damned_institute | Nightshift 45: West Wing, South Hall 1-A

This was like child's play. With the patient downed and his only weapon out of reach, there was no way that the cat was letting him get away now.

It stood staunchly on his back, letting its claws dig into his shoulder and then drag down, tearing open his shirt and leaving jagged red lines behind.

With the patient so weakened and helpless, there was no reason why the beast shouldn't take its time with the kill.

The flare of pain was immediate. The creature's breath was hot against his skin. He cursed. Somewhere deep in his mind, he thought absently that this was really familiar, just one more day out of many, but—

Reacting purely on the instinct that came out of that sense of Oh God, I think I'm gonna die, Matthew shoved onto his back, reaching back with his uninjured arm to grab onto what, he had no goddamn clue. Something. If he'd had time to consider, he ran the risk of getting his hand bitten off, but he wasn't really thinking straight. Didn't know why it hadn't gone for his throat, either, when it could've.

Whatever it was, it must've been a—a wild feline of some sort or something. Right? Those things wandered into homes and stuff all the time.

Wild feline didn't exactly fit when the thing shouldn't have been able to support its weight considering the decay, but it was difficult to discern much of that considering the darkness in the hallway.

It snarled when the human tried to turn around under it, and the moment his arm shot out the cat made sure to slam a clawed front leg down onto it to stop him.

Hissing right into his face, drool dripped down as it moved its too-large fangs toward the man's chest...

[FLASH. (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/756289.html?thread=62361153#t62361153) He'll save every one of us!]

There was a guy on the floor and a cat on his chest about to take a piece out of him, and while normally Wally was entirely against animal abuse, sometimes you just had to kick a rotting cat in the head.

"Bad kitty!" he snapped, his foot snapping out to connect with something. Hopefully something soft that would put the thing out of commission or convince it to go order take out instead. Because while Wally would normally laugh at the idea of zombie cats offering any kind of challenge (or, more accurately, wonder what kind of sick psychopath would make cat-zombies anyway), right now it'd probably wind up being a bit harder than that.

...not to mention he'd just kicked a rotting, zombie cat with a foot that only had a sneaker for protection. He was going to be regretting that every other step he took for the rest of the night, he just knew it.

The last thing the cat had been ready for was to get kicked at like some mangy animal while it was in the middle of its meal. Generally it would have been able to tell when someone was coming, but certain patients seemed particularly fast...

Wally's foot caught the beast in its side, causing it to cry out in ear-piercing pain as it turned itself around on top of Matthew's body (not taking care to retract its claws as it situated itself) so that it was properly facing its new attacker.

This was going to be a harder mark; it could already tell. But with the first one already down for the count as far as the cat concerned, doing the same to another patient just equaled a larger meal. Hissing threateningly, it sprung off of Matthew's body in order to pounce the newcomer.

One second, Matthew was about to get his throat torn out and the next, the thing screeched and suddenly pounced away, leaving deep scratches down his chest that tore across the line of stitching from an old injury already there. One that he couldn't remember getting beyond what he vaguely thought he imagined.

Ow. Jesus Christ. Matthew automatically scooted back, his brain trying to catch up. Where did that guy even come from?

He pressed down on the cuts, feeling the blood coat his fingers, even as he stared at the scene rapidly unfolding before him, bewildered. He was usually good at processing things fast, but none of this was making any logical sense, no matter which way he spun it. His first thought was that he really hated getting stitches (though since when had it happened more than once?) and his second was that the man who'd just shown up out of nowhere was gonna get himself killed and that Matthew should probably do something except he couldn't seem to get moving fast enough.

So much for the hope that the kick would drive the cat off without him having to fight it. Though Wally had to admit, if it had been that easy, chances were that the guy wouldn't have needed a rescue in the first place.

Still, he'd been kinda counting on the kick doing a bit more damage, but it seemed like all it had done was get some gunk on his foot (which was pretty disgusting), and make the thing mad. What with the cat leaping for his face and all.

"Whoa! Down kitty! What am I, a zombie chew toy?" Wally yelped, swinging wildly with the only thing he had at hand right then: his flashlight. "Go find some meow mix or something!"

The beast felt its claw dig for just a moment into its new target's side before the business end of the flashlight clocked it on the side of the head. It let out an angry screech as it darted in a daze to the side of the patient.

Still, a flashlight was not nearly as intimidating as some other weapons the cat had seen, and so after giving a shake of its head and regaining its balance, it turned itself around, tail flipping about angrily as it tried to put together its next move.

With some actual light cast on the thing, Matthew could finally see just what it looked like. That was to say, it looked like nothing he'd ever seen before. Nothing he'd ever even imagined he'd see, like it'd come straight out of a bad Stephen King film adaptation. Just. God. What.

Oh God, maybe he was hallucinating this. He hoped so. The sharp pain of the cuts said no, though.

He pulled it together enough to make a scramble for his flashlight and stumble to his feet. The creature had stopped pouncing everywhere, apparently assessing its situation. Or just taking its sweet time to eat them both.

He took a half-step back, expecting the sudden lull in action to cease just as quickly any second. They seriously needed to go, and Matthew would've booked it out of there without a second thought except that the guy who'd saved his ass didn't even look half as concerned as Matthew felt. And Matthew couldn't just turn on his heel and leave the man behind.

"I, uh—I—" Matthew's gaze lingered anxiously on the animal. "We should run. Now."

Okay, so apparently 'flail madly with a weapon' really wasn't the best defense ever, since Wally felt one or maybe more of the cat's claws dig into his side a bit, but he did manage to hit it in return. And hard enough that the cat even backed off for a moment, which gave the other guy time to get up as well.

Wally hesitated for a moment at the suggestion they should run, since it was just a cat and he'd dealt with worse and running, while something he was good at, felt kinda lame under those conditions. But, well... the other guy didn't seem like he'd be able to handle himself that well, not to mention looking a bit shell shocked by the whole thing. Getting out of there would probably be a good idea.

"Okay," he said, still watching the cat as best he could. "You go first, I'll follow and hold it off if it tries something." Here's to hoping the cat wasn't freakishly smart as well as being just freakish.

Running wasn't something that the cat was going to allow so easily. It could tell that the newer patient was shielding the wounded one, and in its mind all it had to do was get them both injured so that they would be easier to take down one at a time.

Ignoring its original target, who was out of range at the moment, the cat braced itself and then moved its weight back onto its hind legs before flinging itself toward Wally; both of its front paws stretched out for the man's front, claws extended as it prepared to drag them down the man's body with all the strength of its springing form.

Who did this guy think he was, some kind of hero? Actually, he must've been outright insane if the concept of getting the hell away from things that were trying to kill him made him hesitate.

Before Matthew could think or move, the animal launched again, lightning fast.

Shit.

He reached for the guy without thinking, half-intending to yank him out of the way and half just purely reacting. The thing was, he remembered this, the dark and things jumping out at him, but it wasn't—it was never supposed to be real.

Wally had been expecting some sort of attack from the cat - leaving a fight was never that easy in this place - but there was a difference between that and suddenly seeing a mutant, zombie cat leaping straight for him. And with how his speed was now, there was a whole world of difference between seeing the cat coming at him and actually being able to react fast enough to do anything significant.

He managed half a step to the side before he suddenly found the other guy's hand grabbing for his sleeve. Apparently he hadn't run for it when he'd had the chance, which made things a little more complicated. Mostly 'cause the well-meaning attempt to pull him back while he was already trying to move sideways nearly resulted in him falling on his face. It had done the job well enough though; one of the cat's paws skimmed his arm, tearing his sleeve and scratching a neat line down his bicep, but otherwise he was fine.

"Ow! Someone tell Landel to get his cats declawed," Wally yelped, attempting to fling the thing away before it had the chance to do any more damage. "That can't be good for the sofas."

Not missing a beat, he shot a quick look at his rescue-ee. "Listen, I'm serious, you get moving and I'll be right behind you. Otherwise I'll have to drag you out or something."

Having only injured the patient on his arm, the creature hissed in irritation, its hunger seeming to grow each time more blood was spilled. It needed to take the two down once and for all, and it wasn't as if they were moving very fast. Not willing to keep playing around, it let an unholy sound (the sort of noise only an angry cat could make) as it sprung at them again, this time intending to bite down and not let go.

It would tear through the first one's neck and then move on to the second, easy as that. It wouldn't be long before they were both lifeless sacks of meat on the floor.

The combination of that thing and the patient's reaction (...or lack thereof) to the entire situation was just baffling, and in the end, Matthew didn't have to be told again to run. It was all happening so fast that the accumulation of thoughts was ending up one giant tangle that he had no time to process.

All he knew was that the guy sounded so sure of himself, it just seemed like it'd be a good idea to listen to him.

He spun around and ran. He hoped the man wasn't lying when he said he'd be right behind; the last thing he wanted was another person's blood on his hands, however indirectly.

Actually, the last thing he wanted was anyone's blood spilled, period. Dammit, this was crazy.

Finally the other guy had started to move, but it was still way too slow (and not just by Wally's standards). The other man hadn't managed to get far before the cat was making one of those really pissed off cat sounds and lunging for him again.

But this time Wally had enough warning and space to really move.

He didn't think about it, just kicked into superspeed, the familiar feeling of lightning and energy charging through him better than anything else in the world.

"Nice try!"

He dodged back, relying on the cat's leap to fall short and give him enough time to whirl and catch up to the other guy. Normally he'd have been more worried about letting others see his powers in action, but there was a zombie cat after them both and Wally doubted it was going to give up easy. Not to mention it'd always been more important to him to make sure others were safe first.

He only slowed a little as he caught up with the other guy, managed to catch an arm around his torso, and lifted. It was awkward to say the least, but he'd carried way heavier people like this before, and it only had to be for a hallway or two. Hopefully by then Fluffy would have given up.

[Speedster express to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/753420.html?thread=62555148#t62555148)!]

Nightshift 45: West Wing, South Hall 1-A

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