August 6th, 1945
The early morning light had started to shine down on the strip of road, exposing the war torn Japanese block. Only thirteen hours prior to the sunrise, the unsuspecting Hiroshima neighborhood had been busy with the hustle and bustle of daily war-driven life.
Now there was nothing but death and chaos. It amazed private first class Christopher Benson at how quickly the new weapon had eradicated the area.
There had been rumors among the men tasked with completing the sensitive mission that this new form of warfare was bound to change the way that battles were fought and won. It would no longer be necessary to send in our own soldiers, one man had said. He was right.
Less the few men that were needed to carry out the experimental weapon, there was no need to waste the lives of our boys at home. The red, white, and blue could sit back and watch as the disasters hit our enemies, and we would not have any of our own blood let.
That is, there would be no bloodshed except for the rest of the men in Benson's squad. Of the eight men that had landed just outside of Hiroshima the night before, he was the only one left standing. Everyone had known that it was going to be a dangerous mission, infiltrating such a largely populated and military driven city. Unfortunately, there had been no way that they could have been trained and prepared for the nightmare that they were going to unleash on the unsuspecting city.
Benson was of course the key to the mayhem and the smell of death that hung heavy in the morning air. He was the soldier with the queen parasite living somewhere in his body, or else all of the other spawns of hell would have already expired. His survival meant their survival, and that was the reason that all the other men had willingly died to keep him alive. Without Benson, the mission would have been a loss.
But now there was the problem of getting the parasite out of his blood stream. The medic that had been extensively trained on the methods of removal had been one of the seven that so eagerly laid his life on the line to see the mission through to the end. Without Carlson, the parasite would not be extracted until he was back in the good 'ole U.S. of A.
But Benson could feel that there was something wrong with the creature inside of him. There was something that he hadn't been briefed on when he'd accepted the dangerous mission.
The monster that was controlling the other monsters was starting to take a hold of him as well. He could feel it in his brain, moving around and whispering threats to him in a gibberish tongue that was foreign to him; but he understood the intent. The monster wanted more than just control over the mindless freaks that had spent the night ripping each other apart.
Benson had found himself a nice little hiding spot in a warehouse that had previously been used to manufacture the sheet metal for countless war birds. Five or so hours before him finding his refuge, the factory had no doubt been wall to wall with busy little japs; all vying for the opportunity to help their country in an attempt to hurt his. He took some solace in knowing that they would never get that chance now.
Sitting in the corner of what had surely been a supervisor's office on the second floor of the factory, Benson looked over at his radio operator. Jordy now laid face down in a puddle of his own blood, shot in the head by Benson. It had been a necessary sacrifice after Jordy had been bitten several times by one of the abominations, but it had severely limited Benson's chances of getting out of the city in one piece.
Albeit the monsters didn't seem to be attracted to the host of their queen, the parasite would have control over him as it did all the others before long. That much, Benson had put together.
Slowly, he stood up, sliding his back against the wall. His body ached and his mind swam with the confusing language that filled his head. Every movement had to be calculated now, fighting against the orders of the alien inside.
"Shut up!" He yelled violently and without warning. The monster was winning, but Benson knew that he still had some time.
At eight o'clock Hiroshima time, there would be a plane set down to retrieve his squad. That had always been a part of the plan, so he didn't need Jordy. He just needed to stay in control over his body and mind until the plane arrived, and then someone would know how to help him. Someone would know how to get the monster out of his head.
Benson made his way to the only window in the small office and rested his hands on the sill. He squinted his eyes as they took a few seconds to adjust to the sunlight, having only seen the glow of fires burning for the past few hours.
From his perch he could clearly see that the flames were still ablaze, but their smoldering luminosity was outdone by that of the daylight. He could also see the torn and bloodied bodies, now wandering around aimlessly. There were no more lives for them to devour in the area, and so they were lost. They had no purpose now.
What a sad existence, Benson thought to himself. Even though he hated the japs with every bit of his soul, he found it difficult to not take pity on what they had done to them. After all, he'd seen the first few that became infected up close and personal with his own eyes. He witnessed their bodies as they writhed around on the ground in what had sounded like excruciating pain. He watched as their eyes rolled into the backs of their heads and their mouths bled from their gnawed off tongues. He'd seen their humanity leave them as they were transformed into demons, and all because he'd put his mouth on their skin and sunk his teeth in. Then he watched them as they raced into the city to tear their loved ones apart, creating more monsters.
The sound of a plane over head drew Benson's attention back to the window. His eyes darted desperately up towards the orange sky as he heard his saviors coming to his aid. He'd never been so happy to hear the sounds of airplane engines.
The wrestle with the voice was as intense as it had ever been, but with the new found hope, he started to force it back into the recesses of his head.
I'm going to make it, he told himself.
Seeing the planes, a few of them, had Benson feeling warm inside. Like a sailor that had been lost at sea and finding dry land, he was excited.
The fact that there was more than one plane did bother him at first, but he had no time to worry about the details. Sure, the original plan had been for one small prop plane to island hop over and pick us up, but plans do have a way of changing.
Probably just support, he reassured himself.
There was no room for doubt, lest the monster find a chink in his armor and take full advantage. This was a time for celebration.
The planes were nearly overhead when they dropped a package. A survival pack, perhaps? Maybe they'd assumed that his medic had died in the battlefield and so they'd brought him the gear to do the removal himself.
Bringing a hand up to block the sun and focusing his eyes, he watched the package drop must faster than any delivery he'd ever seen. With no parachute, the drop looked more like a bomb than a savior.
And just as Benson put the puzzle together, just as the monster crept back up and started to take full control, the bomb went off with the most magnificent light that he'd ever seen, although he never had time to admire it.