PROJECT 143

Dr. Rachel Kim, a blonde petite woman in her mid 30's,

Gloved her hands and moved with precision, navigating the maze of tubes and wires surrounding Project 143. The young 12 years old boy's frail body lay motionless on the operating table. His pale skin clung to his skeletal frame, emphasizing the prominent bones of his face and arms. His brown hair was matted and brittle, framing a face gaunt from months of illness.

"We're losing him," Dr. Kim whispered, her voice laced with urgency.

Dr. Eric Taylor, a man in his late 40's with a gaunt face and sunken eyes, standing very close to her, nodded grimly. His own eyes hid a desperate secret: the cancer eating away at his liver.

The medical team worked tirelessly, injecting experimental serums, and monitoring Project 143's vital signs. His cancer-ridden body was their last hope for a breakthrough.

In a moment of desperation, Dr. Taylor's gaze locked onto the vial labeled "Project 143's Serum." He hesitated, then filled a syringe.

"What are you doing, Eric?" Dr. Kim asked, alarm creeping into her voice.

Taylor's eyes flashed with a mix of fear and hope. "I have to try."

He injected the serum into his own arm.

At first, nothing seemed to happen. Then, Taylor's body began to convulse. His eyes turned milky white, and his skin grayed.

"Eric, no!" Dr. Kim screamed.

Taylor's transformation accelerated. His face contorted, mouth twisting into a snarl. He lunged at Dr. Kim, jaws open.

Chaos erupted in the lab. Project 143, forgotten in the chaos, stirred. His eyes flickered open, and he assessed his surroundings.

With a Herculean effort, he pushed off the table, landing hard on the floor. The boy stumbled, vision blurring. A zombie Dr. Taylor loomed, biting down on Project 143's arm.

Screaming, Project 143 wrenched free, leaving a chunk of flesh behind.

He fled the lab, staggering into the woods. The darkness enveloped him like a shroud.

Zombies shambled through the underbrush, attracted by the commotion. Project 143 walked, driven by an unknown force.

As the trees swallowed him whole, his thoughts faded to black.

...

_*FIVE YEARS LATER*_

In the ravaged streets, a towering figure emerged. A 21-year-old man with piercing aqua eyes and fiery red hair, strode confidently through the desolate landscape. His height, well over 6 feet, commanded attention. His dual pistols, worn and weathered, hung at his hips.

He wore a dark outfit, complete with a long, black coat billowing behind him like a dark cloak. The coat's tattered edges and bullet holes testified to his countless battles.

As he navigated the ruins, he sidestepped zombies with practiced ease. His gaze scanned the horizon, searching for something – or someone.

Suddenly, a radio broadcast crackled to life in his earpiece:

"...Guns Warehouse and Knives Warehouse clash over territory. Tensions escalate. Loyalties will be tested... 2 guns will you stay loyal to your warehouse?"

2 Guns' expression darkened. His parents, One Bullet and Katana, led the rival warehouses. Their ongoing feud had ravaged the city.

He quickened his pace, approaching the outskirts of the Guns Warehouse. The imposing structure loomed, its walls scarred from battles past.

Upon entering, 2 Guns was greeted by his father, One Bullet, a rugged and battle-hardened veteran with a heart of gold, seeking redemption. The grizzled leader's eyes narrowed.

"Son, where have you been?"

2 Guns holstered his pistols. "Scouting. Gathering intel."

One Bullet's gaze lingered on his son's face. "You know your sister, Dagger, is with your mother, Katana. The Knives Warehouse is growing restless."

2 Guns' jaw clenched. Family loyalty wars with personal conviction.

"I'll take care of it," he said, voice firm.

As he departed, whispers followed him:

"2 Guns, the chosen one..."

"Will he bring peace or destruction?"

Aqua eyes add an intriguing contrast to 2 Guns' fiery red hair and dark attire, making him an unforgettable protagonist.

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