Generation Dystopia

When they found him he had no name, no memory; just a heartbeat that repeated the same thing: survive, survive, survive. Ash settled over him and stuck to the blood in his hair as he stared up at the burning building. A building he set alight, the gas can held loosely in his hand proof, empty. A savage grin the only thing seen through the grime and gore that coated him. It was the fire that brought them, attracted by the smoke and the smell of singed meat. Five rounded the corner at a guarded jog, fanning out and cutting off his intended escape. He knew he should run, retreat before they noticed him there, metres from the double doors he'd thrown a lighter through and chained shut but his leg hurt too much to move fast. One of the others had caught him in the back coming down the stairs after setting the first floor alight and sent them both crashing to the foyer, making him twist his ankle as he fought to get it's jaws off his shoulder. Turning toward the newcomers, he observed the two who broke off to walk towards the front doors. Towards him. One was big, relaxed and obviously more experienced; the other smaller, nervous, jittering everywhere. Both male, clean, wearing some sort of uniform with the same guns in their hands. Some sort of rifle - dangerous, loud. But both were human - better than them, easier to shake and harder to trick. Neither had seen him yet but he couldn't escape, trapped between flaming doors and their guns. "Wow, this looks like such a Charlie Foxtrot, I wonder who took these out and lit the hospital up." It was the bigger one, observing the dozen he'd had to take out before the building was set to light, with obvious admiration. It was the smaller one who spotted him, squeaking in surprise and twitching the gun in his direction . "Ah, I think it was him, sir. " "Oh god, he looks like a walking Cluster Fuck." Concern laced the humorous words. He didn't like the gun pointing at him in nervous hands, snarling softly in irritation. The bigger of the two must have noticed as he lowered the other's gun and smiled warmly, taking a step. He shuffled back as the man approached like one would approach a stray cat or wild dog. Taking no notice of his friendly greeting, he looked for an exit. He needed to leave, humans would bring them and he'd had quite enough of fighting today. He needed to fix his leg and stop his shoulder bleeding. "s**t! He's been bitten!" The bigger man had finally noticed the ripped sleeve of his shirt and the blood oozing slowly from the crescent wound. That got his attention as the men stumbled back and raised their guns. He stared at them with panicked eyes, grip tightening on the canister as he tensed in anticipation. Could he run? Fight them off? They had guns, the advantage and the escape route. He had nothing, so he waited. Like he did with others, he waited for them to make the first move, hoping it wasn't a bullet. "This one's yours, Birdy. First kill on your first mission, lucky." The bigger kept his gun trained but stepped back, leaving the smaller, Birdy, to do it. "But - he's still - I can't. Not while he's still human." "That's okay, we can wait. Bites don't take long to turn." So they waited. Birdy shifted his feet and lined up his sights. They stood in silence, waiting for him to turn. The only sound was the crackle of fire as he stood, no sure what to do. And they waited. "Holy s**t, he hasn't turned. Why hasn't he?" Birdy sounded panicked but the other human looked at him curious, checking the watch on his wrist in amazement. He just gave them a feral grin and slowly lifted his shirt, exposing two distinct bite marks, both healed and more than months old.