A/N: I don't own Prototype, Activision does. There may be some delays in chapter posting, as I am literally making this up as I go along. It seemed to work for the last one.

On the Lower East Side of Manhattan Island, a small group of thugs in their early twenties gathered outside a bar. They were all garbed in the exact same outfit- a grey hoodie, white shirt, leather jacket and jeans. One of them, presumably the leader, slid a Freddy Krueger glove onto both of his hands, a crude imitation of a well-known terrorist.

On his signal, the group strode arrogantly into the bar. Pushing away a thin brunette woman, they stood in front of the counter and behind their leader. The young man pointed one of the "claws" close to the bartender's chest, and spoke in a pathetic attempt to sound menacing.

"Open the register, give us the cash. Now, fat-ass." The bartender crossed his arms, smirking. He showed no fear, and remained infuriatingly calm. Enraged, the young man grabbed the bartender's arm and drew him close.

"Don't you know who we are? We helped release that virus," he lied, trying to inspire fear. The older man smirked once more.

"Be that as it may, manhandling my customers is not a good idea," he said, assertively. "Take my advice. Turn around, walk away, and it won't come back to bite you in the ass." Infuriated, the younger man pressed one of the knives into the bartender's neck, not far enough to penetrate.

"Didn't you hear me? We worked for Alex fucking Merc-gyaaah!" The man looked down, seeing an elongated blade penetrating his stomach. A young woman's voice rang in his ear.

"Wannabe." That was the last thing he remembered before tentacles penetrated his body, dragging him backwards. He felt what seemed like thousands of tiny needle-jabs into his body, before everything faded to black.

Dana Mercer stood in a pool of blood, smiling at the thugs' shocked faces.

"Y'know," she said, in a truly menacing, quiet voice, "if you're gonna imitate someone, you shouldn't pick my brother. He uses people like you for a light snack." At Dana's namedrop, several of them screamed, and all of them made clumsy attempts to escape. Dana made no attempt to follow them.

"And don't look back!" she called after them, before sitting at a barstool. Once the other, much more drunk customers had shrugged it off, the bartender whispered quietly to Dana.

"I could have taken them by myself, you know." Dana shrugged her shoulders.

"True, but gunships and tanks aren't my idea of a peaceful afternoon." After a small chuckle, the barkeep's voice changed. It sounded much younger and more gravelly.

"I suppose that's the truth," he admitted. The man's body turned into a mass of tentacles, reforming themselves. Taller, fitter, leather-clad. When they were finished, a pale young man dressed the same way as the would-be thieves stood in front of her. Vaulting over the bar, Alex Mercer motioned to his sister before walking towards the door. However, he paused when he heard the set of words that would spell instant death to any man, woman or child.

"Hey sexy, you wanna be my little bitch?" Whipping around, Alex saw Dana up against a wall, a pair of hairy arms blocking her from moving. She looked almost nauseated. Pushing the owner away, Dana moved to rejoin Alex. The man wasn't going to give up, however, and grabbed onto her arm. After that, things happened very quickly. She saw a blur of motion behind the man, and his expression was replaced by one of surprise. Blood trickled down around his neck, and his head simply fell backwards onto the floor. The grip slackened, and his body quickly followed his head. Alex pitched the man's head out the window, before consuming his corpse.

"I don't want to know what that guy's problem was." Alex beckoned Dana once again. She hesitated, looking back toward the bar.

"C'mon, Alex, I haven't seen you cut loose in five years!" Alex hesitated, before giving in.

"Well, alright, maybe a couple of drinks..." Several hours later, the two of them were completely and utterly pissed. However, alcohol didn't just affect their minds; it affected their bodies as well. After a while, Dana wasn't just struggling to stay upright, she was struggling to keep herself in a coherent form. Alex had given up altogether, and was now a writhing humanoid mass of tentacles singing "We Are the Champions", horribly out of tune, to the roaring cheers of the inebriated crowd. With one final drink, Dana pointed at Alex and yelled, "Ha!" before collapsing onto the ground and beginning to snore. Alex, after another round, flopped onto one of the tables, joining her in a drunken coma.

Additional A/N: I think I'm the first person to ever write about a pissed Alex Mercer. And what can I say; the drunken masses are susceptible to Queen karaoke. As I'm moving house, the next update will likely be a while in the making. Take the time to review this chapter.