broadway looking for its next target. They all raised their hands towards the tank and shouted out cheers of appreciation and encouragement.

What happened next was something completely unexpected and shocking. Another one of the hydras, this time nealry twice as large, rose out of the ground directly underneath the rumbling tank, flipping it over like an iron turtle. The mutant snake lashed out at the tank, twirled its body underneath its prey, and lift it off the ground, where it began to slam it onto the street. The soldiers in the helicopter could only watch in helplessness as the subterranean monster continued its onslaught, this time swinging the bulky tank into a building.

The pilot was so mesmerized by this fantastical assault that he stopped flying forward and left the chopper hovering in place. The jolt from the tank being sent into the building caused such a violent shock inside the gunner's chamber that it detonated the round, and by a most unfortunate coincidence, the angle of the barrel was perfectly lined up with the treading helicopter. The pilot had no time to react, and the accidental firing of the artillery round turned the chopper into a fireball, expelling fuel, smoke, fire, metal and human body parts all along the south-side of Broadway.

**********

"That... did NOT just happen!" Frazier said, his mouth agape. "I need to get you guys dropped immediately," his voice showing signs of panic.

Frazier's chopper was merely 200 feet from Chandler's. Any closer, and there was a good chance that shrapnel from their helicopter would have taken them down with them. Frazier found his landing point and began to descend, and just as his team clipped themselves to their drop-lines, a weight attached itself to the left wing, and began to set the copter off balance. One of the men screamed and opened fire, pelting the hunter's head with a full clip of ammunition. As the monster let go dropping back down to the ground, the last round struck the wing, but only doing damage on the surface.

"Barker! Watch your fire!" yelled Frazier. "You shoot my craft again, and I'll shoot you myself."

Embarrassed that he so easily lost control of himself, Barker apologized. "Sorry man, but we got a problem. Look."

Barker looked down, and a herd of hunters circled the helicopter, eagerly awaiting their descent. One hunter climbed up the building adjacent to the aircraft until it reached the roof, and then kicked itself from the water tower directly towards them. Barker anticipated the hunter's pounce, and rose, the hunter missing his prey, crashing through the roof of the building directly below.

"****! I can't land you down here yet. It's too hot. We're going to have to secure this area first. Give me a minute." He flicked his switch guard up and got his missile launcher tubes primed. There was going to be fire below.

**********

Hamilton flew the chopper that carried Sharpe and his partner Ortiz, along with Graham and his spotter Long. They heard over the radio what happened to Chandler's helicopter and the five of them couldn't believe it. The CO, always insisting that he fly his own chopper for drop missions, flew the craft to the northern most part of the Broadway. This area was much more calm in comparison to the other drop-zones, so he was able to immediately lower his craft enough to let his squad rappel down their lines. Once on the ground the four men split into pairs and entered the buildings across the street from each other. He then took off to assist Frazier in clearing the landing zone, entrusting the men he just dropped off with their mission

**********

Frazier had his hands full trying to kill the hunters below him. They were like roaches. He killed one, two more appeared. How many of the things were there?Then a friendly voice appeared on the radio. It was Hamilton.

"Frazier, I am coming to help."

Frazier wiped his brow in belief. "Could definitely use your help, sir."

"Save your missiles, that's an order. I want them saved for those damned snake things. Machine guns only."

"Aye, sir." Frazier opened up on his targets, intersecting his line of fire with Hamilton's across the field of hunters, still making leaps in vain towards their attackers. Several minutes later, the wave of hunters was finally ended.

"Alright Frazier, your landing zone is now clear. Deploy your team."

"Yes si-" Frazier took a second to focus in on an approaching figure emerging from the alleyway.

"What is it, Frazier?" Hamilton inquired. "What do you see?"

"Is that...Mercer?!" he yelled in astonishment.

Hamilton looked the same man Frazier was tracking. "It is! Open fire! Open fire!"

But it was too little, too late. Alex shot skyward like a rocket, and then glided towards Frazier's copter until he got into position directly above it. He then folded his arms inward and let gravity take him down like a bomb as he covered his body with a thick casing of biological armor and punched through the middle of Frazier's chopper, splitting it half, engulfing it in flames. The impact of Mercer's fall pounded the ground so hard, all cars in ten foot radius were toppled over.

Mercer got out of his impact crater and looked at Hamilton, with Hamilton looking back at him. Mercer fled north up Broadway, and Hamilton gave chase.

**********
Ortiz entered first, always taking point. He swept the lobby with his handgun, not detecting any targets. He signaled to Sharpe, and Sharpe followed. They headed to the elevator, hoping that it would still be working, but they weren't too surprised when it wasn't.

"Ah well, I guess we'll have to take the stairs," Ortiz suggested. "Ten flights isn't so bad, right?"

"Piece of cake," Sharpe replied as he slapped his long-time friend on the shoulder. This is what they lived for. Ever since they were paired together five years ago, the two had performed remarkably on each mission. Not only did they excel in the field, they always dominated any marksmanship tournaments they entered. No sniper and spotter functioned better together than Sharpe and Ortiz.

Stairs were good exercise, but it was a bit more work with 50 pounds of gear strapped all over your body. The bulk of the weaponry were the massive sniper rifles they had slung to the backs. They were bolt action, and fired rounds large enough to split an elephant in half. Clearly, these guns would get the job done. BLACKWATCH never had the time to set up an operation like this in the open, which is why Sharpe and Ortiz felt confident they could the job done.

After about the seventh flight, Ortiz began to slow a little bit, trying to catch his breath. He was racing up ahead a bit too fast, and Sharpe came up from behind him. "What? Don't tell me you're getting tired, man! Don't let Hamilton find out, or you'll be doing push-ups for a week."

Trying to conceal the fact that he was winded, he said, "I guess, I dunno man. I wasn't expecting all this." He leaned on the window, trying to look casual, when he was really letting his body rest for a quick spell. He waited for Sharpe to arrive to the landing he was on.

Sharpe looked at him concerned. "You scared, man?"

Ortiz paused. "Yeah, I guess I am. I mean, we've killed a lot of people in our missions in the past, man, but," he paused again, "but those were human! What the hell are we even fighting here, anyway?"

Sharpe, ascending the last step towards Ortiz, put a hand on his shoulder. "Look, man. I'm scared too, but you gotta shake it off. Monster, or human, that's the enemy." He pointed out the window. Ortiz looked behind him, seeing nothing. "The enemy is out there, and whatever it is, it needs to die. You keep focused on that part, and then you can s**t your pants when you get home. Come on, let's go." He gently slapped Ortiz's check, and then took his turn taking point.

"Yeah, you're right, Sharpe. Sorry." He called after him. Sharpe merely said not to worry about it and kept climbing. Ortiz went to lean off the window when it exploded behind him, pelting the back of his head with shards of glass. Before he could even look behind him, massive purple forearms of a hunter gripped him across the chest and began to pull him towards the window.

Ortiz cried out, "SHAAAAARPE!"

His partner turned around, and then nearly tripped over his feet from trying to descend the staircase too fast. The hunter pulled Ortiz back even further, but Ortiz had a death grip on both sides of the window sill. The hunter grew impatient with the struggle, opened its reaping jaws, and sank them into Ortiz's right shoulder, completely crushing his collar bone and severing layers of muscle. Ortiz let go of the right side of the sill, and that's all it took for him to disappear out of the window, plummeting to the ground below with the hunter.

"ORTIIIIIIZ!" Sharpe cried out after him as he hit the landing and sprinted to the window. He reached for his friend's foot as it went over the sill, but missed it by mere centimeters. He looked out of the window, screaming Ortiz's name again, then looked away in horror, as he saw two more hunters tearing away at his partner's flesh. He supressed the urge to vomit and took a few deep breaths. He knew he still had a job to do. He began to ascend the stairs again.

As he approached the tenth floor landing, he heard a window shatter followed by a deep, gurgling growl. He froze, and lay prone on the stairs, looking up. The hunter didn't see him yet, but he knew it knew he was there somewhere. He very slowly unslung his combat shotgun, and even more slowly pulled on the pump to chamber a shell. Just as the tension of the pump gave and the shell was readied, it made a clicking sound just audible enough for the hunter to hear. It turned back to the stairs, saw its newfound prey and leapt.

Sharpe stood up immediately, raised the shotgun and fired point blank into the hunter's head as its sinewy mass came crashing down upon him. He fell backwards with the dead behemoth, tumbling head over heel until he smashed into the wall. Luckily, his neck did not snap, but he felt as if his right wrist did. Damn, that was his trigger hand.

He heard the window smash below him, his attention immediately adverted to the staircase going down. He saw the emerging hunter, reached for a grenade, tried to get back up on his feet, but was taken down again as this new hunter plowed into him like a tackle into a quarterback. The window was driven out of him, but the hunter used too much force jumping up the stairs, and the momentum carried its head directly into the wall behind Sharpe. Stunned for just a second, it was all Sharpe needed to jam the grenade into its mouth.

"Mother," he pulled the pin, "********!" He kicked the hunter square in its torso sending the monster careening backwards down the stairs. Sharpe ran up the stairs to avoid the blast, smiling as the concussive force sent a shockwave through the steps below his feet and up his legs.

Finally, he reached the window of the tenth floor. This is where he needed to be, observing Broadway directly beneath him. He grabbed a table, drug it to the window, smashed it out and unslung his cannon of a sniper rifle and set up its tripod. He was crippled not only with his right hand, but not having his spotter either. He'd have to do the spotting and firing all in one. It would take more time this way, but he knew there was no more determined soldier than he.

The street was populated by stragglers, just the average infected civilians that only posed a threat to people who didn't know how to run around them. They were numerous, but they didn't appear to be aggressive just yet. He swept his scope all up and down the spanning six lane wide stretch of Broadway looking for anymore of those hunters. Those were the real problems. He didn't want to spot one to kill and protect himself. He wanted to spot one and kill it for Ortiz.

Nothing. No targets at all. He'd been looking for 15 straight minutes for Alex Mercer, or a hunter or even a infected civilian foaming at the mouth that looked at him funny. Where the hell was the action? Then, he got the buzz on his radio. It was Hamilton.

"Alpha teams, I have Mercer on the run. He is heading your way! Prepare to acquire target, and take him down!"

"Roger that," Sharpe replied into his radio on his collar. He looked out south down the street, and in just a couple of moments later, Mercer was running up the street, incredibly fast. He must have been doing 60, maybe even 70 miles an hour. His feet were kicking a trail of concrete rubble and dust. He saw rounds being fired at Mercer, coming from Graham in the building down the street.

Mercer was moving too fast for Graham to hit, but Sharpe still had a more straight-forward angle. He could make this shot easily, had he not broken his right hand. Still, he had to try with his left. He braced with his right forearm, watched Mercer become bigger in the scope's crosshair, aimed...."Target acquired. Taking the shot," and fired!

The kickback was too much for Sharpe's left shoulder, and it sent him staggering back a little. He quickly looked back in his scope, and found Mercer. He was down, but it was not a headshot. His left arm was completely severed from his torso, but already, tendrils from Mercer's body and his arm began flailing outwards, looking for each other to grab ahold of and reattach. Sharpe brought the crosshairs on Alex's head again, but then something happened.

Sensing someone had been injured, the once docile mob of infected civilians became ravenous and instantaneously crowded Mercer. Sharpe just lost his target. He looked out towards the mob, then back in his scope, trying desperately to spot Mercer in the pile of infected. Then, like a volcanic eruption, the infected bodies flew into the air, scattered in all directions. Sharped blinked twice, not believing what he just saw, but then returned to his hunt for Mercer. Nothing. Mercer had vanished.

"SIT REP!" barked Hamilton over the radio.

Sharpe nearly doubled over from the cold feeling in his gut, and almost choked on his words, "I lost him. I shot him, but it was not a headshot, and then I just... I lost him in the crowed. Graham, you got anything?"

"Negative. I couldn't even hit the son of a b***h, he was moving too fast."

Sharpe then saw Hamilton's chopper flying their way. He kept scanning for Mercer, but kept coming up empty, until he noticed one particular infected individual. He wasn't acting like the others, dazed and confused. No, he was acting aware. Aware, and angry. He kept watching this citizen, and that's when he saw it. He leapt up after Hamilton's chopper, flung his arm like a whip where it clung to the side of the vehicle, and then yanked himself up to the cockpit.

Sharpe took aim on what he now figured to be was Mercer. Unbelieveable. He took on the appearance of one of the citizens! No time for admiration, though. He had to take him out! NO! Hamilton's panicking, and he's spun the helicopter into a 180! Sharpe lost him again!

"HAMILTON! TURN IT BACK AROUND! I CAN GET HIM! TURN IT BACK AROUND," screamed Sharpe through the radio. But no response, that was, until Hamilton screamed, followed by a gushy sound, as his throat was slit by Mercer's clawed hand.

Sharpe grated his teeth, and he began to see red. "I'm going to ******** kill you, Mercer," he whispered to himself. The chopper turned back around. He expected to see Mercer in the cockpit, but what he saw instead.. was Hamilton! "No!" He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. No, it's not Hamiltion. It's just Mercer disguised as Hamilton. He should have fired right then and there, but it was too late. The chopper's nose tilted towards Graham and Long's location, and four rockets shout out from the tubes, slamming into the building, spewing its contents of wood, brick, mortar and rebar across both ways of Broadway.

"NOOOOOOO!" Sharpe yelled to himself. He was losing focus, and barely noticed Mercer positioning the copter towards him. He closed his eyes, and waited for firery death. It didn't come. He opened his eyes, and looked back in the scope, and saw Mercer looking around the control panel. Suddenly, he realized Mercer was out of ammo! Now was his chance! The glass would probably be too strong to shoot through, and even if it wasn't, it would surely deflect the shot. Only one way.

He raised his scope until the spinning rotor shaft was zeroed in, and then fired. At super sonic force, the round contained enough energy to deliver an impact strong enough to break the shaft apart to the point that the rotors lost stability and helicopter wobbled like a boat in rough water. The chopper turned to the left, and Sharpe aimed again, this time at the fuel tank. He punched a round home, and ignited the copter into a fiery concoction of light and smoke, and the distorted metal shell that was once a helicopter slammed to the ground.

Sharpe studied the wreckage intensley, looking for any sign of Alex Mercer. He couldn't see anything. The smoke was too thick. Then, like a ghost out of a nightmare, Alex shot straight out of the burning rubble and seemed to fly directly towards him. He put Mercer back in his sights, and just before he was about to send a bullet clear down the middle of Mercer's virus ridden body, he changed direction in mid-air!

Alex dropped to the ground, then bounded high up into the air, far enough to the left of Mercer that he was out of view. Sharpe leaned out of the window to try to relocate his target, and then he noticed him running right along the wall of the building he was in! Sharpe tried to duck back into the building, but it was too late. Mercer transformed his left arm into the whip he used once before, and lassoed Sharpe around the neck, jumped off the face of the building, taking the sniper up with him, flung him over the railing and then when Alex landed on the ground, he impaled Sharpe in the ribs.

Sharpe coughed up blood. "Go ahead, kill me, you ******** Mercer looked at the dying man with his cold red eyes. "Oh, I'll be a doing a lot more that just that." As if melting like a wax figure left in the sun, Mercer's body turned into a mass of oily tendrils, sticking into Sharpe's body. The tendrils wrapped out the dead sniper and pulled him into Mercer. Alex was consuming Sharpe's being; his body and his mind.

For a split second, Alex lay on all fours, letting Sharpe's knowledge meld with his own. Becoming aware of the world around him again, he got back up to his feet. He saw three grenades that had dislodged from Sharpe's outfit as he was consuming him, and he bent down to pick them up. He looked at the grenades, instantly familiar with them, and began to juggle them as he walked along the rooftop, waiting for BLACKWATCH to catch up with him so he could show them the new trick he just learned.

creepy ending, working on one ALL MAH OWN!