Fury of the Infected

"Huff, huff…" T'Challa panted as he leaned over a bench in Central Park. They'd already lost two more members of their party after departing from the UN building, leaving just the one standing by his side now.

As the number of infected grew exponentially by the minute, his group had lost track of their path to Stark Tower hours ago. No matter how fast they ran, their enemy's stamina was limitless and they would always find their way blocked.

T'Challa couldn't remember how many times he'd cursed today; any semblance of his royal bearing having been lost long ago. Luckily it wasn't just him however, as his Dora Milaje wasn't faring any better either.

"My *pant* prince…*pant*," Aneka called out weakly. "What… do we do now?"

T'Challa smiled apologetically at the woman. He could hear the screeches of the Chitauri closing in as they spoke and knew there wasn't any chance of escape now that they'd been forced into such a wide-open area.

Their guns were empty and the only nearby ammo cache had been ransacked, completely stripped bare of anything useful, long before they'd arrived. The only thing left had been a few medkits, but they couldn't very well shoot their way out with those.

The prince sighed and closed his eyes, before collapsing atop the bench in defeat, "I'm afraid there's nothing else we can do."

Disheartened, Aneka glanced at one of the billboards in the distance. Noticing it still displaying four digits worth of remaining players, she knew her prince was right. Without any ammo, there was nothing they could do, nowhere they could run, to escape the park, let alone hold out long enough to win.

Her shoulders slumping in defeat, she joined her Prince on the bench and sighed as well. It was so frustrating. As a member of the Dora Milaje, she'd never faced such an outrageous defeat. It was almost as if the world was against them from the start!

""SCREEEEEEE!""

"Ah, it seems it is time for us to exit the stage," T'Challa calmly spoke.

"I-I'm sorry, my prince," Aneka finally said with sadness. "Neither I, or my sisters could help secure your victory."

"Enough of that," T'Challa interrupted while raising a hand, "this is not Wakanda. I don't hold any of you accountable, it was simply not meant to be."

Aneka looked up, only to see her prince gently smiling down at her and, with the last of her strength, she forced herself to smile back. However, deep within her heart, she promised to never let this happen again.

As the stampede of infected swarmed their position with howls of fury and hunger, her last thoughts were of her sisters and how they were supposed to be better than this. Though he'd claimed otherwise, just this one defeat carried more shame than she could bear for a lifetime.

As the darkness descended, she let out a final murmur, "Never again."

•••

When T'Challa opened his eyes once again, he found himself in a dark alleyway. He was unsurprised to have respawned, having played the Infected game mode numerous times in preparation for this event.

What did shock him however, was that he couldn't logoff. The icon was greyed-out and had a small countdown timer hovering over it. Most of his menus were like that actually, preventing him from doing anything other than playing out the rest of the tournament.

There was a small notice though, informing him that should there be an emergency, he could exit VR and be replaced by a VI. That came at the cost of being banned from playing anything for the next three months however, so he didn't think many would choose to do so.

Another thing that startled him, was that the longer he stayed still, the greater the desire to hunt swelled within him. T'Challa was used to the mental implants ASTIR games came with by now, but this one seemed to be stronger than any other he'd experienced by far. Even his other experiences as an infected, paled in comparison to the sheer hunger that gnawed at his soul.

With little else he could do, the man headed out from his alleyway and looked around. He could see countless more of 'his kind' doing the same, seeming just as confused as himself, before apparently noticing something and all sprinting in the same direction.

T'Challa glanced at his HUD once again and noticed his radar in the bottom-left hand corner, blinking red in the same direction the others had went. At the sight, a primal urge welled up deep within himself, feeding his anger at being eliminated and a desire to rob everyone else of a chance at victory as well.

Knowing they were his own, he didn't fight the feelings and instead followed them, letting his wrath be known to the world by releasing a piercing scream into the air.

•••

It just felt so right. His body couldn't ever remember feeling so free. In the back of his mind, he idly wondered if this was what it would be like after assuming the mantle of Black Panther from his father. Alas, even those thoughts were soon drowned out as the beast within his soul was let loose on the world.

No matter how fast or far he ran, he never tired. No matter how many shots he took, how many times he was put down, or how often he respawned, he never felt pain of any kind.

Yet, none of that compared to when he took down another player. It was intoxicating.

As he thrust his bladed arm through the back of a fool who thought he could take down his kin with a knife, he'd felt such an intense exhilaration that he couldn't hold back crying out at his victory. Even as the building they were in came crashing down atop them, he didn't care, they would just come back after all.

It was just a matter of time till the Wakandan Prince lost himself in the sea of primal emotions. After having played this game mode and assuming this role multiple times, he knew there was no harm in doing so. In fact, he always felt 'lighter' every time he returned to reality afterwards, like all his stress and aggression had finally been given an outlet for release.

It was for this reason that hardly anyone left the tournament after being eliminated. Sure they were upset about losing, but what better way was there to vent those feelings than some good old-fashioned violence?

It was just another one of the small miracles brought about by ASTIR. As just another faceless Chitauri amidst a sea of infected, what inhibitions were there to hold one back? What morals? There was just the hunters and the prey, something that spoke to every human on the planet, even if they denied it.

•••

For what felt like hours, T'Challa ran across the streets of New York. He didn't know how many players he'd eliminated, but he knew it wasn't enough.

There were still four red dots left on his radar. Four, incredibly irritating, dots that needed to be erased.

Every one of his kin held the same feelings, he could sense it. That was why they all charged towards the same location. No matter where they were on the map, they all converged here.

To the building that stood before him.

To Stark Tower.