M4DN3SS R3DACT3D (a sh!t madness combat story)

[[F1V3]]

** emetophobia, it's only for like a second but just so yk **

After Deimos fired the first shot, any sense of control Sanford had over himself was lost.

The last thing he truly remembered with his own full conscious was making his way towards the first agent. The actual attack, his hands warmed when they were coated in blood almost immediately, could've been him. But it wasn't. He could feel it.

Sanford's vision faded between completely dark, and the actual fight in front of him. One minute he had an agent in a chokehold. Then he was pulling the heart out of another. Slamming one into the wall. Looking down at how much his hands were shaking. Backing up from an agent to spit out red-turning-black liquid that was beginning to build up in every past of his body. The taste was nauseating enough, but feeling it mix with his real blood due to the damage it'd created in his body made him vomit. But there were still agents around, and he couldn't let them think he was losing it. He watched his hands hit them in their faces and effortlessly break their bones, but it hardly felt like him doing it.

All Deimos could do was stare.

He never thought either of them would get to this point again.

The first time Sanford had been infected, they knew right away. He was so erratic and scared of himself and what he could possibly do if they didn't get it out of him soon.

Deimos was the same, except he'd grown more violent and aggressive a lot faster. He'd caused a lot of damaged and injuries fairly quickly, which he still felt guilty about sometimes.

How long had it been there this time? Why would Sanford hide something like that? Did he even know? Had it already been too late?

Sanford turned around to meet Deimos's wide-eyed gaze, and the younger man froze. The substance that had been getting through his eye was now growing over his face, and more slowly out of his nose and mouth.

Sanford moved towards Deimos.

"'Ford, wait," Deimos stammered, backing up slightly. "Please- you're not- you don't have to-"

Sanford brought his shaking hands up in clenched fists.

When Deimos moved further away, his back hit the wall behind him. Sanford moved to hit him but paused and staggered back at the last second, holding his head in his hands.

Deimos swallowed. His body was rejecting it hard, like anyone else's would. He knew it felt like hell.

"'Ford?"

Fuck. Even when he was practically becoming the one thing they all hated the most, Deimos couldn't find it in him to want to hurt him or run away.

Deimos attempted to regain his bearings a bit. He pushed himself off of the wall, still keeping his distance from Sanford. His gun was gripped tightly in his hands, as if he'd ever even think of using it on the man in front of him.

He looked around frantically. Where the hell was Hank? Wasn't he done in his spot by now? Did he move on without them?

..Well, Hank would have thought they could just catch up to him.

Deimos was pulled out of his thoughts by Sanford slamming his fists into the wall next to him. The way he practically screamed in agony made Deimos freeze up.

Deimos suddenly felt something on his back. He attempted to turn around, thinking it was Hank or an agent or grunt, but whatever it was had claws that dug deep into his skin.

...Shit.

Just as he expected, the long, chain-like arm pulled him back into darkness. The sky started to fade into red, and Deimos felt himself falling.

Here we fuckin' go again.