Virulent

Prologue

LOG ENTRY: 375

DATE: 21 December 2099

TIME: 10:15 PM

LOCATION: Centre for Population Control (CPC) Research Laboratory. (Exact location undisclosed.)

Dr. Ezra Mayur, Microbiologist & Epidemiologist. Expertise: Designer Pathogens.

Mum used to say, find a job you love, and you'll never have to work a day in your life. I used to think she was right for a long time. Now, I'm not so sure. If she could see me. She'd be ashamed.

I have blood on my hands. Countless blood on my hands, ones I can't wash off, no matter how hard I try.

She typed, despite her hands shaking like a leaf. Despite the blaring sirens deafening her, with their continued shrill. Ezra typed. She wanted the world to know what was about to happen was all her fault. All her fault. A sin she could never atone for.

Millions, maybe even billions. Oh, God. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. It's out of my control. May Gods have mercy on your souls, and mine...

If you are reading this, please, get somewhere safe. Now. Somewhere isolated. Away from people. Especially away from the government. Take provisions, as much as you can, and do not, for the love of God, do not go out into the population.

It's coming, the first wave. It's coming. The deal I made with the devil has come at a price. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

Ezra typed faster as gunshots rang around her. Echoing in unison with the blaring sirens and the danger-dripped lights of emergency protocol. The facility was breached. Screams were hurtling down the corridor at rapid speed, followed by blood-curdling silence. She could imagine armed soldiers rushing through the lab, taking anyone and anything out. She would be one of them.

The only thing left to do now was to wipe the slate clean. Leave nothing to be discovered. She eyed the pistol next to her keyboard, her breath shuddering in her chest. Just in case. She had mere minutes until they reached her and wiped her clean. Part of the protocol. If they got their hands on her, the world will not know what was coming for them. No one would. Not even her family, her family who were promised secure government housing a year ago. Why had she believed their shiny lies?

She typed faster, willing her hands and her wits to stay steady for a moment longer.

My name is Dr. Ezra Mayur, a microbiologist, and epidemiologist at the Centre for Population Control. Yes, it's real. And for the past year, I have been forced to refine a deadly pathogen for Project Rescue, the purpose of which is human population control. I repeat. Human population control. A.k.a. massacre. Smart covert massacre.

If you're reading this, please get as many people out of cities as you can. Go remote. I don't know where I am. I don't even know where my family is, nor do I know the locations being targeted as ground zero. My guess is, if you're in one of the highest populated countries, or cities, you are where the trials will begin.

The pathogen is highly virulent and—

Ezra felt the searing heat as a bullet pierced her shoulder, the force of which knocked her off the stool where she was half-perched, half-hunched, hiding, long enough to send a missive.

"Step away from the computer, Dr Mayur." The warning was cold and lifeless. Military.

No, no! Not yet. You're not meant to be here yet. She struggled to scramble back to her feet as the two black ops specialists began marching into the room to terminate her. Red laser beams landed on her torso, right where her heart beat underneath.