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The man drummed his fingers on the plastic window of the huge, white room, and then slammed his fist against it with a shuddering smack. His head throbbed, his blood shot eyes burned. His mouth was as dry as a bone from his enraged shouts. He had been tossed writhing into the room hours ago, and now he found himself on the opposite side of a large sheet of plexi glass. On the other side several scientists dressed in white were hunched over a glowing control pannel, and their masked heads did not raise in response to his shousts of protest. Bright flourescent lights burned down onto him as he paced like a caged animal, and then he sighed heavily and slumped into a leather chair. Outside, one of the scientists pressed a blue button, and suddenly, jets of freezing cold and scalding hot water exploded from the ceiling and doused the man. He slugged at the air and leapt to his feet, cursing loudly.
On the other side of the glass, one of the scientists recorded the results of the water and temperature test, and then nodded to a masked woman scientist beside him. She pressed a white button, and they saw the man's hair and clothes begin to ruffle as cold air swirled into the chamber. He gave them the internationally known finger salute, and then stumbled backwards with the force of the wind. The scientist recorded the results of the cold air test: NO STIMULATION. He then pressed a red button, recording the warm air test with the same annoying response: NO STIMULATION. He stood when the man threw the chair at the glass with all his might, emitting a mighty roar and putting every muscle in his upper body into it. The chair bounded off the glass with a heavy pop before clattering noisily to the concrete floor.
"Well, Mr. Tumee, I believe we may have made a mistake," the male scientist said, standing and rubbing his hands together. He turned to the rest of the team of scientists. "Testing is over, ladies and gentleman. Go on to lunch," he said, his words muffled beneath the concealing rubber mask. They nodded, and silently left the room, in a tidy single file line out the glass double doors. He pulled his mask off and let it crumple to the desk, and appraoched the glass. The man inside, his hair and clothes a tangled, damp mess, stormed toward him and glared. "Mr. Tumee, please, let me explain why this has happened to you," the scientist said nonchalantly, supporting himself against the glass. The angry man inside the glass box nodded in agitated agreement.
"We are a secretive biohazard countermeasure service. There has been a chemical leak near your house, and we needed to get you here for testing as soon as we could to prevent contamination to the other residents close by. Your body would have reacted strongly to the tests if you were infected. But obviously you're as healthy as an ox."
He realized that his lie had a flaw in it. If the chemical leak had been close to his house, the other residents would have been contaminated anyway regardless of his physical state. But the man nodded in agreement, a bit of the anger leaving his face. The scientist breathed a sigh of relief.
"Have you been to see a man named Dr. Robert Coggs, about allergies?" The man's eyes widened. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"And what were you allergic to? I need to know right away." He fished a notepad from his breast pocket and clicked a pen open, and poised it above the lined paper to write. The man set the chair upright, sat in it, and drew his arms and legs in.
"Is it really necessary?" he asked, his voice quivering. The scientist stifled laughter. The stupid creature knew it had been caught. Coggs's suppression medicine couldn't help it now.
"Yes. The air in the chamber has a chemical agent that helps to control the disease molecules. It can out a burning red rash on the flesh. We're going to give you some pills to fight it. Now, give me all your allergies. Pharmaceutical or not." The man shook his head, and then said slowly, "Tobacco smoke. That's all. It makes my...ummm...lungs swell up for some reason." The scientist cackled and threw the notepad to the desk with a shrill smack.
"Nice try you friggin monster. I know what you are. Coggs can't help you here. Your little pills won't do a damn thing." He pulled out a lighter and flicked the lid open, revealing a small dancing blue and yellow flame. He brought a cigarette to his thin lips and put the butt into the flame, and took a deep drag. Inside the chamber, the man stiffened and backed slowly away. He mouthed the word NO over and over until his back touched the wall. His mouth hung open. The scientist casually walked over to the chamber, tugged the door open, and tossed the cig end over end into it. The man screamed a long scream as he watched it fall. And then the scream lowered and pitch and thundered into a roaring bellow that a lion would envy.
The man dropped to his knees. His shirt shredded as hundreds of spines ripped out of his back, spurting blood into the air. His eyes boiled over red and his skin began to take on a greenish tint, the flesh darkening and eventually peeling off in places. His gums bled as yellowed, sharp fangs slid out from behind his human teeth, shining in the light. His hands stretched into long gnarled fingers tipped with black nails. His nose and lips grew out of his head in a gator like snout, extending four feet in front of him, and then, crouching and growling in the place of the captured man, was an alligator like creature, dripping blood from the organic coverings it had been hiding in. It roared at the scientist, spittle speckling the plexiglass.
"Get a team in here," the scientist spat into his cell phone. "He's one of Cogg's patients. He was taking pills that helped him to fight off the element of smoke, which brings on his mutation. I want him in the cells with the others." He smiled in at Mr. Tumee, who's dripping fangs opened and closed as it stared at him hungrily. It bellowed again. "Please, calm down, Mr. Tumee. I have good news. You don't have any disease. You ARE the disease." He heard the boots of the team approaching he picked up the notepad and moved out of the way.

If this means what I think it means, I usually write horror and action adventure, and I enjoy placing my characters into situations mixing the two. I have been known to let the occasional emotional drama story slip out, but don't expect too many. I'm a bullet and blood, guts and gore kind of guy.


The following comments are for "The Hidden"
by Zombiekiller

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