The Abiding Dead--Chapter 4

CHAPTER IV: Super Soldiers?
         
         John tightened his arm muscles, fascinated by his new changes. He clenched and unclenched his new metal arm and tightened the area around his abs.
         Badass.
         Just then he heard the bolts on the door unlock. John stumbled for his black undershirt and threw it on. One of the guards held a metal footlocker under one arm. Without hesitating he hurled the box at John, telling him to gear up.
         John instantly grabbed hold of the footlocker and placed it on the ground. Before he looked up the door was already being sealed. John motioned downward and unlocked the latches that held the crate shut. Inside contained an army muscle shirt with his new nickname X-117, black and green camouflage fatigues, a utility belt with a weapon holster, and last but not least, a pair of brand new size 14 army boots. Surprisingly everything fit to his exact size.
         What the hell? Did they take my measurements in my sleep?
         He finished getting dressed and tied his final shoe lace. Like a download the door opened the second he was finished. And the two guards escorted him out of the room. Once again John marveled at how huge the facility was. After 5 minutes worth of nonstop walking they stopped at the mess hall and ordered him to go inside.
He took a step forward and instantly noticed that there were other people in the room—all of them wearing the same uniform as him. John stopped for a moment and analyzed what was in front of him. Nine soldiers, mostly male occupied the few tables that huddled the Mess Hall. On the chest of each shirt were 3 digit numbers accompanied by a single letter. Silence filled the room as the automatic door closed shut behind him.
Of all the men in and women in the room John only recognized one: huge build, hairy arms, big fists, shaved head—the bear man, the one who pulled him out of the car.
John sighed and walked toward the table the bear man was at. John almost spoke as he was instantly interrupted.
         “X-117 eh?” The bear man said with a husky Australian accent. He looked John over, stopped at his metal arm then looked back at his eyes. John couldn’t help but look at the number on the bear man’s chest. Once again before he spoke he was interrupted.
“The name’s S-081, you can call me Bruce.” He stuck out his huge hand and offered a shake. John would have instinctively shaken his hand but there was an uncomfortable sense in the room as every watched—silent as the grave. John reached forward his metal arm, not even sure if he was touching his hand yet.
         “I’m John.”
         “Welcome to hell.” Spoke a rough male voice. Behind Bruce was an Asian descended man coded H-057. He had spiked hair and had cut the edges off of his muscle shirt. Along his neck was a tribal tattoo of flames.
         “Don’t let the prick get to ya.” said yet another voice. This time, a female—I-118. She was a short skinny woman with her black hair tied back and her shirt in a knot. She looked like she was either from a Spanish country or just a very tan Asian. “Benny is just pissed because he got a potato for lunch.”
         “Fuck you Lynn.” Benny responded standing up. There was a fourth voice from behind the bunch, this one louder and more imposing than the other’s.
         “Knock it off you damn animals!” commanded T-010. In John’s mind it sounded like a dog growling and barking at a box of kittens. Silence covered the room and Benny took a seat. This guy was a lot different that the others—he only had 8 fingers, and bright blue eyes that looked like they could be jewels. He had a constant grin on his face and John could make out the figure of two fangs protruding on the sides of his teeth. His slick silver and black hair covered his probably dog like ears. Before he could close his mouth John had already acknowledged that almost all the people in this room had an inhuman feature.
         Bruce had huge muscular hands and hairy forearms—like a bear.
         Benny hadn’t exposed his feature until he turned his gaze away from T-010 and stuck his forked tongue out—like a lizard or a snake.
         Lynn took a while for John to figure out—but every once and a while her pupils would turn from perfectly round to a thin oval shape—then flash to a golden green color—like a cat.
         And the still unnamed ‘leader’ of the strange pack was the most obvious of all: The features of a wolf.
         “What are you supposed to be?” said the Leader.
         “What?” John replied. The Leader stood up and walked around the table towards John. He stared into John’s light brown eyes and started to smell the air around him.
         “What animal did they make you?” John was almost thrown into a blind confusion but some of this did make sense. These people where hybrids, chimeras, beasts fused with humans. Whatever the doctors were doing to people here was a sick operation.
         “I don’t know.” John answered. The leader sniffed around John, like some security dog trying to sniff out drugs. It made John uneasy, but then again he was just as inhuman as the other’s in the room.
         “Hmm, you don’t smell like any animal I’ve ever sensed.”
         Thank god for that.
         John stood silently. He was waiting for someone in the room to say something, hell, after a while all the human faces seemed more like animals than human even though John was only hallucinating them.
         “Maybe Geoff has been sniffing too much shit.” Benny finally whispered. The finally named Geoff, another name for Jeff, turned his head and growled.
         “Alright mister tongue sensor why don’t you figure it out.”
         John spoke out loud amidst the haze between them. “What the fuck is this? I’m not getting licked by some fork tongued salamander.” Benny then shrugged.
         “Maybe they didn’t make him into an animal.” Yet another voice spoke. One by one John was learning names, and for some reason he had already permanently remembered them all without even losing his mind.
         “O hell no, you’re not getting any more super soldiers in your squad tough guy. Hybrid or not this kid’s with us. Check out the shiny metal arm they got him.” Benny said. John smirked at the remark and looked at the palm of his new hand. John couldn’t take much more.
         “Alright, listen up god damnit. I don’t what the fuck you people are, or what the hell I’m doing here, but I aint no animal and I sure as hell aint no super soldier. I’m not even in the fucking military.”
         “Say’s who?” said another unnamed female. Still on the list where those two: F-102, and A-056, and the rather quiet C-022, and an E-091. John was screwed now. He had no reply to that, after all the shit that had happened lately he couldn’t argue with anybody about who he was anymore. And now that he thought about it, he’s already forgotten most of his emotional scars from the nights before.
         “Take a seat kid.” Bruce said. John obeyed and sat down next to Benny and Lynn. The tempting urge to look uncomfortable was instantly taken away from him as he sat down. “Look mate, whether or not you like it, none of us are regular humans any more. Every man or woman that they’ve brought into this room is not normal. Some of us where experimented on like animals—pun intended. That group o’ four over there is just super humans. Not that we can’t kick their asses though. Now listen closely,” John leaned forward, he was interested in hearing what he had to say, with all the good and bad that comes with it. The more drawn into the fact that he wasn’t as human as he thought he used to be just drew him away from the old memories from the past. “In about an hour, probably after we all finish eatin, the guards outside will take you and only you to the training ground.”
         “Training ground?” John asked.
         “Yea it’s a twisted set of a bunch of nonsense tests. They’re random based on what the turned you into. And yes, by the look of it you might be doing the same courses as those fellas over there. Those guys are pure military mate, they we’re sworn into military service way before they got their amps.”
         “Amps?”
         “Stop asking questions kid.” Geoff interrupted.
         “My bad, just curious.”
         “Amps are things that make us humans into those freak shows over there.”
         “Fuck you.” Benny said.
         “He wasn’t talking about you idiot.” Lynn responded. Benny hanged his over his chest.
         “My guess is that they only made you super human.”
         “Wow, well as unbelievable as it sounds that is a load off of my mind.” John responded and exhaled deeply. Yet his curiosity remained. “How did you people end up here?”
         And like a fire work everyone in the room, save for the freak show four, said “We killed someone.” And just like that John’s uncomforted position returned. He stared around the room into everyone’s eyes then look down at the table.
         “Nothing to worry bout mate. Not unless you’re some trespasser.” Said Bruce
         “Or a cheating girlfriend.” Benny said
         “Or an ex-husband.” Lynn said.
         “Or a group of kids pissing on your lawn.”
         After he heard Geoff’s and all the other’s input John’s feet began to tap wildly. He wanted out, but not because he was scared, but because he was new to the whole “I killed someone so I’m here.”
         “What about you kid? Who did you kill?” Geoff asked.
         “I didn’t kill anyone.”
         “C’mon kid your secret is safe with us.” Benny insisted.
         “I did not kill anyone.”
         “Well if you’re not in the military, and you’re not a condemned convict, then what are you here for?” Bruce said.
         “I don’t remember, I was bitten and they gave me this metal arm, along with some other crazy shit, like night vision, strength, speed and aggression. I don’t know what they did to me but it sure as hell isn’t related to anything you’ve been telling me.”
         The room was quiet and they all looked at each other. Geoff silently spoke.
         “Maybe he’s—“
         “All of the above.” Lynn assumed
         “What?” John inquired.
         “Maybe you’re a mixture of all of us. Think about it. Lynn is a tiger bitch, with night vision. Bruce can lift a car with his bear hands, pun intended—”
         “True.” whispered Bruce. Lynn just shook her head.
         “Geoff is a fast ass wolf. And the aggression you probably got from yours truly.” And that was it, all the questions he had where answered in one response from the only annoying guy in the room. Sure beats the hell out of walking around with a tail beneath your legs.
         John sat down next to a tray labeled with his codename. As he was reaching for whatever was wrapped in foil the door to the mess hall had opened and two guards entered with stun batons.
         Give me a break it hasn’t been an hour yet. And I’m hungry damnit.
“X-117?” one asked. John stood up and motioned toward the door. Bruce grabbed his metal arm and placed Benny’s baked potato in his hand then whispered in his ear.
         “When your in there bring back a gun.”
         A guard seized John’s other arm and Bruce let go. John nodded and opened up the foiled baked potato. Before the door closed Benny stood up and yelled something about a fucker stealing his potato. John hadn’t eaten in days yet he wasn’t as hungry as he thought he would be. He bit into the potato and chewed softly. In the few minutes he was walking he was already done.
The guards escorted him to an obvious training field in the center of the facility.

John walked onto the soft grass, it was a perfect green and the land was flat. It wasn’t until he noticed the walls on the side that it was just counterfeit grass. At the far end of the flat field there was a steel pole, and on the top there was a very small bell. John was amazed how clearly he could see things; he tightened his focus and looked around the whole field. There were logs and poles standing on their ends, and bridges with ramps that went along the walls. It looked like a skating or playing park at first glance, but soon found it to be a military training field.
         Lights at the end of the field flickered to life, and John could make out several figures standing behind a glass window on the upper levels of the wall. One leaned over and spoke through a microphone that fed into the speakers attached to the ceiling.
         “John—” a young woman’s voice at the end of the speaker said. It sounded almost like one of his teachers he had back at school except younger and more soothing. It was actually the first person in the whole facility to actually call him by his real name. “My name is Dr. Bella Reeves. This is what we call the ‘playing area’; here you will find multiple obstacle courses and exercises. On your left there is a board of the things we would like you to do before we proceed. Next to that there is a desk with a headset and weapon on it. You can keep in contact with me by touching the button on the outer end of the earpiece. I’ll be your supervisor if you need help.”
         What do I need a gun for? Was there going to be an old fashion Mexican Gunfight or something? Either way I have to bring that gun back with me for whatever reason Bruce needed it. He walked over to the table and picked up the headset. He attached it to his ear; a perfect fit. He examined the weapon on the table; it was a standard issue 9mm Pistol with 2 extra clips next to it. John picked it up, the weight was ordinary, and to him it was almost lighter than a game controller.
         “Do you know how to use a weapon?” Bella said.
         John pushed the button on the earpiece and spoke. “I’ve seen it on games and television before. Hopefully it works the same.” John said sarcastically.
         Bella knew he was joking; she had reviewed his file more that three times. She then countered. “Then you must know that the safety is on the—”
         John interrupted by clicking on the safety and saying “I know.” John looked over yonder towards the window and could swear he saw her smile. She had a nice smile, must have had a good sense of humor, he saw her lips move at what he was sure said “smart ass”.
         John smirked, and attached it to the utility belt he received in the footlocker. The gun wasn’t as heavy as he thought it would be, then again nothing was. He walked over to the billboard and saw several large pictures and information on ‘How-to-do’s. He felt his jaw almost drop as he read through them:
         Bridge Jumping, Pole Climbing, Wall Jumps/Climbs, Sprints, Punch/kick Bags, Rope Climbs and Target Practice. John was amazed, he could knock the Target Practice, the sprints, rope climbs, and punch bags out of the way no problem. But bridge and wall jumping sounded hard, even though running and moving his legs was an easy task. John then remembered that he was different now, stronger, plus the mobility of his new mechanical arm.
         “I know it sounds hard, but we think you could pull it off.” Bella said through the earpiece COM channel.
         “Sure, I bet it would be a walk in the park.” John said sarcastically. “How in the world do you expect to do all this in one go?”
         “We made all the necessary precautions, you’ll be fine John.” She replied. John couldn’t stop thinking of how much she reminded him of his mother: tall, beautiful and caring. John shook his head to try to get rid of the thought. He stood there speechless wondering were to begin.
         “Take your time just look around the field and task your approach.” Bella said calmly.
         Something in her voice made John do this, not because she reminded him of his mother, but because John was a complete suck-up when it came to talking to women.
         John walked over to the first obstacle: Bridge Jumping. He glanced down the wooden bridge, it was perfectly flat, and had ropes on each end. He took a step on the middle of it, to test its stability. It shook lightly and John took another step. This time however, after his left foot had touched the left side of the bridge it wobbled on its side. John’s instincts kicked in and he jumped backward as he saw the entire bridge turn over.
         “Let me guess, I have to jump all the way across it or just tip-toe straight through it hoping I don’t land a nasty fall.” John said out of frustration.
“Pretty much, I wouldn’t recommend that last one though.” She smiled at him and gave him a wink from afar.
John was never encouraged to do something this crazy by anyone, but something kept telling him he’d be alright. He surveyed the bridge again; it was almost twelve exact feet. He noticed on the flipped over end the words ‘Hold on to yer Butt’ were spray-painted on it, he smirked.
If I can clear the first step and jump off one foot in the middle, I could probably make it over without falling. John kept the idea in mind and walked backward.
         He stopped about 40 feet away from the bridge and cracked his knuckles, yes even his metal ones. He checked his boots and made sure his pants weren’t hanging off the ends. John gazed down the center of the bridge, focusing on the white line at the far end. He darted off his back foot and sprinted down the grass. Never in his life had he run so fast, he could feel the air brushing across his face as he came up to the bridge.
         He jumped off his front foot and closed his eyes; he kept his legs moving, waiting for that next step-jump. It never came, his legs were still moving in mid air and he felt like he was falling. It was an odd feeling, the wind was still brushing against him and he hadn’t even hit ground yet. For a split second he opened his eyes as he hit the grass on the other side. He slammed his two feet into the ground and arched his back to prevent from losing his balance.
         He turned around and couldn’t believe his eyes. He had cleared both the bridge and an extra 15 feet. The grass at his feet was destroyed and replaced with a large mound of dirt. He felt no pain in his feet or any other part of his body.
         “No—fucking—way.” John whispered as he keyed the COM. He double checked over himself to make sure he wasn’t injured, or perhaps dead. He kept thinking it was the boots or something but there was nothing on them that could have made him jump that far.
         “Excellent work John, you may now proceed to the next obstacle courses.” Bella said through the COM. There was no sign of relief or satisfaction in her voice.
         I guess the others went through the same course. Almost as if she’s seen this before.
         John continued onto the next few courses. He ran up the ramps, jumped off the walls, climbed up the ropes, and literally walked halfway up a pole before clinging on and continuing the rest of the way.
         By the time John got to the punching and kicking bags he didn’t even have a single drop of sweat going down his cheek. The bags were closer towards the glass where Bella and the other men and women observed.
         He clenched his metal fist, the plates on the forearm part of it shifted as if tightening a muscle. John grabbed his arm and started to squeeze the metal plates, they didn’t go back—perfect.
         He was finally able to see what his arm would be capable of; how much damage it could cause. John walked over to the punching bag and got into a fighting stance. Since he was right dominant, he punched with his mechanical arm first. His fist jammed into the front of the leather sandbag, the bag swayed backward quicker that John ever expected. With a left hand jab he knocked the bag off its chain and it fell to the ground—the sand sputtered out of a small hole he made with his knuckle.
         Without missing a heartbeat John sprinted towards the other bag and dropkicked it to the ground. The bag rolled end over end spurring tons of sand behind its tracks. That was all; just two bags? John wanted to hit more, his spasm had no end. After the bag rolled to a stop, John heard a loud beep and the door at the end of the area unlocked.
         He walked over to the door, only to be stopped by Bella’s voice over his COM.
         “Now John, I want you to use any means necessary to take out the targets in this next room, your pistol should prove to be a useful—tool.” She said.
         A pistol isn’t a tool, it’s a weapon used to kill people. And if this next exercise is what I think it is, I just may have to.
The gun was packed with enough firepower to destroy and entire multilayered safety glass window or a glass SWAT shield. More than enough. John continued up to the door, its scanner picked up his movement and the door slid open. The area inside was dark but John could see everything.
         Nine men in black Special Ops Guard uniforms were crouched behind several different steel barriers. He heard a faint whisper and saw a small hand signal. The doors behind John shut and his adrenaline started to rise as a small tinge of excitement went down his spine.
         Unknown to John the room was entirely pitch black, and his eyes turned from a light brown to brilliant gold.
         Were these men the targets Bella spoke of? If they were, there was no force in the world that could make him kill them. John watched as a guard ran across the field and hid next to another steel barrier.
         Do they know I can see them? Could they even see me? John’s vision got fuzzy as the outer ends of his eyesight went into a dim orange. John blinked and rubbed his eyes to try and clear it—nothing. Maybe those were the affects of flash bang, but he didn’t hear anything go off.
         He couldn’t waste any more time, if those men were the targets then they’d definitely try to take him out as well. He side stepped and started to sprint along the wall towards a pile of sandbags—the men opened fire.
         John crouched behind the sandbags as bullets peppered them. The firing seized and John took his 9mm out of its holster. He switched the safety off and peered from the side of the bags at the guards cover. One had just finished reloading and two others were signaled forward towards where he lay. John pulled his head back and decided to stay put and surprise them as they got closer. He could hear the men walking towards him slowly.
         John looked at his feet and came up with three options. Option A—he could use the pistol and shoot the guards in the legs. Option B—he could pick up a rock that just happened to be next to him and throw it to cause a distraction while he took out the first two guards. Or option C—Go all out.  John stuck to his second decision and hefted the rock in one hand. He threw it up and it landed a few yards away next to another pile of sandbags.
         Both guards turned to the distraction, and John leaped into action. He slammed into the first guard, and pinned him to the ground. John then pushed off and under swiped the other guard, making him fall on his rear end. The second guard’s nerves went off and he accidentally squeezed off three bullets. They ricochet off of the metal ceiling.
         John extended his metal arm into the guard’s side and heard bones crack. The guard screamed in and curled into a ball. John jumped up and kicked the other recovering guard in the chest—his bones popped too. The guard held his chest leg as he fell to the ground out of breath. The other men turned to fire at where the screams were coming from. One shot a three round burst at were John was standing not a second before.
         John was out of sight. He had already jumped high into the air and literally attached himself to the wall. He jumped off at an angle towards the next trio of guards. He dropped down on one mans shoulders, knocking him unconscious easily. He then back-kicked another ones helmet as it dented inward; knocking the wearer out. The third man fired, and 5 out of the 10 bullets he shot struck John in the side.
         John felt like time had slowed and he looked at the wound. Three small holes went through the fabric of his shirt—blood covered his whole side. The pain was immense but miraculously it didn’t restrict his movements. John reacted in one quick motion by open-palm slamming his hand into the remaining guard’s nose, crushing it and knocking him out. John disarmed the knife the guard had latched to his leg, then checked the wounds he had on his side.
         The bleeding had stopped, but the bullets were still inside. He unsheathed the blade a dug the tip of it into the small hole. He was only able to take two of the bullets out, the other’s we’re too far in. Of course there was always that sudden sting going down his spine that caused him to shake. John ripped off the sleeve of his shirt made a bandage out of it. Just as he was about to place it—the wounds had gone. He ignored the fact that he had survived 5 bullets and there were no wounds to prove it, save for the bullets still somewhere in his abdomen. Afterwards he placed the large combat knife on his belt and crouched down.
         His vision clouded again and his light-green vision turned to a faint orange. He felt like he could actually see the veins on his eyes. He put his hands on the side of his head as pain started to pulse through his head. He tightened his eyes closed then opened them again as the pain went away. His eyes became an even brighter orange, and his pupils had gotten thinner.
He turned his head towards the other men. He could hear one yelling out names and orders; John guessed it was for the men he had just ‘taken out’.
         Adrenaline pumped, he leaped into the air, and the wind went across his face as he glided towards the barricade closest to the group. The men saw him in the air and opened fire. John made it to the ground dodging a dozen three round bursts from the group of guards. He side-leaped then rolled towards another pile of sandbags.
         Bullets ripped and tore through the bags and sand spewed out of them. John went prone and pulled the knife he placed on his belt. He crawled towards the edge of the bags to get a good view. The men had stopped firing but as he rounded the corner he was face to face with and HE-D Grenade. He quickly grabbed it and threw it over his head. It landed behind the first set of bags he hid behind earlier.
         The grenade detonated and he watched as it covered an entire quarter of the area in sand and rubble. As luck would have it, and darn well good luck too—the pistol he left at the destroyed bags had actually been launched towards his spot. He reached for it and the men open fire again. One bullet hit the middle of his mechanical hand and it pinged off towards the group, striking one man in the thigh.
         Luck like that doesn’t happen every day.
He picked up the pistol and cleared a small hole through the base of the sand bags. He looked through; his eye of bright orange peered across the field towards the trio remaining. He could hear one man screaming as he clutched his leg in pain.
The bigger man in the group kicked him in the arm and yelled “Shut up! It’s just a flesh wound!”
More of a bullet wound, the jackass. John couldn’t help but think of Monty Python at the time.
John stuck the pistol through the hole and pulled the trigger—it jammed. John disassembled the top half and found that the hammer and barrel were bent. He took the barrel and bent it straight. He then bent the hammer back in place. He re-assembled the gun, checked the safety and ammo count, and then stuck it back through the hole.
The men were gone. He got up on his feet and peered over the bags. Nothing left but a cloud of—orange. John saw what appeared to be small clouds of orange footsteps and streams of it just hovering around in one place. It soon disappeared and John traced it towards its direction. He soon came across three M-16 barrels pointing right at him.
He leaped backward as quick as he could and the men began to shoot at him. Several bullets smashed into his stomach again making him drop the pistol and fumble for it in mid air. He launched the knife towards the gunfire. It caught a man in the arm and he dropped his gun. John’s eyes got blurry once more, and he felt him self lurch toward the remaining three.
He slammed the gun closest to him downward as the guard spent the rest of his clip. He pulled the gun up and smashed the butt of the weapon into the jaw of the guard, which was protected by a small layer of Kevlar—still enough to cause a major concussion. The man fell, and John dropped the gun. He then got both his mechanical and real arm made a vicious two arm uppercut to the other mans ribcage. The guard flew in the air, bones cracked and he landed in a heap. John instinctively grabbed the handle of the M-16 and gripped it tight aiming at an already fleeing guard. He then fired the second trigger attached to a grenade launcher at the bottom of the weapon. The barrel cleared and the grenade flew forward smashing the fleeing guard in the back and causing him to stumble forward and fall face first—unconscious.
John looked at his left arm, veins throbbed and his skin looked dim. He exhaled and settled down as his vision cleared.
         “Well done John.” The voice of Bella said.
         I just took out more than half a dozen armed guards and she considers it a job well done? What the hell is she on?
Lights pulsed on and a door slid open. As quick as he could, John disassembled the weapon and hid the parts in separate areas in his clothing. Fifteen guards came charging in making a semicircle around him, guns pointed at him. The pain in his stomach had not ceased and he grabbed at his abdomen—after all that he was already screwed.
         “There will be no need for those guns, Lieutenant.” Bella said.
         Saved by the Bella. He joked in his head.
She walked through a space from the guards and the men stood upright, and then slung their guns over their shoulders.
         John stared at her, he noticed he was holding his breath and exhaled. John wiped off the trickle of sweat on his cheek with his metal arm—it only smeared it, oh well.
         Bella was gorgeous; she had long black-brown hair and through her glasses John could see beautiful emerald-like eyes. She wore a long lab coat and skirt that barely went past her knees. On the coat was her ID tag: Reeves, Bella. ID: 3618150, Genetics: Sector 5. Age: 24.
         Damn, two years older yet she was working in a dark place like this?
         “Pleasure to meet you in person John” Bella said. She reached out her hand and John reached out his. He pulled it away as he noticed it was his metal arm, and then extended his left and she returned the gesture.
         “The pleasure is mine” he replied. John knew that sounded a little corny. He shook her soft skinned hand; it was so smooth and had a small ring on its middle finger. John pulled back his hand and smiled, he tried not to show his dimples. Medical Technicians came in and hefted the wounded men out of the building. One was still conscious enough to say “Damned kid.”
         “You seem to have outdone yourself.” She commented. John clenched his right arm with his left hand and grinned. He tried to remember how it all started—couldn’t.
         “Thanks, I guess.” He replied instinctively. He let go of his arm and placed his hands in his pockets.
         “Let’s get you to a medical office” She said concerned.
         “I’m fine” he replied.
         “Those bullets are going to merge with your insides if we don’t get them out. With antibodies or not” She said. John knew she was right, he learned about that kind of stuff in his Health classes, as much as he hated relating to stuff that happened at school. But as for the antibodies, all he knew was that after a certain infection is gone the body builds antibodies to prevent the infection from happening again. But it would normally take weeks for that to happen, without a doubt. He then nodded his head and followed her out of the training field.