Work Text:
The sun was insufferably hot in the late morning sky, despite the chilly winter breeze that weaved in between the tall buildings. It was as though the sun itself was inching closer to earth and shattering the ozone layer minute by minute, leaving everything on the surface irradiated.
Well, truthfully it was an ordinary, crisp autumn day, but it sure felt that hot to the head of HR ambling his way through the crowds of New York City. It broiled like he was going to melt into a pile of blood and bones right in the middle of the street, his skin bubbling underneath his tattered collar.
The wound near his ankle pulsated rhythmically, each weak heartbeat beat flushing the tainted blood deeper into his system. Although the rounded marks of teeth and nails were hidden underneath his wrinkled suit, he almost thought whatever had left the marks was still digging into his flesh as he walked.
Where exactly had those deep cuts come from again? He couldn’t put it all together anymore. He didn't remember getting home last night, and he was clearly wearing the same suit as he had the day before. Vague outlines of shady clubs and solicitors faded aimlessly from his memory, leaving him listless. He’d completely forgotten the way he’d been led to that empty room by a stranger, or the way she had collapsed at the foot of the bed and lay still for minutes as he begged her to wake up. He couldn’t even recall the way she had suddenly jerked back to life and bit him like a feral animal, leaving him to run from the scene in a blind panic. Hours spent wandering through alleyways in the dark as the infection took hold.
But now it was morning, and while he may not have been able to parse when exactly the bite had taken place, it still felt fresh.
He hazily looked down at his leg, the blood seeping into his dark pants, though it wasn’t very noticeable to the busy businessmen and women who walked around him like he was any other inanimate object.
Any concern or hesitation he should have felt at the sight was somehow distant, trapped behind a sort of mental barrier that guided him into following through with his normal routine. His thoughts jumbled even further as the poisoned blood finally reached his head, leaving only a hollow sense that he should keep pushing forward.
Upon looking up at the building before him, the man recognized the blurry form as Waystar-Royco, home of his office on the 40-somethingeth floor. What was left of his quickly deteriorating mind began to assume this must have been his intended goal.
What else would he be doing? Gotta get into work on time, of course. He couldn’t miss again this week, or he would have to start eating into his vacation days.
The monotony of office life worked in his favor as he made his way through the sign-in process. The security guards barely paid his greenish, sickly skin any notice as he scanned in, and his coworkers on the elevator ride up didn’t say a word as his pupils began dilating and contracting like he had been dosed with every drug in the book. Maybe they’d seen it all before. The people who worked here were no strangers to self-medication.
By the time they reached his designated floor, he’d grown completely numb to the outside world. He didn’t cry out in pain as he began practically limping down the hall, a trail of black liquid following him.
The overwhelming smell of rot may have brought some attention to him, but besides a few stares and concerned mutterings, no one even came to his aid as he collapsed right inside the door of his private office. It wasn’t until his breathing stifled and coagulated blood pooled around him that his fellow employees began to approach, several calling out for a doctor or a guard to help. When the husk of a man started convulsing, however, and rose from the ground, that’s when the screaming started.
• • •
Tom quietly exited the luxurious office of the smug news anchor, feeling sick to his stomach. Damn Ravenhead. If being a Nazi wasn’t the final straw, his complete unwillingness to give him anything to work with would be. Tom had only been heading ATN for a week before the fallout of the reporter’s blatantly-fascist-fanboying had hit, and like always, he was left to handle damage control. It was almost like he was cursed- every division he moved to unearthing another deadly secret of the Roys’ business empire.
It wasn’t like they could just fire him. The ATN nuts would go crazy, viewership would plummet, and worst of all, Logan would see him as a failure. If he wanted to get on his father-in-law’s good side, he would have to grin and bear it just like cruises.
“Tom!”
Of course.
The man turned his head down the hallway, towards the rows of small office rooms and petty paper pushers. Almost immediately he could see his wife’s cousin among the gaggle of the lower ranks- how could he not? The guy was a fucking brontosaurus.
He suppressed a sigh and gave a curt nod, gesturing for him to come over so they wouldn’t have to shout halfway across the hall. Not that he would have minded the opportunity to shout at the other, he just didn’t want his headache to get any worse than it already was.
Greg quickly made his way over, and Tom observed how unbalanced he seemed even with how long his legs were. He would have said it was endearing if it didn’t make him want to wring the younger’s neck.
“Greg~! The fuck are you yelling about? I would’ve noticed you there anyways, you freakishly tall minx.” he hummed, his tone flat despite the contents.
“Oh, I just-“
Bang.
Their usual one-sided banter was cut short by a sharp pop from the other side of the divider.
A gunshot.
Then two more.
Greg’s first instinct had, of course, been to duck his head. He’s as tall as a giraffe- if anyone would be an easy target right about now, it’d be him. He maneuvered rather quickly to hide himself behind Tom, peeking over his shoulder in the direction of the noise. Oh, this was definitely something Tom would bring up later, if they were both still alive. Making a meat shield out of him. Really? After all he’d done for him?
Well, luckily, Tom had a bit more tact. He quickly turned heel and shoved Greg down the hallway, towards the nearest armed guard. The man seemed just as uneasy, but it was pretty clear the two were best safe in his hands rather than the throngs of barely-content employees on their floor.
In an instant, they had been ushered into what seemed to be a pretty standard room on the block of offices they usually occupied. In fact, it looked a lot like a normal office that had some spare water bottles and snacks thrown in last minute.
Great. What a panic room.
Well, at least he had Greg to use him as a human shield should the need arise.