DEADLOCK— INFECTION AU — PROLOGUE
A great veil lifted itself from the eyes of humankind, forcing them into the throes of a world anew, a world they are forced to adjust to or perish.
The first Maelstrom had left its mark. Earth, laid bare, raw, brimming with chaotic energy in this unnatural state. The bursts of energy spat forth from its core like fireworks dancing along the surface. Like a beacon, this energy drew many worlds into one.
Earth as humans knew it became otherworldly, unpredictable, a plane no longer their own. It would be an understatement to say that humanity suffered a blow following the spillage of realities, one into another like an overflowing basin of an ancient, extravagantly chiseled fountain. Countless lives had been lost, by way of slaughter, being eaten up by beasts unknown. Some humans were torn apart for the simple sport of it or thrown into dimensions with no exit, to starve or otherwise discover the horrors that dwell within.
Those born without the exceedingly rare ability to use magic without any sort of enhancement were not completely defenseless, however. There were two fields that humans excelled at above most other dimensions, being that of mechanical prowess and what some call the ‘indomitable human spirit’.
With the Maelstrom’s boom of inter-dimensional discovery came a previously unknown and under-researched topic: magic. It had always existed, but humans’ understanding of magic was rudimentary; their ability to discover through science, not to mention the ambitious technological titan that much of the modern world had become led them to combine this cornucopia of discovery into something significantly more comprehensible…
Alchemy didn’t take long to become a human specialty. It was versatile, often enchantments were adaptable to a user’s needs and, compared to the consistent service of a biologically adept magic being such as an Ixian, was far more accessible than any other means of protection in this new world. Of course, this still put humans at a disadvantage even when Earth was their home playing field, as most other beings simply were born with magic and other natural traits that made them particularly dangerous or hard to kill. Some humans also rejected the use of alchemy or often had to resort to paying professionals for protection.
Some humans took things too far, as they do. These heathens would violate the laws of science, technology, and violate the natural way things are meant to be. Menaces to society who threatened it as a whole, in their pursuit of their own goals.
It’s unclear if what happened had anything to do with the consequences of a particularly unstoppable, unstable human spirit. How long had things really taken to get this bad? What was this?
It ravaged magical, other-worldly beings and humans alike. Such poor, infected souls oddly did not reflect that of what society had understood of the undead; they’d retain their sense, their personality, but would be extremely violent. They acted like starved animals with blindfolds. The infected pursue anyone with the intent of spreading the ailment with varying degrees of consciousness, the lowest on the rung of sentience resembling nothing more than a ‘zombie’. They did not rot, however; they would sustain terrible injuries, yes, but they were festering with infection, bubbling and worsening but merely ignored by the host. It was a flip of the coin whether or not such injuries would heal on their own.
It takes hold of a host through blood to open-wound contact, and from there it would take about two weeks for the infection to start at mild flu-like symptoms to completely ravaging their bodies.
Things took a sharp downward turn the moment the Doorman had been infected; the Baroness, previously known as a safe haven during the first stages of the epidemic, was now a festering, nearly breathing entity all of its own, a nest of infected entities within and without its walls. What’s terrifying, though perhaps expected, was that the Doorman was one of the few infected that retained most of his consciousness. It was warped and twisted, and made him a ruthless, monstrous force against the survivors, often breaching past safe havens using his doors where the regular infected would then plug up the pathway with their eager, thrashing bodies. Occasionally a safe zone would be breached by him and him alone. Little is known about these incidents.
Following the infection taking hold of the Baroness, nearby there were few options for those whose lives revolved around the surrounding blocks. If they’d even survived this far. Organizations like the Baxter Society were doing what they could, but their resources were being stretched extremely thin, skimming the first layer of scum from the pond in what felt like a fruitless attempt at maintaining hope for civilians.
A few streets away was a hotel known as The Stump; back in its heyday it was one of the only rivals the Baroness had when it came to notoriously fantastic service and luxury for those who had the privilege to visit. Now, it, and the couple of blocks to either side of it, served as the sole remaining safe haven in that area of the Cursed Apple.
At the head of safe zone management was, interestingly enough, a perfectly ordinary human, alongside the Minotaur who owned and ran The Stump back when things were normal. They happened to be more personable than Boss, who was short tempered and sheepish. It was a necessity for someone like Marv to step in when conflict arose or the survivors needed guidance on what to do to keep their former boss out.
There were two months left until the Ritual would once more commence and wish for this infectious nightmare to end; the question was, can they make it?
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