[Day 4]
Lance’s fingers grazed the headboard while his toes peeked out from under the covers. A groan escaped, mingling with the creak of the mattress. He blinked, surprised by the lack of pain behind his eyelids. No headache. No nausea. No fever.
It worked. It really worked. Had it all been a dream? He asked himself, scratching his stomach over his once white shirt.
He leaned forward, then recoiled as the stench of dried sweat, blood, and stale fear erased any doubt that yesterday had been real.
He sat up and stretched again. His muscles protested, but it wasn’t the bone-deep ache of NARS. This was different. Familiar. The kind of soreness that came from—
Oh, right. Security.
Soreness from being manhandled by burly security guards, not from a deadly pandemic.
The memory of being forcibly removed from BioNova’s premises flashed through his mind. Strong hands gripping his arms, dragging him towards the exit. His feet skimming the ground as they hurled him onto the sidewalk.
Totally worth it.
A wet nose nudged his hand. Lance looked down to see Jiro, his shaggy-haired mutt, wagging his tail expectantly.
“Hey, buddy,” Lance said. “Hungry?”
Jiro’s tail wagged faster in response. Then the dog leaned in, sniffing Lance excitedly, only to quickly regret his decision and step back with a soft whine, his nose wrinkling.
“Aww, I knowww,” Lance cooed. “Does daddy need to ditchy-witch his stinky-winky shirt first? Does he? Huh, buddy?”
He grabbed his phone, taking a quick peek…
[6:57 AM]
…and peeled off his grimy shirt, tossing it onto a nearby chair, and padded to the kitchen, Jiro at his heels. He sat his phone down, filled the dog’s bowl with kibble, then turned his attention to his own breakfast. The thought of food no longer made his stomach churn.
Progress.
He reached for the container of oats with automatic movements. As he prepared his usual breakfast of oatmeal with soy milk—oh, and coffee—Lance marveled at the simplicity of it all. Just yesterday, the idea of eating anything seemed impossible. Amazing what a little experimental gene therapy can do.
His phone buzzed on the counter. Lance glanced at the screen, seeing Alex’s name flash across it.
Alex (Boss): Lance, are you there? Please respond. I hope you were able to get the treatment.
Lance: Much better. That clinical trial worked! Thank you so much, I think you saved my life.
He hit send, then added:
I know it’s a stupid question, but is there anything I can do?
He drummed his thumbs on the phone’s edges. Was that too emotional? But Alex did just save his life.
Lance set the phone back down and sprinkled some sugar into his pot.
When the five minutes were up, he spooned a mouthful of oatmeal, savoring the sweet normalcy of it.
His phone buzzed again.
Alex (Boss): It’s... tough. I don’t know what else to say. Are you safe?
Lance: Yes. And you?
Alex (Boss): Me too. It’s probably obvious, but Qualtech is done. The whole world is in lockdown. If you want, let’s talk on Monday
Lance’s eyes narrowed at the screen, his head tilting slightly as he reread the message. That was new. Alex’s words didn’t sound like a boss talking to an employee. It was the most human conversation he’d ever had with him.
Lance scrunched his face, unsure how to navigate this unfamiliar territory of Alex showing concern.
Lance: Okay. Take care, Alex.
Alex (Boss): You too, Lance. And... thanks for asking if you could help.
Lance’s thumb hovered over the keyboard. For a moment, he considered mentioning what happened at BioNova. No.
Lance:👍
Maybe I’ll keep the little incident at BioNova to myself.
Lance finished his breakfast and coffee, then took a quick shower. With his morning routine complete, he felt reinvigorated. He felt new. Light. Awesome!
As he toweled off, fragmented memories of the night flashed through his mind. It had been worse than the sickness, different somehow. He vaguely recalled the sensation of a thousand bees landing on his body again, but this time they were angry, stinging relentlessly. His bones had felt like they were melting and reforming simultaneously, a paradoxical agony that defied description.
Come to think of it, Lance muttered to himself, that was probably the worst pain of my entire life. And yet... I can barely remember it now. He shrugged, dismissing the thought. Oh well.
Since he didn’t have to go to work, normally, he’d head to the gym at this time, and his body felt ready for it. But he decided not to push his luck—after all, he was on the brink of death yesterday, and…
My coworkers did die. Mike, Dave, Emily…
Lance paused, allowing himself a brief moment of acknowledgment. An unfamiliar tightness gripped his chest. Then, with a slight shake of his head, he pushed the somber thoughts aside.
No time for that now. I’ve got a second chance, and I’m not wasting it.
He glanced at Jiro, who was lounging contentedly on the kitchen floor.
“What do you think, boy? Should we go for a walk?”
Jiro’s ears perked up at the word “walk.” He jumped to his feet, tail wagging furiously.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Lance chuckled.
He grabbed Jiro’s leash from its hook by the door, clipping it to the dog’s collar. As he reached for the doorknob, a flicker of apprehension passed through him. The last time he’d ventured outside, the world looked like it had come out of a post-apocalyptic movie.
Lance inhaled, held it for a moment, exhaled, turned the knob, and stepped out. His suspicions were instantly confirmed. The world outside was... different. Eerily quiet. The usually bustling street lay deserted, save for a few stray leaves skittering across the pavement. A Ghost town.
He tugged gently on Jiro’s leash, guiding the dog down the empty sidewalk. Their footsteps echoed in the silence. He felt uneasy at the quiet, and Jiro’s ears twitched at every small sound, both unused to a city devoid of its normal bustle.
Emerging from the alleyway, Lance’s eyes fell on something familiar, and his breath caught in his chest. The Rusty Nail, the bar where just days ago he’d shared drinks with his coworkers. Now, its windows were dark, a hastily scrawled “CLOSED” sign taped to the door.
Mike. Dave. Emily. What about the ones he hadn’t talked to that night? Olivia, Peter… Alex said everyone was dead.
And Valentina, he thought, remembering their witty exchange. A wave of sadness washed over him - not for a lost love, but for a potential friendship cut short before it could truly begin.
Stolen novel; please report.
The names flashed through his mind, each one a jagged shard of memory piercing his conscience. Lance swallowed hard, trying to push away the memories of their last night together. The laughter, the jokes, the plans for future projects that would never come to fruition.
“C’mon, Jiro,” he murmured, tugging the leash. “Let’s keep moving.”
They continued down the street, passing shuttered storefronts and abandoned cars. Lance’s gaze swept over the scene, taking in the surreal landscape. Newspapers littered the ground, their headlines screaming about the pandemic in bold letters.
A gust of wind picked up, sending a discarded surgical mask tumbling across their path. Jiro sniffed at it curiously before Lance pulled him away.
“Not a good idea, buddy,” he said softly.
Jiro whined softly and pressed against Lance’s leg, a gesture of silent comfort in response to his owner’s distress.
Lance reached down, scratching behind Jiro’s ears. “Thanks, boy,” he whispered. Then tugged Jiro’s leash, steering them towards the park.
As they approached the park entrance, Lance’s eyes darted around, searching for any sign of life. The playground equipment stood abandoned, swings creaking softly in the breeze. Yellow caution tape fluttered from the jungle gym, reminding him of the new reality.
“Alright, boy,” Lance murmured, unclipping Jiro’s leash. “Go wild.”
Jiro hesitated, glancing up at Lance as if seeking permission. With a nod from his owner, the brown, shaggy-haired creature bounded off, his paws kicking up small clouds of dust as he raced across the empty field.
Lance settled onto a nearby leaf-strewn bench as the cool wood pressed against his light jacket. He pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over the screen for a moment before tapping the social media icon.
His feed exploded with updates, each post more frantic—interesting than the last. Lance scrolled, his brow furrowing, his thumb going up and down, his eyes absorbing the digital outpouring of panicked speculation and wild rumors.
Lance’s thumb paused over a familiar name. Mike’s last post, dated three days ago:
@ZackGamerPro: Too much vodka last night. Feeling like crap. This better not be that new virus everyone’s talking about. Gonna raid my medicine cabinet and binge some RPGs. #SickDay
No streams this week? What a lightweight. Last post on Monday, but he’s always so active—unless…
He’d known, of course, but seeing Zack’s words, frozen in time, made it all too real. He scrolled past quickly, unable to bear the weight of those final, carefree words.
@Dr_EmilyChang: We’re working around the clock to understand this virus. Stay home, stay safe. #FightNARS
@Sarah_M92: “Been in line for 6 hours trying to get my shot. People are passing out. This is insane. #CureShortage”
@MayorJohnson: Citywide curfew in effect from 8 PM to 6 AM. Essential workers exempt. We’re all in this together.
The next feed made Lance’s blood chill to ice.
@LocalNews24: “BREAKING: Death toll surpasses 37 million globally. Governments struggling to contain panic. #PandemicCrisis”
Forty million… it’s only been like a day. Maybe two.
A video caught his eye. He tapped play, and the screen filled with the image of a haggard-looking scientist.
“We’re dealing with something unprecedented,” the woman said, her voice strained. “NARS is not a virus. It’s... it’s almost like radiation poisoning.”
Lance’s grip on his phone tightened. He glanced up, watching Jiro’s ears perk up at the sound of a flock of Canada Geese honk overhead, their V-formation cutting through the crisp autumn sky. The dog’s simple joy felt out of place with everything that was going on.
He returned his attention to the video.
“We’re racing against time,” the scientist continued. “But I want to assure everyone that we’re making progress. The clinical trials—”
A notification popped up at the top of his screen.
Alex (Boss): BTW, got a weird call from my contact at BioNova. Something about “unorthodox treatment administration”? Care to explain?
Shit. So much for keeping it to myself.
Lance: Was very sick, got desperate and panicked.
Alex (Boss): They said you were lucky they didn’t call the police to arrest you.
Lance: Actually they tried, but the world has other problems right now lol. Can we talk about it on Monday?
I shouldn’t have sent ‘lol,’ Lance thought, then actually laughed out loud.
Alex (Boss): Okay, no worries. Glad you’re feeling better. We’ll talk Monday. Take care.
Lance sighed and flipped his phone back to video mode, grunting at that annoying auto-refresh thing that makes you lose the video you were watching when you switch apps for a second.
Luckily, another interesting video popped into his feed.
The title read: “NARS Explained: What You Need to Know!” Intrigued, he tapped play.
Lance tapped on the video, and a woman with bright blue hair and thick-rimmed glasses filled the screen.
The energetic woman standing in front of a whiteboard covered in scientific diagrams grinned at the camera, her excitement radiating through the small screen.
“What’s up, science seekers! Dr. Zoe Blackwell here, dropping some knowledge about NARS - that’s Novel Acute Radiation Syndrome for you newbies.”
Lance leaned back on the bench as his thumb hovered over the volume button to turn it up. He found himself nodding along, as scattered details clicked in his head.
“Alright, let’s break it down,” she continued. “It has been confirmed that three months ago, scientists picked up this bizarre energy signature in our solar system. Now? We’re knee-deep in a global health crisis. For those interested in the technical details, I’ve linked the original white paper in the description below.”
As she spoke, a picture of the solar system, along with graphics, appeared on the screen, illustrating the timeline of events. Lance’s mouth twisted into a skeptical pout. Three months ago? How had he not heard about this earlier?
Dr. Blackwell’s voice grew more serious. “NARS is no joke - we’re talking fatigue, muscle aches, fever, and some scary neurological stuff in severe cases.”
A chill ran down his spine, remembering his own recent brush with the syndrome. He glanced up, checking on Jiro, who was now contentedly sniffing a patch of grass.
“But don’t panic!” Dr. Blackwell’s voice drew his attention back to the screen. “We’ve got a secret weapon: a groundbreaking gene therapy.”
He unconsciously rubbed his thigh where he’d injected himself with the ‘appropriated’ dose.
“This bad boy injects a synthetic nucleotide sequence into your DNA, basically giving your cells a shield against this freaky energy. One intramuscular shot in the upper arm, and you’re good to go.”
Lance’s breath caught. The trials. His mind flashed back to BioNova, to the syringe in his hand, to the moment of desperation that might have saved his life.
Or damned me to something worse.
He shook his head, banishing the thought. He was alive. He was healthy. That was what mattered.
“Well, better than you were, at least,” Dr. Blackwell said with a wry smile. “Now, I know what you’re thinking - ‘Zoe, how’d they whip this up so fast?’ Two words: preparation and innovation. Scientists have been on this energy puzzle for months, plus all our recent breakthroughs in genetic engineering? Total lifesaver.”
She launched into an explanation of how the gene therapy worked, using a book analogy that even Lance could follow.
“Here’s the real tea:”
As she continued her explanation, Lance’s eyes widened as soon as Dr. Blackwell said
“alcohol is a big no-no right now. This energy and ethanol? They’re like that toxic couple that brings out the worst in each other. It can amp up NARS symptoms to potentially fatal levels. So, mocktails only, folks!”
Lance’s heart raced. He’d had Guinnesses on Monday. Was that why the nurse had been so insistent about the 48-hour rule? He swallowed hard, suddenly feeling less confident about his rash actions at BioNova.
But the even more chilling realization was that this could be the very reason his coworkers... He couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought.
“Look, we’re all learning as we go here. This is uncharted territory, so keep your eyes on official health channels for the latest updates.”
“Got questions? Drop ‘em in the comments. And hey, if this video helped you out, smash that like button! Don’t forget to subscribe and hit that notification bell - you won’t want to miss our updates on this wild ride.”
“Stay curious, stay informed, and most importantly, stay safe out there, science seekers!”
The video concluded, but Lance stopped paying attention during the last few scenes. As the screen faded to black, he let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Minutes passed.
But he found himself still staring at the black screen. At his reflection. At his…guilt? He should feel worse, shouldn’t he? His coworkers, his friends, were gone. A lot of people were gone. He paid twenty grand to be alive. The truth hit him like a blizzard of ice-cold reality: he would do it again. In a heartbeat. He’d pay it all over just to be here, in that moment, sitting in the sun, watching his dog play.
Survivor’s guilt, a small voice in his head whispered. He pushed it away.
He decided to send another message.
Lance: Hey, just checking in. How are you holding up?
He hit send, then immediately regretted it. How are you holding up? As if Alex was just having a bad day at the office, not dealing with the loss of his entire team.
His boss took longer than he’d ever taken to respond. This was unusual, as Alex’s one redeeming quality was that he seemed to have his phone glued to his hand.
Alex (Boss): Not great.
[...]
Hanging in there. It’s... tough. But we’ll get through this. Stay safe, Lance.
He looked up at the empty park, swings swaying, a forgotten kite tangled in a tree branch, basketball wedged under a bench. The world had changed, and he was only just beginning to understand how much.
A sharp bark snapped Lance back to reality. Jiro had cornered a squirrel against a tree and was wagging his tail furiously, clearly pleased with himself.
“Jiro! Leave it!” Lance called out.
The dog’s ears drooped, but he obediently trotted back to Lance, tongue lolling out of his mouth.
Lance scratched behind Jiro’s ears, grateful for the distraction. “Good boy,” he murmured.
He glanced back at his phone. A notification popped up at the top of his screen.
@ConspiracyWatch: “This is population control! Wake up sheeple! Government created this virus! #TruthSeeker”
With a sigh, he locked it and slipped it into his pocket. Enough doom-scrolling for one day.
“Come on, boy. Let’s go home.”