The Feast Of The Undead

Prolouge(Scout)

"Subject 31, wake"

A voice calls to me as my eyes snap open and as if I had a bad dream, my body jerked upright as my head flew forwards. Only to find my wrists and ankles restrained to this hospital-like bed.

"Very good."

My eyes wander the room, but nobody is here. The black, carpeted floor is shadowed by the pearl-like walls. Ceiling being white as well, but it's more of a pale, a single light above me in the center of the room, illuminating the enclosure. The front wall being barred, like a prison cell, door and all. That's where I saw her, a tall woman with her blonde hair tied in a bun, white lab coat hanging down to her knees. A small name tag on her top pocket reads "Head Scientist, Dr. Shelton". Reaching by her waist she pulls out a walkie talkie of sorts.

"The Subject is responsive and seems stable."

A small moment of silence follows until static erupts and a lower female voice is heard,

"Phenomenal work to you and your crew"

"Shall I continue with phase 2?"

"Yes. Please Don't mess it up, it's the most important."

As I eavesdrop I wonder how I can hear them so clearly.

"She will end the test that went wrong years ago, the fateful year of 2022."

"Ma'am, I promise. We will make the end of this mess happen. And I promise we will all be here to see it."

There is a moment of silence before the voice picks up again,

"This is humanity's last hope. Our researches final plead. Begin the final phase."

As the line goes dead the restraints unlock and the lady unlocks and enters the room. I had no intent on harming her, but in her position I'd still say it was a brave move.

"A plague has erupted. The living are now the dead, and the dead are now the living. You are the first programmed undead that is successfully sane."

I look at the woman who hands me a black jacket, but as I go to look it over I feel a swift prick in my neck. I'm still conscious and yet my vision is dark.

"You won't remember anything after this. But one day, some how, everything that might be thrown at you will make sense, my little scout."

All my senses grow dim until I can no longer hear, or see. The conscious slipping from me as I let my body slump back into the chair, the last words I can hear come from the device in her pocket

"Good work Shelton. Now we pray for how many years it may take."