2Chapter One: Strange Happenings
I'm not very attentive, I never have been, according to my mother, before she died of NefariaS, I was very ADD, not to mention a little prat. I'd always been curious, nosy as it were, and it definitely didn't help that we all were susceptible to death at any given moment.
It was unlikely that I would though, being seemingly immune to whatever that asteroid had tried to bring onto this given hell of a planet. That immunity allowed me to go anywhere I wanted, which was quite useful if I wanted to go, say, to Japan to pick up the latest video game, or to Manhattan, New York if I wanted to speculate about a story I'd been reading on the internet...
Of course, speculation is all well and good, when it's serving a purpose. But when it's me speculating, it's probably not doing anything much.
I mean, half the time my speculations are about 'what would happen if the characters in this book did actually exist in this day and age?' kind of like 'what would Yoda do?*' And I was usually reprimanded for it, in a small cell that reminded one of a decaying corpse, graveyards, and for the more imaginative, zombies.
Keep in mind here, they aren't actually zombies, they were shortly referred to as such, but then it became politically incorrect, and it all stopped, except for the occasional person, (or redneck) who didn't know any better. You know, like how it became insulting for people to say retard, and you had to call them special? Or like how midget became derogatory and you had to call them dwarves, or 'fun-sized'? Now their just called regenerates, people whose body had regenerated from the sometimes mild to severe necrosis that had occurred in the beginning.
Don't you just love the days when people say the world's going to end?
That's why I stopped watching the news. Damn bastards didn't know when to stop panicking the public. The evening news always opens by them saying 'Good evening' and then proceeding to tell you exactly why it isn't. Poor people who watch the news, they always seem to be the ones sporting shirts about the apocalypse.
Then again, I'm the one wearing the shirt that says 'You don't always have to be the best, remember, amateurs build the arc, professionals built the Titanic.' So I guess you can't take my word for it.
God, I feel like such a nerd, though I don't really act like one, more like a genius who doesn't hesitate to let other people know I am. Which is why people avoid me.
My aunt disagreed, she said it was because my ice cold eyes glittered with an intelligence rarely seen in a human being.
I am smart, but I'm lazy too.
My workplace is a medium-sized lab room with sinks, bio-hazard trashcans, faucets, and a decontamination shower. It worked, for the amount of stuff I used each day, someone was bound to use it if something exploded, which it often did.
Like right about now, as I was mixing some chemicals I couldn't remember the name of together. I could hear the sound of my breathing through the mask and goggles tightly secured to my face, a co-worker watched in horror as the dangerous chemicals began to react.
"EVERYONE OUT! NOW! GLACIA'S DONE IT AGAIN! DEATHCON 3!" Oh, and by the way, they're all bigger nerds than I am, assigning Final Fantasy, Star Gate, Star Trek, and Star Wars warnings to just about everything... Especially to my office, there's a label on my door that says: 'Warning, Sephiroth ahead.'
Anyone who wasn't me fled the room in a panic, before whatever I'd put together spread through the room. Di-boron Hexahydride is really, really explosive, and the result of opening it had caused another toxic gas I'd had on hand to leak. It was experimental, and therefore, quite deadly. I still hadn't developed an antidote to it yet, though I knew of several plants that might work against it. Until then though, this air-infecting toxin would have to be contained, which meant that I'd have to stay in the room until I'd found a way to remove it, which more often than not meant I'd have to create an antidote that could neutralize it.
I sighed in exasperation, this happened way too often to be accidental, "Why, oh why, can't we have febreeze in here? This place smells like...oh shit!" I cursed and ran away from the cloud of toxic gas.
Then I passed out, thanks to the fact that I'd made the toxin molecules smaller than the air filter I possessed. I'm a genius, and I'm damned good at my job, because I'm very well paid for it, and most of what I'd developed was being used to combat the huge amount of assassins and mercenaries that spouted up because of the asteroid.
It seems that a lot of people want other people dead these days, and I don't blame them. The Regenerates creep a lot of people out, because they may be able to function and behave like any other human being, but they don't act like the people they were before. I've been fortunate enough to meet only one of them, my cousin, Kineko Aine, is one, and she creeps the hell out of me.
But that doesn't matter right now, because I can feel my body convulsing and shaking from the effects of the poison, but how I do is lost on me, because didn't I black out?
"Glacia! Glacia! Wake up you cold hearted bitch!" Someone was shaking me, and wearing a gas mask, which I could hear, "Come on Glacia, don't tell me that antidote labeled 'Antidote' didn't work!"
Then it all went black... Again.
Author's Note: Interesting, isn't it? Zombies that aren't zombies? (That probably will be called zombies again..)
Ahh, the sweet smell of flesh decay in the morning, how delightful.
-Violet.m: Glad you like it, and I think both are bliss. And I let people who don't have accounts comment so I can be happy I get reviews at all! ^_^ I hope you continue reading miss Violet!
And I've been dreaming of the same guy over and over again, I've got the details on my profile. And I need to make a freaking website for my stuff...haha. This chapter is short because she blacks out, and nothing much happens.
I know when you add this story to your alerts list, review please! Or I'll sic my German Shepard Sasha on you! (and if you review, you might get previews!)