Three days ago: Geist holstered his pistol and grabbed Samsons with both hands. "That was for defecting." said Geist. Samson laughed. "What?" he said. "Don't tell me you missed your buddy Ghoul." Geist shook his head. "Anyone who defects disgusts me." Geist then let go of Samson, dropping him into a large group of reanimated below. He didn't stay to watch him be eaten.
Samson fell through the air. A grin was on his face. It was the grin that appears when one is near death. Or maybe he was grinning because of the pouch in his hand that he took as Geist held him over the edge. The reanimated broke his fall. Samson held the pouch tight but not tight enough to damage its contents. It was his lifeline. One of the reanimated bit him. He opened the pouch and drew a needle from it. Without a moments hesitation he rammed it into his arm and injected the serum. He felt it in his veins, the mixture of Necroenza and Lebenamien. But it was different then what the Ghost members said it felt like. But Samson could not think on these matters right now for he was instantly covered by the reanimated. All his usual weapons were gone. No matter, he will have to do this the old fashioned way. He quickly stood up despite the army of dead clinging to him. The feeling was invigorating. A jab to the neck of the reanimated brought them down. Samson’s attacks became more brutal. His instincts overrode his training and Samson started throwing punches towards the head and he even ripped one of their arms off. Could this be the formula working? Or is this the surge that comes from a struggle for survival?
Soon Samson was covered in blood and on top of a mound of bodies. “Damn, that’s strong stuff.” Samson muttered under his breath. He stumbled as he walked of the dead bodies. Samson placed his hand on his head bracing himself and looked inside Geist’s pouch. Two vials left. Each dose lasts thirteen days max and only after each encounter with the reanimated. Samson examined the bite marks on his left arm, there were quite a lot. His days are numbered but he injected another dose just to be safe. Twenty-six days, probably less. Twenty-six days to find or kill a Ghost. Samson felt lightheaded. He fell over unconscious.
Samson woke up in an abandoned factory. The first thing that hit him was the smell. Judging by the smell and hunger, he has been out for about a day. He looked back at the pile of the dead. Did he do that? Yes, he did. The memories where coming to him. There was no point of waiting for a rescue party. No one will miss him nor does anyone want him around. There were more people who want him dead than the people who want him alive. Samson looked around. He quickly found a dead soldier. His body was eaten thoroughly. Samson only wanted his weapons and ammunition. He grabbed the corpse’s gun and left the factory. ‘I need to find supplies,’ thought Samson. He dropped all unnecessary equipment and started walking.
Day three: Samson has been walking for a whole day in wilderness. He had consumed his last ration bar. But he still had no water. “Shit.” Samson fell on the ground. The combination of heat, wounds, and thirst were getting to him. It surprised him how long he lasted. But he slowly succumbed to unconsciousness nonetheless. He managed to mutter under his breath before passing out. “Damn you Geist.”