The Hazmats

It would have made more sense to send the police to collect me. It would have made more sense if I were sent to prison for treason. They sure would get a lot more information out of me if I was interrogated rather than killed without a second thought. If I didn't despise them so much, perhaps I would work with them, introduce some new ideas.

But the police were not here, nor were any humans. Instead, the lovely government I love to slander somehow recruited eldritch horrors for the sole purpose of collecting deviants such as myself — seems like a waste of potential if you ask me, but then again, nobody's asking.

Thrice before these creatures had visited my doorstep. I knew I could avoid them no longer. Hence why I found myself trudging down the stairs at three in the morning to welcome God's mistakes into my home — maybe they'd like some coffee.

A long, slender hand reached to knock a third time, ever so impatient, monsters were. Before his hand could reach the door, however, I flung it open in a crazed, fear-fueled haste.

Though I had seen the hazmats on multiple different occasions, they are impossible to get used to. Four of them stood before me. True to their name, they were dressed in decrepit hazmat suits. These suits were hardly effective at keeping out bacteria it seemed, as they were mottled in places and completely dissolved in others. Their milky white skin was exposed where the rips lay. They were at least eight feet tall, with gangling arms outstretched, beckoning me towards them. They wore cylindrical masks covering their mouth and nose, and a hood covering their heads. They lacked eyes, their eye sockets gaping black holes. In their right hand, each held a downturned red ax. Blood dripped from their gloves in a never-ceasing uniformity.

It must have been five minutes I stared at them, the only noise the splatter of blood on the pavement. Each droplet echoed until I could hardly bear the frightful symphony taking place. My sanity slipped with each passing second.

In a last attempt to spare these creatures some humanity, I waved and let out a shaky, "Evening, gentlemen," which didn't sound nearly as nonchalant as I hoped it to.

They swarmed. One grabbed my torso and hoisted me above his shoulders effortlessly. I was then promptly, and a bit rudely, slammed to the ground. Handcuffs were forced onto my wrists and around my ankles. I felt a cold hand grasp my forearm and pull me to my feet. I swayed, struggling to adjust to my limited lower body mobility.

We began our journey to my demise. They moved with a terrifying uniformity, contrasting starkly with my stumbling gait.

They paraded me down a few blocks until we reached the subway. As we descended, I heard trains roaring below. We're we really going to take the subway to my execution? I hoped my death would be a bit more theatrical if I'm being honest. I made a mental note to haunt my daughter after I died and tell her that even monsters took the subway.

As we trudged deeper underground, we took a sharp left into a utility closet marked with a biohazard sign. They opened the door to reveal a staircase, sloped steeply downward. The air was cool and damp, mold clung to the low ceiling. The wooden steps were warped from the humidity. For sterile beings, their means of travel was teeming with disease.

The rough fabric of their suits brushed up against me as they nudged me down the stairs. I shivered at the contact. At the bottom of the staircase, I saw another door marked with the biohazard sign. A hazmat, whom I dubbed as Hazmat #1, entered a code on a keypad with remarkable fluidity. The door creaked open.

We stepped into an airlock. As soon as the door shut behind us, chemicals filled the air. My lungs burned with each inhale.

The airlock broke with a sharp exhale and the glass door in front of me opened to reveal a table laden with a variety of surgical instruments.

The hazmats I traveled with removed their masks, their mouths frozen in cold, evil smiles, and began preparing the table.

When all preparations appeared finished, a metallic voice rasped,

“Lie down on the table."

I stayed frozen in place.

"Failure to oblige will result in the use of force," it warned.

I didn’t move.

I felt a hand on my throat. I was then slammed up against the table with an unnecessary amount of force, in my opinion. The hand did not release. The hazmat holding me started down at me, its mouth open in a silent scream. Its tongue had been cut out or otherwise mutilated. As this creature held me down, another inserted a needle into my forearm and a cold liquid seeped through my veins. My eyes fluttered shut with the image of my captor above me burned into my eyelids.

When I awoke, I felt an absence in my mouth. I found myself strapped to a table. I had no memory of how I had gotten here, or why I was here in the first place.

Hooded figures approached and unstrapped me. I was fitted with a stark white suit, black mask, and white gloves. As I dressed, I caught a glimpse of my reflection on the gleaming metal table, my eyes were no longer, instead replaced by gaping black holes, my mouth was set in a terrifying smile.

I heard a familiar tinny voice over the intercom, "Thirty-second Avenue, Apartment 102.”

In apartment 102, on thirty-second avenue, a teenage girl awoke to find her father missing. She tore around the house, leaving a flurry of papers in her wake, looking for signs as to where he may have gone.

She knew deep down what had happened, she heard the creatures that knocked on her door, observed the ominous marches they conducted at night, leading civilians to their demise.

She opened the door, wild hair flying behind her. She looked down and the blood-splattered entryway and sank to her knees. Nothing else but the monsters cloaked in the guise of cleanliness could leave such a perfect crime scene.

She cursed the government, cursed the monsters that stole her father. She was alone. she couldn't survive like that. She dared someone to come for her, to kill her, anything was better than this.

Myself and four others, clothed in suits I could assume started out like mine but atrophied with time, began ascending a steep staircase. I ducked my head to prevent my head from hitting the low, moldy ceiling. We reached the surface as the first rays of early morning sun hit the streets.

"We must hurry," I thought, though I didn't know why.

I suppose it wouldn't be a pleasant sight to see us walking the streets of town in broad daylight. We were to keep under the cover of nightfall.

We reached apartment 102, I rapped three times on the door. After three rounds of knocking, one of my companions grew impatient and burnt through the lock with a laser.

A girl in a long white dress and disheveled hair stood, stock still, on the other side of the door, an expression of absolute terror written plainly on her face. This sight caused an intense wave of remembrance to come crashing upon me. I knew this girl, somehow, I did not wish any harm upon her.

I tried to call out, but I could not. My vocal cords were mutated, I could not speak. My companions attempted to grab her by the arms, but she struggled so much they could not keep hold of her.

I heard the same robotic voice that I heard in the room with the surgery table in my helmet, “Subject is unwilling to cooperate, failure to do so results in execution.”

Four masked figures turned towards me, all having heard the same message I had.

I realized they expected me to perform the execution.

“Failure to cooperate results in execution,” the voice repeated.

I raised my right hand involuntarily, in it was a small red ax. I stepped forward and swiftly brought the ax down. Blood spurted from the girl's neck and she fell to the ground in anguish. Her hands reached to soothe her wound, and I swung the ax again, this time puncturing her throat. She gasped one last time, swayed, and toppled over, dead.

A cold feeling spread over my hands, I looked down to see my white gloves were now the lightest shade of red. I looked at the gloves of my companions, so saturated with color that they dripped onto the floor.

As we walked out of the apartment and down the street, I felt an immense calmness and sense of accomplishment.

What have I become?