We deploy to the lockdown zone early afternoon. The usual scene: Panic, plundering, raping. Corpses.
Designed to improve lifestock, it now changes people. Chicken, this time. Beaks, wings, feathers. Their only desire: Be food.
A girl rips her feathers out as she sees me, then kneels, belly and throat exposed.
She brought her own knife. Cuts herself open, guts herself. Poses, all hollow.
With an exstatic smile she chops her own head off. I wait for her eyes to loose focus, then step over her corpse.
She might have been tasty, but carries the mutagen. We need to burn everything.