𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗨𝗘𝗗 - Hermitcraft Hellhole. Or Tartarus. Whatever works.

Shattered Reality

A/N: So I found this. I don't know when I made it, but I found this.

The man leans into him. There is a dark red almost black colour to the whites of his eyes. He is so close his nose is almost touching the other's nose. The other can feel his breath when he says, "We all have it in here. We are all infected."

The other pushes past the man and there are so many of them. All infected. He wasn't, couldn't, isn't, wouldn't, be infected. He can hear the other infected laughing and jeering behind him.

The apocalypse had happened when he was a kid. And he survived and he wouldn't be infected.

He dashed away, the last thing he remembers— actually he doesn't remember at all. The only reason he knew the apocalypse had happened to his Realįty was from the newspapers he had found.

He soon found a building, an important-looking one at that, so far he hadn't had an encounter with a zombie, else he'd be screwed. He wasn't infected or so he insisted to himself. But deep inside him, he knew he was infected. And once you were infected, well, I think you can guess. It was quite painful, the transition. And it happened slowly. So that didn't help.

He can still hear the other infected people laughing and jeering in his head, even though he had left them far behind.

He dashed up, and then he found rows upon rows of old-fashioned computers, nothing like the sleek new ones that his Realįty had.

He frowned, momentarily brought out of his haste.

CRASH!

That wasn't possible. They couldn't have found him so soon. But they had.

He looked around the room, hoping for an exit, a hideout, anything.

Nothing.

He could hear them coming up the stairs now, and he knew he would only have a couple of minutes left.

And then he spotted it.

It was a hidden door. A very cleverly hidden door, and even though he was staring at it, it still looked like a wall.

He quickly darted towards it, and managed to close the door, just as he could hear the others bursting into the floor he was on.

The room he was in was small, and very bare, with only two tables, a chair, and an old fashioned computer, sitting on one of the tables, open onto a document.

He quickly glanced back at the door, before dragging the table that wasn't holding the computer over to the door, giving him a few minutes. Five at worst. Ten at best.

He sat on the chair and started the document.

The Anchoråe Project

(notes were written by Doctor Ross)

Day 1, 5672

Today our organization shall work on a project that I have been meaning to work on for a long time.

The Anchoråe Project.

Unlike other Realities, ours has more zombies than any other mob, and we only have temporary solutions. Setting them on fire doesn't work, as they will come back in even greater numbers.

Instead, the Organization believes that we can put a stop to this once and for all. We will create superhumans that will deal with the zombies. If the Ådmins can't stop them, then we WILL.

Day 20, 5672

The first stage of testing. We had forty people join The Anchorae Project as subjects.