Extermination

Freedom

The large grey metal doors to Clayton's cell opened, hissing as they locked in place, allowing him to exit. The man as muscled as a Gorilla stepped onto the cold metal floor outside his cell where two guards in armour padded uniforms held rifles, ready to shoot should he try to escape them. He sneered at the shackles bound by energy links around his wrists and ankles, but went with it considering his circumstances.  God how he wanted to scratch his face. It had been weeks since he shaved and it was beginning to feel like a cactus across his jaws. Other Convicts launched themselves at their cell doors, trying to get some sort of reaction out of him through their small windows, but he just followed the guards, trying to figure out where he was being taken. He scanned the cell block, looking for somewhere he might be able to escape if he had to, not that it would be hard to do considering he once put an inmate in the infirmary for a week after punching his shoulder just in the right spot to dislocate it. He now considered the scar protruding across his right eye to the bottom left of his jaw a souvenir from the guards later that night.

After ten minutes or so of walking, Clayton was eventually walked into a large circular room with the Correctional Captain, and to his surprise, General Brock James, the head of the Strength's exponentially large Military. General James stood tall and firm, his face unreadable as he nodded to the officers leading Clayton to remove is shackles. Clayton rubbed his wrists as they were set free and finally scratched that god awful annoying itch on his chin. He then looked directly at the General and tilted his head backwards, a smug grin across his face.
     "Don't suppose you'll let me have a smoke, would ya?" Clayton's voice was as gruff and heavy as he himself appeared. He folded his arms across his chest, and shifted his weight to his right side. The Admiral sighed.
     "Someone get him what he wants." He was dressed in the same grey uniform anyone ever really saw him in, all his medals and badges on display. He spoke once more after one of his soldiers gave Clayton a cigar and lit it for him. "I've read your file, Clayton Hargrave. Nineteen counts of murder, One count of political assassination, and numerous counts of vandalism and destruction of property. Had you not been labelled Psychotic, I would have had you executed by a firing squad the day your judgement was passed." Clayton huffed in amusement to himself as he puffed on his cigar.
     "So why are we talking now if you hate me so much?"
     "I'm not going to lie to you, Clayton. I've had a long career over my life, and a hard one at that. I've dealt with threats like The Mind's out of control Robots, made to aid The Strength in our efforts should we encounter something that poses a threat to our race. There was also the time a decade ago when The Mind and The Sight tried to ally against us. I was the one who signed the peace treaty in our name. But there is new threat that I am not sending my men near."
Clayton looked puzzled. Why would the leader of the most powerful Military on Earth not want to send his own men to deal with a threat that requires power?
     "What's The Strength army motto? No Fear, only Power?" Clayton grabbed the cigar in his mouth and took a few puffs, smoke billowing from his mouth.
     "This is different. Conventional weapons aren't effective at this stage. You are aware of the Science stations in orbit above the planet?"
     "The ones that make our weapons, armour, ship enhancements and so on? Yeah. I know the ones."
     "Their most recent work was to create biological enhancements for humanity to have upgraded or additional functions to the body. Say you have brittle bone disease. This enhancement can be programmed into the enhancement and injected into you, making your bones as strong as anyone else's. The Military could inject it into their soldiers so that they never become exhausted from physical exertion. The Mind's scientists were tasked with creating this." Clayton grabbed his cigar and tapped it twice, the ash flaking off to the floor like burning snow.
    "Sounds dangerous if you ask me."
    "It is. They thought that it was complete because every subject given the treatment showed positive results. This genome has since been sent to Earth. Shortly after that happened, this report came in." A large monitor slid down from the roof of the room, displaying security footage of the Station Madrid. 
     "Chief chemist Norman here with an update on the super gene. Green lights across the board. Samples have been sent by ship back to Earth ready to be administered into people. We have begun work on-" The scientist stopped as a loud crash and shattering glass sounded in the lab behind him followed by screaming and gurgling. "Oh god. No. Broadcasting on all frequencies. Those who receive this message, test subjects given the super gene are dying. Do not allow this to be injected into people on Earth. I repeat, do not allow the genome to e injected into people."
Clayton stroked his growing beard, curious as to what he was just shown. The General looked at Clayton square in the eyes.
     "This next transmission we received a week ago. All we have is personal camera footage." The screen flicked to another transmission, the scientist showing immense fear in her eyes.
     "This is Nora Kells, aboard Station Madrid. I can't speak too loudly or they'll hear me. The dead are walking, killing anyone they catch, turning them into more. They're zombies. I repeat, the genome has created zombies. If someone doesn't come and help soon, we are all going to die and every piece of research will be lost. I'm begging you, please-" A loud crash sounds in the background, followed by a loud aggressive groaning and Kell's terrified screaming as she drops the camera. All that is seen is shambling bodies, clumsily running and writhing around towards the camera. Blood sprays over the camera lens as Kell's screaming is drowned out by the sound of tearing flesh.

Clayton stands, dumbstruck with what he had just bore witness to to. The General walks across the room until he is standing opposite of Clayton, a large circle of the floor separating them.
     "This is where you come in, Hargrave. You will be doing what I am not wasting my men in doing. The genome samples sent to Earth have since been destroyed, but we have lost contact with twenty of the fifty stations in orbit, others beginning to send similar distress signals to viral outbreaks. I am sending you and a number of other convicts to these stations to neutralize the outbreaks on each station by any means necessary."
     "I hope I'll be getting protection against those things." Clayton sneered at the General who replied with a small grin.
     "You will. Better protection than my soldiers do as well. Come with me." He turns and leads Clayton out of the room, placing a hand on the Correctional Captain's shoulder as he leaves. "I'll take him from here." The Captain nodded and told everyone to get back to what they're doing as General James lead Clayton outside and through the gates of the prison, Clayton basking in the warmth of the sunlight he only saw for an hour each day. The General stopped as they came to a Mobile Armoury, a large ship containing enough firepower to keep a base supplied for six months. The large ramp of the hulking ship opened, the whirring echoed through the whole prison grounds. At the top of the ramp was a platform with mechanical arms ready to perform their task as if a puppet controlled by a master.
      "That machine will put you in one of a hundred armour suits that engineers of The Mind began designing and created within hours of the reports of Zombies on board the Science Stations. We call it and the people who wear them Exterminators. You are going to be one of them." The General's expression was still unreadable as he looked up towards the armour platform. Clayton dropped his cigar onto the ground and stamped it out, treating it like a cheap cigarette rather than an expensive cigar.
      "And that'll help protect me against the Zombies?"
      "It will protect you to an extent. Don't take unnecessary risks that could potentially damage it. It has been tested to withstand impact from semi-trailers and small explosions. I don't know what you will encounter on those stations, however. It will also enhance your physical strength and will become your casket should you die there. This is your second chance, Hargrave. I hope that you'll not waste it." The General held out his hand to Clayton, who looked down at it and then up at the General's face before shaking it.
      "Alright. I'll do it. IF I don't get put back in that cell when I'm done." He gave the General a stern look in an attempt to intimidate him into agreeing with his conditions. The General Chuckled.
      "Mister Hargrave, that armour is your new cell. You are no longer a convict to a high security prison. You are an expendable asset who will be called upon should the need arise. This is as close to freedom as you will receive until you prove yourself trustworthy. Now suit up. You have a Space Station to visit."