The Imperfect's Journal: 2

July 24th, 2066

Today, I was put back on guard duty for the bunker's interior. That alone made me uneasy, but things got worse. Much worse.

The afflicted fought against her--I got enough of a look to realize that it was a woman's body--restraints so fiercely that she nearly freed herself. The metal door was opened and a scientist, Dr. Quinn, called me into the room. I entered to find that the afflicted had torn off one of her own arms and was brandishing it like a weapon. The arm was still shackled at the wrist, as were her ankles and the wrist of her still-attached arm.

I was instructed to use something like a cattleprod to subdue the thing while one of the doctor's assistants approached it with a syringe. It wasn't easy, because somehow... the afflicted was still human, in my eyes. She was in pain; she was tormented beyond imagination and unable to communicate.

Or so I thought.

Once I had worked up the courage to electrocute the woman, she collapsed onto the floor. The syringe was plunged into her neck and she let out a gasp, then spoke with a hoarse whisper.

"Crawling," I remember her saying, "crawling in me. Crawling."

Then, a puff of purple gas was spat out of a strange formation on her back. The formation wasn't a welt or boil, which covered most of her body. It looked like... a flower of some kind. The odd thing growing from her shoulder blade had opened up as though it were blooming, sent out a puff of Renewer gas, and then closed back up.

The scientists hastily used a dissipator on the fog, covering their mouths with masks and forcing me out of the room.

A few minutes later, Dr. Quinn came out to speak with me. He told me that I was not to mention what I'd seen to anyone, no matter what. I promised I wouldn't, though I think I'm breaking that promise simply by writing down the experience.