Chapter Text
Bilbo had been alone so long that when it happened he hadn’t lost as much as others.
He’d always been somewhat of a loner, keeping to himself, his world simply working in the bookshop and going home, drinking tea and reading a new book.
So when the Virus had first spread, and the people around him had been taken, he’d probably handled it a lot better than others.
After all, what did you have to lose when you had nothing?
His life had become nothing more than a constant race; he was now surrounded by nothing but death.
Though he was used to that- death had been around him long before the Virus had started.
The scientists had called it SMAUG, though he didn’t know what it stood for. All he knew is that once the infection was passed from one carrier to another it wore at your body and brain, breaking down every barrier you had until eventually you were nothing more than a meat bag of your baser emotions; anger and violence and hunger. Logical thinking was swept for your mind in the search for something to sate the thirst, though it seemed that nothing would. You weren’t human anymore. You were an Orc.
The prospect of it was utterly terrifying.
Soon enough it had spread through most of the population and chaos had descended, sweeping like a wave over the world. The army had been unprepared for such a thing, and had quickly deteriorated along with government. The streets had been filled with chaos and then... nothing.
Simply silence.
Those who survived those first few months knew to keep the silence, save something hear them.
Small groups remained, hiding in sewer systems, in corners of apartment complexes. They found weapons where they could and scavenged for food.
In the beginning, when Bilbo had been with others, there had been rumours of a safe place, where what was left of the army was based, where people could live safely, but that’s all it was. A rumour. Erebor was not real.
Though that didn’t stop Bilbo from foolishly hoping that maybe one day soon he would hear something over the old radio he carried around, or would find somebody who could take him away from this place and to somewhere safe.
But no one ever did, and the days passed and the group he’d been with was slowly picked off, one by one, and then he became more alone and isolated then he ever had been in life, which was saying something.
He stayed on the edges, not daring to go any further into the city that had once been his home, and kept himself moving from place to place. This time he’d actually found somewhere with a bed and a door that locked. Not going to look a gift horse in the mouth he’d quickly jumped on the luxury of not having to sleep on a cold, hard, dirty floor.
He sat on the bed now, appreciating the lovely creaking noise it made under his weight, and closed his eyes. He’d barely eaten anything since he was lucky enough to stumble upon a can of terrible tasting Spam three days ago.
In the distance a shuffling sound, feet scraping against the ground, a door being knocked open. His eyes flew open and he straightened.
He’d stayed here too long.
They’d find you; they always found you in a place like this.
Bilbo jumped to his feet, grabbing his bag and swinging it over his shoulder.
He had to leave.
Now.
Before the Orcs got him.
Once they caught a sniff they were like fucking Bloodhounds.
He burst out of the room and down the hall, having memorised the way to the fire escape the minute he found the place. Halfway down the hallway he heard snarling and incomprehensible yelling. This was not good. He broke into a sprint, skidding around the corner and into the stairwell.
He made it to the bottom floor, bursting out and across the room, out into the street where the sun was dwindling into dusk. It was too dark; there’d be more of them out. He was completely screwed.
He tried to bolt down the road but one grabbed him, throwing him across the street and into the wall of an abandoned shop, winding him. He crawled backwards, feeling about for some kind of weapon. His hands grasped a plank that had fallen off from a boarded up window and his fingers curled around it. The Orc neared and he swung the plank upwards, hitting hi macros the face and sending him onto his back.
Bilbo struggled to his feet and ran in the opposite direction, but he’d already caught the attention of a another group of Orcs who rushed him. He managed to brain the first one with the plank, but it was ripped from his hands painfully and he was grabbed by a number of violent, hungry hands.
Then, suddenly, a huge shot of bright light filled the sky and he was temporarily deafened by the loud, harsh noise that followed. He only just had time to recognise it as gunfire when he fell onto his back at the sound, hands covering his face from the bright light.
There was snarling, and machine gun fire and then silence.
Unconsciousness took him briefly.
“Do you think he’s alright?”
Was that what he thought it was?
“He seems to be in relatively good health.”
It was.
“He certainly doesn’t look like an Orc, either.”
Voices. He was right. It was voices.
“But he could be bitten.”
Bilbo felt his head roll to the side and he slowly opened his eyes. Heavy looking boots, lots of boots, which meant lots of feet... which meant people.
He shot upwards, scrambling back away from them.
“Hey now,” a white haired beared man put his hands up in a gesture of peace. “Calm, little one: we’re here to help,” Bilbo just looked up at them. They wore heavy military clothing and were completely covered in weaponry, everything from guns to bloody axes.
Suddenly he was yanked to his feet.
“Are you okay?” Bilbo had no reply for the man who was staring at him now, demanding an answer. “Were you bitten?” he was shaken violently. “Were you bitten?” he managed to shake his head dumbly.
“He’s frightened, Gloin, let the boy go,” the tight grip on his shoulders was released and Bilbo came face-to-face with the second man. Well, he said face-to-face, but really it was more like face-to-chest. The man was massive.
“What’s your name?” the second man asked, much taller than the one he’d called Gloin, and scarily muscled and tattooed. Bilbo jus t stared, eyes wide. It had been a long time since he’d seen people. Real people, and not Orcs. It was only then he realised he hadn’t spoken in a very long time. He’d had no need to.
“Maybe he doesn’t speak English,” a smaller voice piped up from behind them, Bilbo couldn’t see much past the brawny man’s big shoulders, only a shot of unruly, mussed brown hair.
“Or maybe he’s just stupid,” the next voice was easier to see, the long blonde hair, tied back into a ponytail was enough to catch his eye, even in the dark.
“B-Bilbo,” he managed finally, the words scratchy and sore from lack of use. “Bilbo Baggins. My name is Bilbo Baggins,”
“Well, Bilbo Baggins, welcome to The Company. Let’s get moving before it gets any darker, we don’t want to attract any more attention then we already have.”
And then suddenly, Bilbo was surrounded by life again.