Make Them Die Slow

There were no sirens when the canisters dropped. As the streets filled with gas those with the intelligence left to do so moved to higher ground. The hordes huddled in the streets below dropped quietly as the noxious yellow clouds peeled away already fragile layers of skin, stopping their lungs in a way the infection had been unable to.

A week after the initial strike lines of soldiers made soulless by masks canvased the streets putting down diseased citizens too injured to move, too alive to die.

Two weeks after the initial strike they returned to systematically clear the buildings from the ground floor up.

Three weeks after the initial strike the city was abandoned to the dead. The gas had cleared from all but the basement floors of the metropolis. It left behind bodies pocked with boils and bullets piled at the crossroads of every street.

Three weeks after and only the fittest survived.



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