The End - Visions of Apocalypse

Day three of human tests was the marker of the virus on infected men and women, most of whom were political prisoners with little inherent violent trends. Subjects manifested clear violent outbursts; they would attack, on sight, any person they could see, even if they could not physically get to them through the protective glass. The subjects would become so angry, so violent, that if they could not find an outlet they would inflict harm on themselves. We watched as subjects tore at their eyes, pulled out tongues, scratched their own flesh until only raw, bloody strips remained. Several subjects died on day three of human trials without ever touching another human being.

We allowed certain isolated subjects to confront one another, with obvious outcomes. It took several medical aides hours to clean up the mess that was left behind.

The viral strain worked perfectly. If it came to it, the enemies of the Confederation would have to deal with themselves, rather than our soldiers and weapons. Our armies wouldn’t need to fire a shot or kill another soul.

* * *

James watched from sensor-fed displays, his secure bunker several hundred feet below the surface. He had stopped crying several hours ago; a numbness had spread over him, almost a calmness, like he half-expected what was happening above to be nothing more than a dream he was sure to wake up from.

The displays blinked statistics, interspersed with videos. The compound had been overrun; the troops in place had initially resisted attacks from civilians and infected staff, but in the end it hadn’t mattered. After hours of exposure, everyone above broke and went after one another. The strain was spreading faster than even James had imagined it could.

The east coast had sank into outright chaos; entire military divisions had opened fire on civilians, trying to maintain control, before the virus had eaten through reason. They had turned on each other after that, missiles, bullets and fire turning communities, whole cities, into ash, smoke and death.

Humanity warred with each other, on a scale unheard of. Fires raged out of control; mobs of flesh and blood ran city streets, fought and slaughtered amongst themselves, turned on anything they came across. It wasn’t enough to defeat their foe, not when their foe was everyone else. Not when their mind told them that everyone, everything, was an enemy. Eventually it even told them, when there were no more enemies left to fight, that they had one left: themselves. The virus had become a vehicle of war, on an intimate, personal level.

Those that fled would spread the virus like a plague, and it would only be a matter of time before it would infect the continent, and then others. It would be impossible to stop.

That last thought gave James pause. Something stirred in the back of his mind, tried to tug its way loose. He frowned, struggled to remember, and when he couldn’t, James cursed his poor memory. Not like him at all to forget.

* * *

We had meetings with executives and military officials today, which were quite productive. After providing statistical outlays and a brief demonstration of our product in action, plans were put in motion to advance the research and production of the viral strain. The Confederation brass had several high priority targets that they had already considered as likely spots for live testing; we assured them that we could enter production at an aggressive rate.