Apocalypse Rising

The year is 2000, and the world still feels new. Three months after Y2K turned out to be nothing, life hums with quiet optimism. Gas is $1.50 a gallon, dot-com dreams keep Wall Street buzzing, and radios blast Santana’s “Smooth,” *NSYNC, and Britney Spears. People log on with screeching 56k modems to check AOL, trade Napster tracks, or argue in chat rooms. Cell phones are chunky bricks good mostly for calls. MTV rules evenings, The Matrix lingers in conversations, and nobody’s heard of social media. It’s the last gasp of pre-9-11 innocence. Then, on March 28, 2000, the first cracks appear. Morning news shows get interrupted. CNN cuts in mid-segment: “Feral attacks reported in the Washington DC area.” Local stations follow—shaky footage of people sprinting through hospital halls, lunging with unnatural speed and strength, biting anyone in reach. Victims collapse, then rise minutes later, eyes empty but movements disturbingly purposeful. Anchors speak carefully: “Authorities are investigating a possible neurological outbreak… extreme rabies variant… stay calm.” Radio bulletins break into pop songs. Evening papers rush headlines: “Mystery Feral Incidents Spark Quarantine Concerns.” Most people change the channel. Another scare, like West Nile or bad drugs. Nothing to worry about. They don’t know the truth yet. A secret bioweapons deal between the United States and Israel—sold as defensive neuro-agent research—failed spectacularly. The pathogen escaped a lab near Tel Aviv, went airborne, infected crowds before anyone realized. Infected passengers boarded flights; latent carriers landed at US hubs. Washington DC became ground zero on American soil. The virus rewires the brain: fresh infected jog relentlessly, sprint in bursts, smash through barriers with amplified power, even use basic cunning—ambushes, noise traps, pack coordination. Bites turn you in hours. Everyone carries it now, waiting for death to wake it. Includes Inner-Self