A Hungry, Hungry Blur...

The Characters are obvious nods to heroes...

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He used to be indecisive. Not knowing whether to stop a museum fire first or catch the girl falling off the bridge. Either way, they both would be done, before the firefighters could turn to use the fire hydrant and before the girl had her regrets about her decision of suicide. Over time, however, that same indecisiveness was used against him. Many of his foes such as Wind Whisperer and Coal-Rush plots involved making the hero Micro-Second choose: the girl or the father. Both falling at the same time, but the hero’s speed dampened to an extent using uranium celled lights. Micro learned a long time ago that indecisiveness leads to somebody’s death. So he decided to be an impulse upon his enemies.

That was his mindset five years ago. Before the cataclysm. Before the outbreak. Before his world ended. Or so he thought at the time.

It was eighty-seven degrees in late May, and although the sun started to scorch the citizens of Seattle like ants through magnifying glasses, it didn't stop them from continuing on with their lives. It didn't stop Micro from doing his daily patrols. Patrols like those used to be grueling torture, not because of the “physical exertion” but from the mental. Many of the fellow heroes always discussed how envious they were of Micro. How they wished they could be everywhere at once, wished they could move so fast they could save everyone. To Micro, they had no damn clue how torturous it could be. 

To be so fast as to move faster than a flutter of a hummingbird, to move faster than an actual bullet and even an atom-splitting before a nuclear detonation, seemed fascinating at first, but it was a part of the sad truth of reality. It made Micro dull in the pleasures of life. Eating a juicy steak with buttery potatoes seemed like a chore to him now, feeling the food slowly go down into your stomach like a drop of oil on metal. Seeing shooting stars might as well have been clouds breezing by on weak wind and even a bullet, from the gunpowder exploding, to the dome of metal traveling to its intended target seemed like an everyday occurrence of boredom. It showed the most when around people. When the silver and white trimmed suited hero wasn't in his costume, he was a famous vlogger and traveler, writing his sixth traveling book once again popular, especially when he mentioned his encounter with an alien species. When having small chit-chat with others about everyday occurrences, like Gladiatius flight across Chicago or Elementress escapades in New Zealand, he used to be in utter hell.

Sound travels fast. Depending on the temperature, the speed of sound could be at 342 milliseconds at a room temperature of twenty-degrees-celsius. Even while going that fast, every word people used to utter seemed like an eternity of torment. It wasn't his fault his mind wandered or he noticed a small occurrence happening and he intervened. Took him only a blink to be in his costume and stop a bank robbery, then back in front of the person before their next word came out.

That was Micro’s life. Used to be. The anti-social-ness had to end sometime. It ended with the woman of his dreams. Bethany may not have been as fast as him, but she was a hero like him. Well used to be. She quit after a few years, deciding her work as a reporter was better, but she still understood what duties heroes had. That was the first reason he fell in love with her. The second was the fact that she somehow, without even having telepathy, was able to understand just how slow everyone else was compared to Micro. For the first time, someone understood him. And it was someone who was not only vivaciously beautiful but had feelings for him as well.

They were together for ten years. Had two kids, two twins. Micro’s world changed. The eternity he called hell became heaven to him, especially around Bethany and his family. He could stare at her for that long and she wouldn't even know. He could visit her, on her journeys across the city, and she wouldn't even know he prevented a mugger or an assassin from hurting her. He protected his love and she kept him grounded, with faith. For those then years, he was not only the fastest hero on the planet but the happiest.

Back in late May, the temperature made the job a little more difficult for Micro but hey, that’s a part of the job, especially when you were in an abrasion-resistant frictionless armor. It had no air conditioning in it. He was busy figuring out how he was going to durian his sweat-soaked suit when he got home when the message came in. In his earpiece, connecting to a hidden frequency in the deepest roots of the earth, Mud-Hunter, great friend and heart, sounded distressed. Even as slow as it came to him, Micro could tell through the tiny fluctuations in his friend’s voice that something was wrong.

“Micro...Something’s happening. Great Goddess! They’re everywhere!”

Micro was already past China and heading into Tibet straight into the distinct mountain with the holographic wall, leading him to the inner sanctum of Mud-Hunter. By the time Mud-Hunter could get out the rest of the words, Micro was beside him and staring in horror.

All around him was red. Do you know how fast smell travels to the nose and how fast the brain processes it? Micro didn't need to take in the copper to know that it was blood all around him. Pieces and chunks of flesh flew everywhere as his old teammates, friends, people he called family-were eating each other.

He could barely recognize each of the members, but their faint silhouettes told him that they were gone. They didn't stand straight and tall like the proud heroes of the World Alliance. They were hunched over, snarling, munching, and slobbering over corpses of fallen teammates. For the first time in fifteen years, since Micro gained his powers, he stopped and time seemed to quicken until the entire scene hit him like lightning. 

One friend, a powerful heroine, Aurora stood. Her feet cracked and caved in on each other. She crawled towards the next corpse, ripping off a piece of intestine. Her once blonde hair was matted and orange, her skin a sickly gray, and her eyes...Micro will never forget that day. It was Mud-Hunter, speaking into his earpiece, that brought Micro back to reality. Time slowed once again and he was back in his realm of timelessness. “Micro! I’m trapped in the bunker. They’ve infested the entire facility!”

He tried to utter words, but the cold rushing to his spine made it come out as a stutter. “On-on...my..way.”

When he spoke, all the cannibal creatures looked up. Aurora didn't stand-she floated up from her meal and with a cry, came charging at Micro. He was back and he easily dodged the woman, avoiding a three-ton tackle into a steel wall. The others, from the man out of time, the Lightbringer sent a pulverizing beam of light towards Micro. Micro would have scoffed. He was past the speed of light. He ducked under it and ignored the sickly feeling in his stomach, ignored the feeble claws of his teammates reaching out, and ran past them, deeper into the Sanctum. He made it in front of a bunker, where walking corpses clawed at the door. They used to be the Pugilist Trio, triplets who had an acclimation for martial arts, now hungry animals, scraping off their fingernails and skin trying to get to the food. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Micro muttered under his breath. Then he ran. The smallest push no- nudge- sent the trio back down the hall and splattered against the wall. Micro phased through the impenetrable bunker and was face to face with his old friend. Although Mud-Hunter belonged to a race of ancient aliens that lived under the earth, using shapeshifting to survive in harsh conditions, never in all their years did Micro see his friend like this.

The once tall, beefy hero in rustic armor was now an amorphous shape, constantly shifting, morphing into a different form, trying to adapt, to change, to root it out. To root the infection out…

“Marcus! Oh god, what’s happening?”

A wave of voices came all out at once. “It spread through the team! Tigren infected me! His claws! The sickness Benny! Oh, goddess! It's strong. But I’m trying to…”

Micro watched as the familiar friend started to reform once again. He was back into his warrior form, sweat-the first Micro seen on him ever- streamed down his face. “I am able to contain it. But it's powerful. It's erratic and spreads quickly. Almost as fast as you Benny.”

“How did this happen? How do we stop it? Where is Elementress? Gladiatius?”

“I don't know!” Mud-Hunter went to the monitors across the bunker. He shook his head at the screen before him. The Pugilist Trio, barely a body left, came clawing back at the door, snarling, blood gushing from their body. “They are off duty, they have no idea Benny.”

“We have to warn them! Call in reinforcements!”

“No!” the giant man yelled, then doubled over in pain. “We can't risk any other Alliance members getting infected. It's not airborne, but through a scratch or bite, can it be transferred!”

Micro watched the screen in front of him. He could see the splotch of light growing. Their reinforcements were arriving. “Then what do we do then?” Micro asked.

Mud-Hunter was quiet for some time. Then he jetted to the monitors and started to type in a command. It didn't take Micro a millisecond to realize what he was inputting. Operation Abaddon was something he thought of the moment he saw the tiny carcass of the talking money Mini-Masher in Aurora’s mouth.  It was a full-on nuclear detonation of the facility. Micro was on Mud-Hunter before he could type in the final command. He crashed into him and the warrior morphed into a pile of mush. He quickly reformed and an arm struck out. Micro was quick as always, an impulse, but not observant enough to see the slithering tendril creep around his legs and yank him to the ground. As fast as he was, he’d sometimes find himself toppling over from a slick punch from a foe. He just didn't expect it to be from a friend.

Another tendril, dark and protruding like a mass of darkness came towards him but Mud-Hunter caught it in time. “Ah! Don't fight this Benny! This had to happen!” the being’s normal tendrils tightened around Micro. Mud-Hunter slid over to the keyboard and with one final click pressed it. The monitors went black, then turned back on a fain red flashing. The facility around them boomed to life with a voice.

Abaddon commenced. One minute…

“NO!” Micro shook, so fast, Mud-Hunter’s tendrils exploded across the bunker. Chunks of conscious protoplasm spread everywhere. Micro was quick to wipe off the slime from his suit. Too bad he missed a piece that was slowly crawling toward an orifice…

Micro shot to the computers, failing to input commands. All technology was shutting down, the facility in a crimson red light. “no...Fuck! Marcus!” Micro shot around to see the reforming mass. Only it wasn't Marcus anymore. “I had to...I’m so sorry Benny...So...argh!AH!” Mud-Hunter started to change. His once lively golden skin of protoplasm changed. The gold shivered into a lifeless gray, dark tunnel of pulsating sickness across his body. His once lively eyes changed to be as dead as the others. He opened his mouth to speak. 

“Go Benny. RUN...RUN!”

Benny phased out of the facility. He was across the world and back in his city before the blinding flash erupted across the planet. He stared wide-eyed at the city around him. People stopped to pull out their phones to try and take a picture of Micro, some came over to try and get a selfie with him, but he shot past them and across the city until he was on a rooftop overlooking. It. His heart hammered faster than his first appearance as Micro-Second! He was so involved in his thoughts, that he didn't feel it. Didn't see the liquid crawling up to his ear and slithering in it.

“ARGH!” he screamed. He fell to his knees, clenching his ear as the sickness entered. He stared at his hand and stared in horror at the sliver of black and blood. “No…”

He could feel it. The dark cold liquid spread throughout his body. He was impulsive after. Something he would regret after it all. After all the chaos. He was impulsive to run, to try and burn the sickness out of his system. He burned an alien venom out of his system before, he could burn this one out! Right? So he ran. He circled around the city, running, faster than he ever did before. He ran so hard, arcs of lava started to race around the city. A wind started to form and build around the city, an encapsulating tornado at its birth. “Come on, come on, come on! COME ON.” he roared as it started to spread. He could feel it eat away at his skin, feel it slow his heart down, stop the flowing rush of hot blood and infest his thoughts.

You can do this. You can fight this! No them! Protect them! Go Micro go! GO!

He shot off away from his home, across the world. He needed more space. Needed more area. But not to burn the sickness away...

What he didn't know that day as he traced across the planet was he wasn't burning the plague out of his system: he was quickening it. As he did, his thoughts of panic changed.  He found himself right in the place where he started, his same onlookers and fan traced around him, aiming their cellphones at him, oblivious to the fact that he was changing. Run...run..ru..ru..ea...I’m so sorry Beth...I’m so sorry...I’m..so..e..ea..eat..eat..EAT.

Micro died that day. What was a placeholder for his body was a sickness that blitzed around a citizen, stripping the screaming man of all chunks of flesh he had, leaving him a bloodied skeleton before moving on to the rest of them. Then the next block. Then the next island. Not only did the virus spread from Micro’s action, his impulsivity to just run, but he would have to live with his mistake. His mistake he realized he made when he awakened, finally burnt of the virus, but surrounded by a dead city of eaten corpses, and a world infected with a virus, and the only person who could tell him that it was going to be okay, the only person who could still smile at him and kiss him, knowing it was his fault, was a half-eaten corpse in his arms, strips of her and her children in his teeth.