The End - Visions of Apocalypse

The strain was codenamed in that meeting: Ragnarok.

* * *

James bypassed the security protocols, convinced that he was doing the right thing. Amber warning lights went off, and then dimmed once he had enacted the proper command codes. He entered the firing commands, clicking on approval sequences, and the countdown began. Numbers flashed on his display, and with each passing number, he recalled moments in his life; strange that every tick seemed to take minutes.

Twenty, the year he was accepted into the Advanced Sciences Division, and oh, how proud his Mom was at that. She had gushed to all her friends and family; James was embarrassed at first, but then it felt good to be noticed, to finally be really good at something. James knew, even then, that he would thrive at ASD.

Eighteen, the year he lost his virginity; what was her name again? Oh yes, Regina; she was a beauty, a fiery red-head with the temper to match. She had broken his heart two short months later, when she had run off with Bob Kane. James had never liked that guy anyway, come to think of it. A tinge of anger touched him then, but quickly passed with the next tick of the countdown.

Fifteen, his father’s funeral. He remembered crying for days afterward, his death a surreal dream until that moment when they buried him in the earth, when the shock of it finally hit James like a tidal wave. He was certain now that hole had never been fully repaired. The gap his father had left still marked him.

Where would everything be right now if he was still alive?

Tick.

* * *

One of the subjects escaped on day four of trials. We aren’t sure how, but the complex guards were found in irreparable condition, to say the least. Retrieval units were sent immediately, but not before the damage was done. The subject was found eventually, but not before she had killed several citizens, and infected an unknown amount. Technicians and medical staff were trained to deal with contamination, of course, but outside personnel were not as prepared.

The entire region was quarantined, with suspected viral carriers placed in immediate lockdown and then euthanized as a precaution.

Two days later the FBC aired a report of Gard spies being captured in the area; I couldn’t determine the veracity of the report. Was it a cover, or truth?

I am not convinced that we are safe.

* * *

Twelve, his graduation party, his Uncle Isaiah coming in drunk, stinking of liquor. A fight had broken out between his father and Isaiah, blows struck and then a larger brawl as several family members and friends had jumped in to help. Which of course didn’t help at all; it never helped, it just meant more blood, more threads of anger and bitterness.

Eight, now, what had happened when he was eight? James’ memory had blurred again, and he couldn’t quite recall anything significant about that. Surely he should remember something? The timer hit seven before he even realized it.

Six, well, not much at all he could remember at that age, right? James was still stuck on eight, and he was getting a bit agitated that he couldn’t remember anything. He thought he had something, grasped it, then it disappeared again.

Four. What the hell was wrong with him that he couldn’t remember? He couldn’t even quite remember fifteen now, like it had happened so long ago that his memory eluded him. Or maybe it hadn’t happened at all. It was all starting to make James angry. It was like someone was tricking his brain, pushing and pulling memories and stories out of his head at will. He had vague impressions of things happening, but through it all was a common thread: anger. He was mad. He thought he had always been mad, at himself, at someone, anyone.

Tick.

* * *