TWO YEARS BEFORE THE OUTBREAK...

"Beware the brain-dead's bloodletting butchery."

Ares continued muttering those words as he slaughtered his way through endless waves of armed guards and scientists. Thanks to his new blood manipulation powers, he was able to create long blades generated entirely out of his own crystallized blood and slice through human flesh and bone like scissors through paper. Whatever mess he'd leave behind was consumed by the other test subjects, all of which were now trapped in a ravenous state as they were unable to stay dead. Like something straight out of the zombie movies he used to watch with Sarah.

"SCHAEFER!" he bellowed, the helmet adding a metallic tone to his voice. "Come out and face me! And after everything you've done, don't expect a fair fight!"

"Pretty sure he ain't coming out then," a familiar voice replied back. The person who said it appeared to be in the middle of eating. Ares noticed some of the words sounded slurred, like if the speaker had something in his mouth.

More gunfire sounded through the halls. Guards appeared from around the corner. Ares transformed his blood into a collection of floating red daggers and launched them toward his targets like missiles. Two of them impacted directly between their eyes, but the one in the middle lodged into the attacker's throat. He and his fallen comrades were left to be devoured by the test subjects.

Ares looked around the corner from where his attackers came. The first thing he saw was his former bunkmate Atlas rummaging his hands through a dead guard's insides. He and two other undead test subjects yanked the guard's large intestine out of the massive hole in the corpse and dug in.

"Atlas?" Ares asked.

Atlas slowly turned his head toward Ares. A cascade of blood dripped down his chin, and a mangled piece of intestine hung out of his mouth. His eyes were completely devoid of color, not a pupil or iris visible at all. A small vein popped out of the side of his head, and his skin appeared pale-green up close. He was shocked to see how easy it was for him to rip apart a corpse. But then again, being able to weaponize blood didn't seem like a possibility earlier either.

"What's an atlas?" he asked, swallowing the entrails. He wiped the blood off his mouth and ripped off another chunk of flesh.

"What do you mean 'what's an atlas'? The hell is your real name?"

Atlas paused before he could place the flesh in his mouth and placed his hand down by his side. He slowly approached Ares until they were face to face. "Listen, mate. My name is Harry. I don't know where I am or who this Atlas guy you're looking for is, but I'm just minding my own business." He extended his hand out, the bloody piece of flesh leaking down his arm. "So why don't you take off that weird helmet of yours and enjoy some of this flesh?"

Ares slapped the bloody chunk out of Atlas (Harry's?) hand. "Why the hell is everyone obsessed with flesh all of a sudden? Snap out of it, Atlas!"

"I already told you, mate. My name is Harry."

"So clearly you remember your name. Anything else?"

"The last thing I remember is waking up in the dark next to this old man who called himself Archibald. Then these other guys came in. Very warm and alive. We ripped them apart and ate them before they could aim their weird-looking weapons at us."

Gunfire filled the air once more. The bullets grazed through Ares's arms and buried into his back, but his helmet did a fantastic job of deflecting them. Guess the staff was right about the helmet being bulletproof. A few bullets also caught Harry in his shoulder, but just like Ares he didn't feel pain. The force pushed him back, but nothing more. However, he was screaming in horror at their surprise appearance.

"It's them!" he exclaimed, crouching to the ground to stay out of the crossfire.

"Fucking hell," Ares growled. With the help of his blood power, he repeated his barbwire trick and sliced through the guards with ease. He and Harry watched as the remnants of the guards fell apart and splattered all over the ground.

Ares turned back to Harry. "So like I was saying—"

"Food!" Harry shouted. He and a few other test subjects bolted down the hall and gobbled up the pieces of the guards.

Ares gave up on him. He trudged down the hallway, still determined to find Schaefer and slaughter him. Even if he'd have to do it alone.

With one arm protected by a long blade constructed out of his own blood, he strolled through the destroyed facility like a walk in the park. He glanced around at his resting place and acknowledged every little destructive detail he could find. The new bullet holes. The cracks and dents. The abundant bloodstains splattered all over the wall and floor. It was like a work of art, and its creator was particularly fond of the color red.

"Beware the brain-dead's bloodletting butchery," he continued mumbling to himself. He pressed the tip of his blade against the wall and let it scrape a new trail across the concrete, filling the air with a cacophonous screech.

Ares could already sense more attackers coming his way. He couldn't see, hear, or smell them. He could feel the warmth of their heat signatures burning the closer they got, like if the prey was coming to him. His entire presence was one big death trap. He was a walking arsenal with his new blood power.

"Time to die," he said.

Ares brushed his free arm against his crimson blade, leaving behind a long cut traveling from the palm of his hand to the center of his arm. He let the blood float out of the new cut as bubbles and morph into multiple small spheres almost resembling ornaments. They had a glass-like appearance yet floated in the air as if they were hoisted by invisible wires.

Ares threw his arms out and sent the orbs floating down the hallway. Not only were the heat signatures of his next targets warmer than ever, he could now hear their steps as they appeared from around the corner.

"Put your fucking hands up!" the first armed guard said as he emerged from the corner. He and his comrades aimed their guns at Ares but were immediately distracted by the floating red orbs surrounding them.

"What the hell are those?" another guard asked.

"My blood," Ares replied. "And your destruction."

Then they finally caught on. The orbs started glowing bright red, almost fiery in appearance, radiating a powerful heat.

But it was too late to take cover. The orbs simultaneously went off all around them, and explosions rippled through the hallway like cluster bombs. Ares could see one of the guard's arms fly off the rest of his body with ease, and the rest of him was blown to bits by one of the blood bombs.

Eventually the smoke and red mist dissipated, and Ares stood in a corridor covered in craters and gore. The walls and floor were smashed to pieces, and dismembered limbs and organs were splattered everywhere. There wasn't a single recognizable body in the mess. And if anyone ever decided to try to clean up the mess, they'd have to scrape off the remains of their dead comrades from the walls and ceiling.

Ares continued walking through the dust and soot floating through the air and stepped through the crimson puddles that remained of his dead enemies. Then the feral test subjects ran in and consumed what little pieces of flesh were left behind from the attack. Some of them had to lick the remains off the floor to satisfy their hunger.

"Thank you," a female test subject said in a raspy voice. Blood trickled down her cheek. "What did you say your name was?"

Ares looked down at the creatures. "My name?" he repeated. "I just killed ten men with my own blood, and the first question you have is my name?"

"Of course. You've become our breadwinner, sir. You provide us with flesh to feast on. I don't remember what it feels like to be alive, but the flesh you've offered us gives me a glimpse of how it used to be."

"Well...glad I could help." He really wasn't.

"So what would you like us to call you?" The creature asked again.

Ares thought it over, refusing to take off his helmet. Now that he was dead, he was able to restart his reputation. He no longer had to be the failure he felt he was when he was alive. He could save people and destroy them whenever he wanted. If he failed now, it no longer mattered. Neither he nor the undead test subjects around him could get hurt anymore.

Along with these thoughts, Ares still couldn't get that one line from Sarah's poem out of his head. Beware the brain-dead's bloodletting butchery.

His real name no longer mattered. The Greek god codename he was assigned during the Ambrosia Project lost its purpose, especially since Atlas was now going by his real name. With these new criteria set, he finally declared his new alias.

"Call me...Bloodletter."