Prototype: Prototype, #2

By Aaron Abilene

A squad of super soldiers continue their fight for survival against a corrupt government and its creations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Syphon Creative
• Release date: Apr 18, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224415038

Book preview

Prototype

Prototype, Volume 2

Aaron Abilene

Published by Syphon Creative, 2024.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

PROTOTYPE

First edition. April 18, 2024.

Copyright © 2024 Aaron Abilene.

Written by Aaron Abilene.

Also by Aaron Abilene

505

505: Resurrection

Balls

Dead Awake (Coming Soon)

Before The Dead Awake (Coming Soon)

Carnival Game

Full Moon Howl

Donovan

Shades of Z

Deadeye

Deadeye & Friends

Cowboys Vs Aliens

Ferris

Life in Prescott (Coming Soon)

Afterlife in Love (Coming Soon)

Island

Paradise Island

The Lost Island

The Lost Island 2

The Lost Island 3

The Island 2

Pandemic

Pandemic (Coming Soon)

Prototype

Prototype

The Compound

Slacker

Slacker 2

Slacker: Dead Man Walkin'

Texas

A Vampire in Texas

Thomas

Quarantine

Contagion

Eradication

Isolation

Immune

Pathogen

Bloodline (Coming Soon)

Decontaminated (Coming Soon)

Virus

Raising Hell

Zombie Bride

Zombie Bride

Zombie Bride 2

Zombie Bride 3

Standalone

The Victims of Pinocchio

A Christmas Nightmare

Pain

Fat Jesus

A Zombie's Revenge

505

The Headhunter

Crash

Tranq

The Island

Dog

The Quiet Man

Joe Superhero

Feral

Good Guys

Devil Child of Texas

Romeo and Juliet and Zombies

The Gamer

Becoming Alpha

Dead West

Small Town Blues

Shades of Z: Redux

The Gift of Death

Killer Claus

Skarred

Home Sweet Home

Alligator Allan

10 Days

Army of The Dumbest Dead

Kid

The Cult of Stupid

9 Time Felon

Slater

Bad Review: Hannah Dies

Me Again

Maurice and Me

Breaking Wind

The Family Business

Lightning Rider : Better Days

Lazy Boyz (Coming Soon)

Sparkles The Vampire Clown (Coming Soon)

From The Future, Stuck in The Past (Coming Soon)

Honest John (Coming Soon)

She's Psycho (Coming Soon)

Vicious Cycle (Coming Soon)

Romeo and Juliet: True Love Conquers All (Coming Soon)

Hunting Sarah (Coming Soon)

Random Acts of Stupidity (Coming Soon)

Born Killer (Coming Soon)

The Abducted (Coming Soon)

Broken Man (Coming Soon)

Graham Hiney (Coming Soon)

Paper Soldiers (Coming Soon)

Zartan (Coming Soon)

The Firsts in Life (Coming Soon)

Giant Baby (Coming Soon)

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Also By Aaron Abilene

Prototype

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Also By Aaron Abilene

Prototype

Written by Aaron Abilene

The heavy metal door groaned its protest, a sound swallowed by the relentless wind that carried ash and decay across the barren landscape. From within the bowels of the earth, figures emerged, silhouettes against the pervasive gloom of a world undone. Their movement was purposeful, a silent ballet choreographed in the language of survival. As one, the super soldiers stepped from their subterranean refuge, their bodies humming with pent-up energy, primed for the unforgiving reality that awaited them outside.

Jake was first to breach the threshold, his form crackling with arcs of blue-white electricity that danced along his skin like living tattoos. The stark light cast by his charged aura cut through the darkness, throwing sharp-edged shadows that seemed to flinch away from his presence. His eyes, aglow with an internal storm, scanned the desolation with a warrior's vigilance. A smirk played on his lips, betraying a hint of dark humor—an acknowledgment of the absurdity of their existence, warriors bred for an apocalypse, thriving in a world that had already ended.

Nice of you to bring the fireworks, Jake, came a voice from behind, the words wrapped in the gravelly timbre that belonged to this wasteland.

Someone's gotta light up this party, Jake shot back, the edge of his humor as jagged as the ruins surrounding them. There was no mirth in this world any longer; even laughter was laced with barbs. They were untamed forces, all of them, ready to unleash hell upon whatever remnants dared to challenge their dominion over this broken earth.

The super soldiers stood at the precipice of their haven, a fortress of steel and concrete that had shielded them from the chaos of the surface. Now, it was time to step beyond its protective embrace. Time to face the nightmarish symphony of destruction that played endlessly beyond these walls.

The electric glow emanating from Jake illuminated the path forward, a beacon for his comrades who moved with lethal grace beside him. They were an echo of humanity's last desperate gambit—the final hand played in a game where the stakes were existence itself.

Trish emerged from the shadow of the bunker, her eyes piercing through the murk like twin beams. The world around them was a canvas of destruction, every angle a potential ambush point, every sound a harbinger of death. But she was not one to be ambushed. Her mind reached out, feeling the rubble and twisted metal as extensions of herself, ready to manipulate at will. There was a serenity in her focus, a calm amidst the storm of ruin that whirled about them.

Keep your eyes peeled, she murmured, though it was unnecessary. Her powers were their eyes, sweeping the landscape with an invisible touch. She could feel the heft of broken concrete slabs, sense the sharp edges of exposed rebar, all poised to become weapons at her mental command.

Beside her, Sammi stepped into view, her form a stark contrast to the ethereal quality of Trish's presence. Where Trish was the silent assassin, Sammi was the brawn, the unbreakable shield. She surveyed the terrain with a steely gaze, her stance wide, every muscle coiled like springs wrought from steel itself. The night air seemed to quiver around her, as if aware of the contained power within her towering frame.

Quiet as the grave out here, Sammi grunted, though her voice carried an undercurrent of irony. For them, silence was more than just an absence of noise—it was a prelude to the pandemonium they knew too well.

Graves are louder than you'd think, Trish shot back dryly, her telekinetic senses alert for the slightest disturbance. They're filled with whispers of the past.

Let's hope the dead keep their secrets tonight, Sammi replied with a smirk that didn't quite reach her vigilant eyes. She flexed her arms subtly, relishing the tension in her sinews, ready to unleash devastation should the quiet break.

The two women stood back-to-back for a fleeting moment, a tableau of readiness, the synergy between mind and might palpable in the charged air. They were the sentinels at the threshold, the first line of defiance against the encroaching chaos of their ravaged world. Together, they waited for the night to make its move, the comedy of their grim reality hanging between them like a curtain about to rise on the final act of a play no one wished to see.

Wess's silhouette contorted, a grotesque dance of shadow and flesh as he stepped through the bunker's steel jaws. The seams of his uniform stretched and twisted with him, the fabric a living extension of his mutable form. To an onlooker, it might seem like a trick of the dim light—his features blurred at the edges, not fully committing to any one shape. He was a chameleon woven from muscle and bone; a man unbound by the constrictions of his own skin.

Bit of overkill with the morphing, don't you think? came a voice that was barely a whisper, yet Wess caught it with the keen ear of whatever form he had chosen.

Never know when you'll need to be a rat in a world full of snakes, Wess replied in a tone that slithered between humor and warning. As he moved, his body settled into something more human, more manageable for the coming battle. His eyes, however, remained alert—a predator's gaze scanning the horizon for prey or peril.

The shadows themselves seemed to part respectfully for Shauntel, her outline flickering like a faulty projection. Where Wess was a showcase of shapeshifting splendor, Shauntel was subtlety personified, a ghost drifting through the detritus of their decaying reality. She was there but not wholly so, a trick of light, a mere suggestion of a person where no person should be.

Showoff, she murmured towards Wess without revealing her position, her voice laced with a smirk that none could see. I bet they won't even see me coming until it's too late.

Assuming they can focus on anything other than your ego, Wess quipped back, his words tinged with a dark amusement that resonated in the hollows of the empty streets.

Together, they stepped forward, a pair of anomalies birthed by necessity from the ashes of a world that no longer played by the rules. The night air clung to them like a desperate survivor, unsure whether they were saviors or harbingers of a deeper darkness yet to come.

Under the shroud of a starless night, the silhouette of the bunker door slid open with a hiss that cut through the silence. The super soldiers emerged, a phalanx of human artillery against the backdrop of ruin.

Jake took point, his form crackling with electricity, casting jagged shadows onto the debris-strewn ground. Trish followed, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she felt the tremulous whispers of the world around them, her mind an antenna tuned to the frequency of hidden threats. Sammi's every step was measured, her powerful frame coiled like a spring, muscles taut and ready to react. Wess' form continued its fluid dance of transformation, hinting at monstrous strength beneath the surface of his ever-changing skin. And in their midst, Shauntel moved silent and unseen, her presence felt rather than seen, a void where light seemed hesitant to tread.

As one, they advanced, a cadence of lethal intent; each movement was a note in a symphony of survival, every gesture a practiced drill of deadly grace. Their minds were as linked as their mission, a silent conversation of nods and glances that spoke volumes of trust honed in the crucible of apocalypse.

Like a well-oiled machine, Jake muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the hum of his own energy. If machines were made of muscle and malice.

Or ego and electricity, Trish shot back, the corner of her lip twitching upwards in a half-smile that belied the tension in her stance.

Can't forget wit and wraiths, Sammi added, jerking her head towards the space where Shauntel should be, her smirk all but invisible in the dim light.

Enough chatter, Wess growled, his voice a low rumble, keep those senses sharp.

The warning proved prescient. Without warning, the night erupted into violence as a grenade detonated in close proximity. A gas meter, dislodged by the concussive force, spun through the air—a deadly missile aimed at the heart of their formation.

Contact! Sammi bellowed, her body instinctively shifting to protect her team.

Stay focused, Trish called out, her eyes scanning for the source of the attack, ready to counter with the unseen force at her command.

The unity of the group never faltered; even as danger loomed, they moved as one entity, ready to confront the chaos of this broken world.

Shadows and dust, Shauntel whispered from nowhere and everywhere, her voice a phantom's touch amidst the pandemonium, that's all they are to us.

Then let's show them what nightmares can do, Wess declared, the edge in his tone cutting as sharp as any blade.

The super soldiers stood their ground, undeterred by the explosion, their resolve as unyielding as the dark humor that bound them together. They were more than a team; they were a force of nature, and the wasteland would soon remember why it feared the night.

The hissing whisper of displaced air was the only herald of the gas meter-turned-projectile as it cleaved through the night. Jake, outlined in a nimbus of electric blue that crackled with pent-up energy, pivoted on the balls of his feet. The motion was barely perceptible, a flicker of light against shadow, but it was enough. The metal beast roared past him, missing by a hair's breadth, its intent to maim written in the whistle of its flight.

Close shave, he quipped, a smirk playing on his lips, his voice tinged with the kind of dark humor that only those who danced nightly with death could muster. Jake’s eyes, still sparkling with stored lightning, never left the trajectory of the gas meter as it barreled toward its unintended target.

The impact was cataclysmic, a symphony of destruction played out in the key of apocalypse. The gas meter collided with the husk of a car abandoned to the post-apocalyptic wasteland like a carcass to vultures. The resulting explosion was a bloom of orange and red, a fiery flower unfurling its petals to the night sky. Shards of metal and glass pirouetted wildly, a grotesque ballet choreographed by entropy itself.

Looks like the Fourth of July came early this year, Sammi snarked, her voice a rolling thunder of amusement amidst the devastation, muscles tensed and ready for the aftershocks of their explosive entrance into the fray.

Or late, depending on how you keep time these days, Wess added, his body contorting, flesh rippling into new forms with every passing moment, a living embodiment of change in a world where constants were relics of the past.

Either way, it's one helluva kickoff, Shauntel chimed in from the ether, her laughter a spectral sound that seemed to mock the very notion of danger.

As the fireball licked the heavens, painting their faces with flickering light, the super soldiers stood undeterred. They were the harbingers of a new dawn, or perhaps the final sunset—whichever came first, they were ready to face it head-on, grins wide and weapons at the ready.

In the shadowed ruin of what once was a boulevard, Trish's eyes narrowed, her mind's grip tightening on an unseen force. A soldier, hulking in the remnants of a military exosuit, loomed in the distance, his intentions as clear as the rocket-propelled grenade launcher he hoisted onto his shoulder.

Down! she commanded through clenched teeth, the word barely a whisper yet carrying the weight of impending doom. Her outstretched hand, fingers splayed like the talons of a predatory bird, became the epicenter of an invisible maelstrom. The RPG screamed through the air, a harbinger of death, until it halted mid-flight—suspended as if caught in the web of some colossal spider.

Showoff, Jake muttered, electricity crackling along his arms, dancing between his fingers, a living tattoo of raw energy.

With a flick of her wrist, Trish's power surged outward, and the rocket exploded into a blossom of fire and shrapnel, safely away from them. The soldier, now realizing the futility of his attack, staggered back, only to be met with a swift conclusion as debris rained harmlessly around the super soldiers.

Next time, aim for the clown car, Sammi said, her laughter lost amidst the new explosion. She flexed her arms, reveling in the strength that coursed through her veins like a river breaking its banks.

Clowns? Where? Wess's form blurred, subconsciously shifting into something grotesquely circus-like, before snapping back to the hardened warrior they needed right now—a skill that never ceased to unsettle as much as amuse.

Focus, we don't have time for a circus act, Jake snapped, blue arcs of electricity illuminating his stern features. We move. Now.

They stood together among the wreckage, a circle of intent amidst the chaos. The bunker had been their cocoon, a sanctuary from the madness outside, but its protection was a luxury they could no longer afford. They were a force unto themselves, warriors forged from the ashes of a world that had burned too long in its own hubris.

Out there is our battlefield, Trish declared, her gaze sweeping over the desolate landscape. Our world to save—or to end trying.

Let's hope it's not the latter, Shauntel's disembodied voice quipped from somewhere unseen, though the gravity of her words didn't escape anyone.

Either way, Sammi said, stepping forward, her silhouette etched against the firelight, we're the best damn chance it's got.

The determination in their hearts was mirrored in their stances—unyielding and ready. Without another word, they advanced into the darkness, towards the unknown challenges of the outside world, leaving the smoldering shelter behind. Their resolve was as hard as the ground beneath their feet, their unity a beacon in the murky gloom. They were super soldiers—their humor as dark as the night surrounding them, their spirits as gritty as the broken earth they walked upon.

The air was thick with the acrid tang of scorched earth and smoldering steel. Beneath a sky streaked with the angry reds and purples of a dying sun, the super soldiers strode forward, each step an assertion of their defiance against the crumbling world around them.

Jake's form crackled with arcs of electricity, casting stark shadows on the ground as they moved, the currents dancing over his skin like serpents made of pure energy. His eyes, alive with a fierce spark, scanned the horizon—every flicker of light, every distant echo was a call to arms he felt deep in his bones.

Smells like victory, he said, voice rough like gravel, the dark humor not quite masking the tension that gripped him.

Or death, Trish replied, the levity in her tone belying the concentration it took to maintain her psychic shield around them. Debris hovered at the edge of her senses, ready to be thrust as projectiles should more enemies emerge from the ash-veiled ruins.

Could go either way, really, Wess chimed in, his features shifting like liquid metal as he mimicked the textures and colors of the wasteland—his form a patchwork of rust and ruin. An unsettling smile played upon lips that weren't quite his own.

Quiet, both of you, Sammi grunted, her enhanced muscles coiled beneath the tattered remnants of her combat suit. This isn't a game. If we're going down, we take them all with us.

Such optimism, came Shauntel's invisible whisper, her presence more a shifting of air than anything seen. Her laughter was a ghostly sound that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.

Keep your heads down, Jake said, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew it was unnecessary. They were beyond caution now, beyond fear. Each one was a weapon honed to perfection, each one ready to carve a path through whatever awaited them.

They emerged fully from the bunker’s shadow, stepping onto the cracked and barren landscape. The world before them was one vast graveyard, its silence punctuated by the distant groans of shifting rubble and the occasional clatter of loose metal. But the soldiers didn't falter. They moved as one—unstoppable, unbreakable, a phalanx of hope amid despair.

And as the first stars of the night dared to pierce the smoke-choked sky, the super soldiers embraced their destiny. Their bodies pulsed with power, each beat a drum of war, each breath a hymn of survival. They stepped out into the post-apocalyptic night, their laughter a challenge thrown at the feet of a broken world, prepared for whatever horrors awaited them.

Let's light up this darkness, Jake said, and the night answered back with the howl of wind through the desolation—a siren's call to the battle yet to come.

The world detonated in a cacophony of chaos. Acrid smoke clawed at the sky, blotting out the sun with a vengeful smog that twisted through the air like wraiths in a dance macabre. Debris rained down in a lethal shower – chunks of concrete, splintered glass, and the remnants of what had been mundane city life seconds before. Flames, vibrant as they were vicious, devoured the oxygen around them, clawing up the sides of buildings with an insatiable hunger.

Would you look at that, Jake muttered, his tone a bizarre concoction of bemusement and disdain as he watched the world burn around him. Fireworks and we didn't even bring marshmallows.

His quip was swallowed by the roar of destruction, but it hung in the heavy air between the super soldiers like a badge of their refusal to bow to despair. They stood amidst the ruin, silhouettes etched against the inferno, tethered to reality by nothing more than the will to survive and a dark humor that had long since replaced fear.

Amidst the clamor, something new sliced through the chaos — a gas meter, severed from its moorings by the blast, spun through the air like a deadly missile. Its trajectory was clear, aimed with cruel indifference at the band of brothers and sisters in arms who had only moments to react.

Jake's eyes narrowed, the corner of his mouth lifting in a wry smile. It was the kind of challenge he relished, his reflexes already conspiring with his acute perception to chart a course of action. Time seemed to dilate around him, the screams and explosions fading into a distant backdrop. He could see the rotations of the gas meter, count the spirals of rust along its edges, note the peculiar way it whistled as it cleaved through the hellish ballet of fire and debris.

Left! Go left! His voice was a whip-crack over the din, commands sharp and immediate. There was no room for hesitation, no time to ponder the fragility of their existence. They moved as one, a unit forged in adversity, every soldier a cog in a machine that refused to be broken.

Even as they acted on Jake's warning, the gas meter spun past where they had been milliseconds ago, a harbinger of death narrowly cheated. The heat of its passage was a ghostly caress against Jake's skin, a reminder of mortality that sent a familiar surge of adrenaline through his veins, an old friend that whispered of close-calls and battles won by the breadth of a hair.

Nice call, someone breathed, voice tinged with both respect and the edge of laughter that skirted too close to hysteria.

Next time, I'm charging for the heads-up, Jake shot back, his grin all teeth in the smoky light as they regrouped, ready to face the next wave of whatever hellish nightmare awaited them.

Jake's muscles coiled like springs, a visceral response to the spinning gas meter that screamed through the air. Time dilated, each millisecond stretching into an eternity as he lunged to the side. His boots skidded on the rubble-strewn ground, gravel biting into the soles, his body obeying the primal command to survive. The rush of adrenaline was a familiar burn in his veins, sharpening his world into stark relief—the heat of the flames, the acrid stench of burning plastic, the taste of dust and sweat on his lips.

Damn, he muttered,