The metallic, antiseptic smell of Fairview Containment struck Kyle the moment he stepped out of the truck. The massive compound of buildings stretched out before him, set back behind enormous chain-link fences with mesh wire across the top, all under an artificial, impenetrable light. The building seemed to have been built for one purpose and one purpose only: to contain, to isolate, to make sure whatever was going on here did not spill any further.
The doctor who had encountered him outside was already leading him towards the central complex, her swift footsteps echoing within the tense silence.
"The situation's gotten worse since the last update," she said without turning to him, her face tight with concern. "You're going to want to see it for yourself. It's not just one patient anymore. We've got multiple showing. unexpected signs. Aggression. Confusion. But it's different. Whatever the virus has mutated into, it's changing the way it affects the brain."
Kyle's jaw snapped closed as he followed her down the lengthy hallway. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, the sole sound in the otherwise quiet air. His mind raced with flashbacks from the last transmissions. Still mobile. That single statement, repeated in his mind, sent a shiver tracing along his skin. It wasn't the symptoms—those were to be anticipated. It was that they were stating the virus was adapting in ways they could not.
They walked towards the huge double set of doors that occupied the end of the hall. The medic waved her ID and a green light flashed, the doors mechanically creaking open. Within, the air was cold, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic and something else—something metallic, barely, as if walls were sterile steel and regret.
Patient 1D-734 is in there," she told him, cocking her head in the direction of the glass window of an observation room off to her side. Kyle could see through the glass the patient's figure—tall and lanky, strapped to a hospital bed, his body shaking ever so slightly as if he were trying to move his own arms.
"Is he awake?" Kyle asked softly, though he already knew what he was going to be told.".
"No," the medic replied. "His vitals are unstable. His heart rate accelerates at random moments, but otherwise he's largely unresponsive. Just. moving. His eyes won't follow. His words are nonsense. But he's awake—alert, somehow. And it's as if his body's remembered that it can't stay still."
Kyle pursed his lips, the gravity of the situation weighing in his chest. He already knew the signs—the spasm, the disturbing hollowness in the patient's eyes. It was like being trapped in one's own mind, cannot escape, but not lost yet.
We've attempted a few things to try and shut him up. Sedation, restraints, "the medic went on, her voice softer now, "nothing seems to do any good, though. We're thinking of ratcheting up the containment even more. We can't have anyone else get exposed to whatever this is.".
Kyle nodded, his gaze remaining on the patient. His heart pounding in his chest. The new strain came with more questions than answers. More horrible symptoms, more unpredictable patterns. And then the mobile aspect. Whatever this patient had contracted—or whatever mutation had taken place—had pushed them into the unknown. No longer a case of the plain old virus.
Let me see," Kyle answered after a pause, his tone even.
The medic stepped aside, and Kyle entered the observation room. A glass partition separated him from the patient, but even here, he could hear the feeble, ragged breathing of 1D-734. The patient's chest moved with each breath, but it was shallow, irregular, and forced.
There was an eerie sort of stillness in the room, as if the air itself hovered in anticipation, holding its breath for a release.
Kyle's eyes moved to the monitor before him, reading vitals once more. His eyes rolled over the heart rate monitor—peaking and then falling off. The blood pressure roller-coastered wildly and the temperature increased. It was not so much the physical signs themselves, however, which kept him at bay. It was the information which made no sense. The random, abnormal reactions which did not fit anything previously experienced.
He moved closer to the glass. The patient's eyes were half-closed, and while his pupils were dilated, there was no sign of true awareness. He seemed to be stuck in his own body and whatever control he had once had was at risk of slipping away from him.
Abruptly, the patient's hand twitched, a spasm that made Kyle jump. The medic in the doorway flinched, but Kyle stayed put. Instead, he gazed at the patient's chest—waiting, thinking. The twitch was not a spasm. It was intentional. Voluntary.
Did anyone ever see anything like that? Kyle didn't look up to ask. He was trying to solve the puzzle, but since there was little data, that wasn't even possible. The virus had its own rules, it seemed.
No," the medic finally said, her voice shaking. "This has. never happened before. I've never worked on something like this. He's. fighting. You can see. But it's not working. His body doesn't care.".
Kyle's hands poised over the controls on the observation deck, cautiously. He had worked with his share of infected virus patients, but this-this was beyond expectations. Whatever in 1D-734 was altered was more than they had anticipated. Something other than the virus could get in control.
The patient's body spasmed again, a body shiver that caused the restraints to rattle. Kyle's heart racing. Was it up or what? This was no longer just the natural course of a virus—that was the activation of something new. Something lethal.
He stepped back from the glass, his mind racing with the implications. He wanted to know more, but there was no easy way to learn. The one thing he was certain of was that this new strain was deadlier, more unstable than anything they'd encountered so far.
And whatever was happening with 1D-734. Just the beginning.