I am the original, the first, the source. But that’s more what I became, not what I was.
When they first found me I was like millions of others, a broken man dying of HIV. They offered me a solution, a potential experimental cure. So I agreed, happily. I endured the prodding, hell I welcomed the injections. I was desperate for life.
They dubbed me a genetic marvel, I was acceptable for their cure. Had I not been so eager, I might have noticed the shadiness. I might have seen the false smiles plastered on the doctors faces. I could have realised that their cheerful words masked dark thoughts. I should have known their cure was just a repurposed virus.
But I did not. I eagerly took their “cure”. Within a week my body was not my own. I had traded one death sentence for another. You have no idea what it was like, the virus took control. The horror I felt, trapped within my own mind, fully aware but incapable of control. Screaming as my body committed atrocities.
They quickly realised that they could not keep my hunger satisfied. The virus was insatiable, their food did nothing to stop it. But then, the faithful day came, a chirpy young nurse came a little too close… and… and I devoured her. Without remorse. I was a prisoner in my own mind while my body was a monster.
But while I was a monster, she became something much worse. During the autopsy she awoke from her death slumber. The pathogen raged in her body. She tore the medical staff apart. Crimson arcs of blood sailing through the air where she cut them down. But once they were all dead, it became clear that her hunger was still not sated. So she set her eyes on the world.
This was the start of the end. I was Patient Zero, the original. The curse in my blood caused all of this. The pathogen I set loose caused the world to burn. If you’re reading this, I’m so sorry.