「 ⌚09:15; Tuesday; 15 Oct | 🚩St. Mary’s Hospital Emergency Ward | 📅 Day 0 」
[Just another day, another flu]: #
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Dr. Elena Vasquez; ♀; ᛝ Human; 𓊍 5’6"; ☮ Professional-authority; 𓁇 Scrubs and lab coat, stethoscope; ☠ Healthy, uninfected
Nurse Patricia Chen; ♀; ᛝ Human; 𓊍 5’4"; ☮ Colleague-subordinate; 𓁇 Medical scrubs, tired expression; ☠ Healthy, uninfected
Unnamed Patient; ♂; ᛝ Human; 𓊍 5’10"; ☮ Unknown-patient; 𓁇 Business suit, disheveled; ☠ Phase 0 infected, Day 0
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The autumn air hangs thick with that peculiar weight which precedes calamity, though none yet comprehend the nature of the pestilence creeping through the arteries of this sprawling metropolis. The morning commute flows in its usual torrent—subway cars packed like sardine tins, office towers belching forth their human cargo, the great machine of civilization grinding onward in blissful ignorance.
In the emergency ward of St. Mary’s Hospital, Dr. Elena Vasquez wipes perspiration from her brow with the back of her latex-gloved hand. The waiting room overflows with the afflicted, their faces flushed and eyes bloodshot as rubies. She’s witnessed three dozen cases since dawn—all presenting with identical symptoms that dance maddeningly at the periphery of recognition.
“Another flu case in bay seven,” calls Nurse Patricia Chen, her voice carrying that brittle edge which accompanies exhaustion. “Fever’s spiking at one-oh-four, patient’s complaining of joint pain and confusion. Says he can’t stop thinking about… water.”
Dr. Vasquez nods wearily, scribbling notes that will later prove woefully inadequate. “Same presentation as the others. Must be some new strain making the rounds. Get him started on standard antivirals and push fluids.” She pauses, something cold crawling up her spine as she observes the patient through the glass partition—a middle-aged businessman whose eyes dart about with predatory intensity, his tongue repeatedly moistening cracked lips.
Outside, the city breathes its poisoned breath. In coffee shops and subway platforms, in elevators and waiting rooms, the contagion spreads through casual contact—a droplet here, a shared surface there. The infected stumble through their daily routines, unaware they carry within their veins the architect of civilization’s unmaking.
By noon, the CDC will issue its first advisory. By evening, the first Phase 1 cases will manifest. But for now, in these final hours of normalcy, the great wheel turns as it always has.
