The Journal

A Scientist’s Journal

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Day 1: Arrival in Emerald City

Emerald City is an unremarkable dot in the Midwest—a place you’d forget as soon as you left. Quiet streets, bland architecture, and the hum of daily life are all it offers on the surface. But beneath it lies a secret.

The Harbinger Facility sits hidden beneath the Emerald City Research Institute. The briefing I received before my arrival was cryptic at best—minimal details, maximum secrecy. Armed guards met me at the entrance and escorted me through layers of security, each checkpoint heavier with unease.

Dr. Hawthorne greeted me in the lobby, his smile sharp and unnatural. “Welcome to ground zero,” he said, leading me to an elevator that descended for what felt like an eternity.

When the doors opened, I was met with an underground labyrinth of pristine white corridors, buzzing fluorescent lights, and the faint hum of machinery. The sheer scale of the facility was staggering. It felt alive—almost breathing.

In the briefing room, Dr. Hawthorne pointed to a map of the city dotted with ominous red markers. “The Harbinger Virus,” he began, his tone devoid of emotion, “is the future of warfare. Soldiers who can heal instantly, who never question orders, who never die.”

The red dots, he explained, marked field test sites. Real people. Real infection zones.

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Day 3: Initial Exposure

Today, I witnessed the first live test.

The subject was a man in his early 40s—a convicted criminal, handpicked for his expendability. They injected him with Variant Alpha, a green serum that seemed to shimmer unnaturally.

The effects were immediate. His body convulsed violently, his veins blackened and bulged, and foam spilled from his mouth. For a moment, he went still, and I thought he’d died.

Then his eyes snapped open, black as coal, and his movements were... wrong. His head jerked unnaturally, his body spasmed like a puppet pulled by cruel strings.

The guards moved to restrain him, but it was futile. He moved with inhuman speed and strength, breaking free and letting out a guttural growl that reverberated through the lab.

The containment team subdued him with electrified batons and heavy sedatives, but the damage was done. I saw it in their faces: fear. Even Dr. Hawthorne seemed unnerved, though he masked it with his cold, clinical demeanor.

“This is only the beginning,” he said.

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Day 5: The Test Zones

Footage from the red-marked zones confirmed my worst fears. The subjects, once released into unsuspecting neighborhoods, spread the virus rapidly. In one clip, an infected man attacked a crowded diner, biting and clawing at everyone he could reach. Within minutes, the entire room was in chaos, blood pooling on the floor as the infection took root.

Another video showed a young woman returning home to her family. She seemed normal at first—no visible symptoms. Hours later, she snapped, tearing into her husband with her teeth. Her children’s screams echoed long after the video cut out.

“These are necessary sacrifices,” Hawthorne told me when I confronted him. “Progress demands it.”

I wanted to walk away then and there, but something—curiosity, guilt, or perhaps fear—kept me in the facility.

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Day 8: The Nursery

I discovered The Nursery by accident. A mislabeled file led me to a restricted wing of the facility, where rows of pods lined the walls, each filled with distorted humanoid figures.

Some were infants, others adults, but all shared the same grotesque features—blackened veins, unblinking eyes, and twisted limbs. One of the pods contained a creature that was awake. It followed me with its gaze, a crooked smile forming on its lips.

“These are the carriers,” Hawthorne explained when I confronted him. “They’ll spread the virus faster than any natural outbreak.”

The sheer inhumanity of it left me speechless.

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Day 15: The Incident

We were testing Variant Omega, the latest iteration of the virus. The subject—a highly trained military operative—was injected under controlled conditions. At first, the results seemed promising.

Then he began to scream.

His body contorted violently, muscles bulging to grotesque proportions. The containment glass cracked as he slammed against it repeatedly, each impact louder than the last.

“Shut it down!” I screamed, but it was too late. The glass shattered, and chaos erupted.

The creature tore through guards and scientists like paper. Hawthorne was dragged away, his screams echoing as blood streaked the walls.

I barely escaped, hiding under a desk as the creature disappeared into the facility’s depths.

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Day 18: Ground Zero

The facility is in chaos. Alarms blare, bodies litter the hallways, and the infected roam freely.

Worse, the virus has breached containment. At least three infected subjects escaped to the surface. I watched through a security feed as they emerged in Emerald City, disappearing into the urban sprawl.

The emergency broadcast claims there’s a “viral outbreak,” but I know better. This isn’t an outbreak—it’s the end of the city.

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Day 20: Final Entry

The infected breached the lab hours ago. I managed to barricade myself inside, but it doesn’t matter. I’m infected.

It started with a scratch. Barely a graze. Now, black veins creep up my arm, pulsating with each heartbeat. My muscles twitch uncontrollably, and my thoughts... they’re not my own.

The whispers began last night. They’re growing louder, speaking in a language I shouldn’t understand but do. They promise freedom, power, release.

My reflection is unrecognizable—sunken eyes, sharpened teeth, and skin stretched thin over blackened veins. I feel strong, but it’s not my strength. It’s the virus.

The hunger is unbearable now. Nothing satisfies it. I’ve caught myself staring at my own flesh, wondering how it might taste.

The door won’t hold much longer. The infected outside have stopped clawing. They know. They can sense that I’m one of them now.

I’ve uploaded all my research to a secure server. If anyone finds this, destroy the city. Burn everything. It’s the only way.

I can feel it taking over. My thoughts aren’t mine anymore. The virus doesn’t just kill—it consumes. It becomes.

The whispers are louder now. They’re not just in my head—they’re everywhere. They’re beautiful.

I think I’ll let them in......

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The journal ends abruptly. The final page is smeared with blood, the handwriting devolving into jagged, illegible scrawls. The scientist’s body was never found.