Chapter 2: Bloody Gruesome Endeavours
Carter burst out of the clandestine facility, the bone-chilling wind assaulting his exposed flesh. Dreadlock's gloomy streets lay before him, the occasional flicker of dying streetlamps hardly illuminating the ghostly scene. Despite the lurking threats, Carter's pulse remained steady. These desolate streets were as familiar to him as the crimson-stained walls of his humble abode. Every night, Carter walked the zombie-infested city, looking for fresh meat he could cleave through. He noted the militia on patrol whose duty was to capture and also ensure that no rotting fiends encroached upon HarvestCorp's territory.
"Bloody hell, this damned city will bury me alive," he cursed, adjusting the weight of his stained axe on his shoulder.
During the fleeting moments of respite, Carter indulged in a pint at a ramshackle pub nearby, aptly named 'The Last Gasp'. As he swaggered in, a familiar face greeted him.
"Oi, Carter! Over 'ere, mate!" Rachel beckoned him over with a wave of her hand, her curly brown hair was dishevelled from a day's work.
He ambled over to their customary table, collapsing into the rickety seat. The duo's crude banter flowed effortlessly, the cacophony of desperate survivors providing a bleak soundtrack to their morbid conversations.
"Spill it, Carter, how'd it go with Mr. Pierce?" Rachel pressed, her eyes clouded with worry.
"Job's done, Rach," he replied with a sadistic grin splitting his face. "We're in for a bloody upheaval at the facility. Fresh techniques, mountains of putrid flesh, and all that rot."
Rachel scowled at his words, her disdain for HarvestCorp's corrupt operations was slowly festering beneath the surface. "You ever ponder if we're the bloody monsters, Carter?"
Carter snickered. "Does it sodding matter, love? We're alive, and that's the only currency in this accursed world."
Their serious discussions were often disrupted by Ethan, who intruded without invitation. A zealous enforcer for HarvestCorp, he revelled in any chance to assert dominance. To Carter and Rachel's dismay, Ethan relished keeping tabs on his fellow workers.
"Well, look at the gruesome twosome!" Said Ethan, barging in with a predatory grin exposing his dirty teeth. "Whispering sweet nothings about the future of HarvestCorp, I presume?"
Carter slammed his drink, the glass shattering beneath his grip. "What do you want, Ethan?"
Ethan leaned on the table, savouring their unease. "Just ensuring everyone's in line. Can't be too cautious with Mr. Pierce breathing down our rotten necks."
"Don't you fret, sunshine," Carter retorted, venom dripping from each word. "I've got it all under control."
Ethan raised his hands in mock surrender, his sinister smile never leaving his face as he slithered away. As much as Carter despised his rival, he knew that crossing him would only lead to trouble.
***
Weary from another day of death, Carter trudged back to the concealed facility with his thoughts consumed by his newfound obligations. His sole desire was to satisfy Mr. Pierce and demonstrate his ability to adapt to HarvestCorp's macabre methods.
HarvestCorp's headquarters hummed with depravity, the morbid drone of machinery serving as a chilling backdrop to their unholy work. The facility's sterile, inhuman environment mirrored its purpose. Carter stalked the maze-like corridors, eventually arriving at his designated workspace, where a nauseating array of mutilated corpses awaited his skilled touch.
Without hesitation, Carter meticulously arranged his implements of gore on a steel tray, admiring their lustre in the dim light. The power of wielding these tools coursed through his veins, invigorating him like nothing else in this decaying world. The nasty task at hand provided him with an unparalleled sense of purpose and control. Today, he would commence implementing the techniques pilfered from the rival organization.
As Carter set to work, Rachel crept closer, all the while brimming with conflicting emotions. "Carter," she began softly, "I know you're eager to please, but please... consider the lives we're destroying."
He scoffed, fixated on his preparations. "Rachel, these aren't lives anymore. They're rotting meat bags, mere fuel for the Flesh System. We need them to power this damned place and fill our own starved bellies. Don't lose your nerve now."
Rachel's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I just don't want us to forfeit our humanity, Carter. In the end, that's all we have left."
He paused, heaving a sigh before casting her a fleeting glance. "We do what's necessary to survive, Rachel. And I'll ensure that includes you and me."
Acknowledging him with a nod, Rachel retreated, leaving Carter to his repugnant duties. Engrossed in the vile task at hand, his hands danced with the elegance of a concert pianist, the newfound techniques rendering the process increasingly efficient and infinitely more brutal.
Hours later, Carter was interrupted by Mr. Pierce's sudden appearance. "Ah, Mr. Woodstorm, how goes the implementation?" he inquired with wicked anticipation.
Straightening up, Carter wiped the perspiration and blood from his face. "I've managed to boost the extraction rate by twenty percent, sir. We'll be leaving our competitors in the dust soon enough."
Mr. Pierce's grin widened. "Splendid work, Carter. I knew I could rely on you. Maintain this performance, and you'll be rewarded with a promotion you can't refuse."
"Thank you, sir. I won't disappoint," Carter replied with pride surging through his veins.
After Mr. Pierce departed, Carter experienced a sense of accomplishment. His successful mission had brought HarvestCorp closer to dominating the grisly market. Yet Rachel's words lingered, a haunting reminder of the human cost.
From the shadows, Ethan observed the exchange between Carter and Mr. Pierce, rage simmering beneath the surface. Gritting his teeth, he vowed to eliminate his adversary. Meanwhile, his malicious plan took shape, a smirk played upon his lips.
For now, the nightmarish routine of Dreadlock's residents persisted, propelled by the relentless demands of the vile Flesh System. But Carter could sense a storm brewing, a volatile tension that threatened to shatter the tenuous balance of their cursed existence. In a world suffocated by zombies and tormented by sadistic organizations like HarvestCorp, clinging to the last vestiges of humanity grew increasingly futile.
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