The T series turned humans into brain-fried cannibals, an unfortunate side effect, but it hadn't been created for people. Through the questionable miracles of modern science, most of the new weapon subjects weren't even remotely human, and the virus turned them into killing machines. Chaos had ensued. The base commander, that creepy maniac Alfred Ashford, hadn't done a damned thing to organize, so it had been up to the ranking soldiers to lead. The prisoners were obviously useless but there had been enough grunts on the ground to launch a tremendously unsuccessful defense and counterattack; his own boys had fallen as quickly as the rest of them, wiped out on their way to the heliport by a trio of OR1s, the current T-virus breed of choice. All that training lost in just a minute or two. The OR1s were particularly nasty, violently aggressive and extremely powerful. Fortunately, only a few of those had escaped … but then, a few was all it took. Bandersnatches, the grunts called them, because of the long reach. Funny, that his team had been so careful to avoid infection, donning custom filter masks even as the first bombs hit and yet they were taken out by a form of the virus, anyway.

At least it was over fast, before they even knew how much trouble they were in, he thought, envying them their hope, He hurt, he was exhausted, and he'd seen things that he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life, however long that might turn out to be. They were the lucky ones.

Rockfort had become a hell on Earth. The man-made virus was a short-lived airborne and had dispersed quickly, only infecting about half the island's population … but the new carriers had promptly chomped down on most of the other half, spreading the disease. Some had escaped early on, but between the infected and the freed BOWs, getting out had become a bleak option. The entire island was overrun.