Entry 1
December 12, 2042.
Day 10,593.
Dear Diary, if someone is reading this, that means history has caught up with me.
My name is Lucian Vaughn, a billionaire from a humble background.
If you're wondering what "Day 10,593" stands for, it's a conversion of my age from years -29 years each 365 days with 8 leap years being 366- to a simpler measurement.
My story began at an orphanage, a place that reeked of coldness and the smell of old paper. The latter, however, was my doing, for I always burried myself in thick textbooks about the human body and anatomy. It intrigued me, especially the brain. My innocent self back then dreamed of being a doctor; he for sure would be disappointed -perhaps even heartbroken- if he learned that I became a scientist with bloodied hands. A bioweapon working with governments to engineer the deadliest diseases, so they can strike their enemies. Viruses made with immense precision that nothing could beat them. They call it biological warfare, I call it art.
Friends know me as a "Science teacher," others know me as "a loving father and husband." I was neither, but with such dirty and dangerous work, fake identities was crucial. Both my wife and son were also government assets and mere tools to help me camouflage.
My proudest creation would be VX-31 syndrome, or as I like to call it, "The Swan's Disease." A marvel of precision. It doesn't kill quickly, nor does it linger pointlessly. I designed it in such a way where the host might live anything in between 1 day and 1 year, bringing nothing but agony and dispair. It infiltrates the body quietly, weaving itself into the lungs, the brain, the marrow. Elegant, unstoppable. Not even nature has been so efficient. I recorded the survival rate at 0% with 100% confidence and negligible margin of error. After all, I had a sample of 31 million people. None survived.
Their only mistake was not understanding the only thing that's theirs. It should shame them how another man understands their body more than them.
I received inconvenient news today, and though I usually am hardly threatened, I must say, it rattled me.
Subject 32,479,923
Name: Seraphine Halder.
Code Name: C-07.
Sex: Female.
Age: 27 years.
Height: 5 foot 6 in (167 cm)
Weight: 127 pounds (58 kg)
Recently infected by VX-31 syndrome.
Symptoms during the first 129 hours of infection: Fatigue, organ failure, instable lungs...
SUBJECT HAS SHOWN UNEXPECTED CELLULAR REGENERATION, METICULOUS DOCUMENTATION AND INVESTIGATION IS WARRANTED.
That wasn't possible, my creation isn't flawed. How come Seraphine Halder, an infected host, is showing signs of recovery? Millions of people stood helpless before that disease, regardless of them having the best doctors and medical stuff. She is no exception. She has to be no exception.
"Seraphine Halder. A host given 6 months at most to live has shown signs of improvement and recovery." I said, to my trusted friend and right hand, Adrian Vale. I leaned into my armchair, eyes never leaving the fire place.
"This is dangerous Lucien, we're gambling with fire. I say we just kill her." He replied, eyes burning with intensity.
Knowing him and his lust for shedding blood, I ticked my tongue.
"No Adrian. She'll stay alive." I said taking a shot of vodka.
Useless stuff. Doesn't burn as they claim it does.
"Why? So her news travels to media outlets and causes problems for us? The government won't like this. I say we kill her. Silently and quickly."
"She uncovered a weakness. One I wasn't aware of. I need to know what she has done so that her healing was possible. Obviously to prevent that in future models. Then we kill her."
"You are a busy man, stop devoting time and energy into something so minor. It might just be false alarm." He said leaning on the door frame. "I mean, you've spend all night analyzing her files. 989 minutes as you like to put it. This is obsession."
"Book me a flight to vegas. The sooner the better." I said standing up and grabbing my coat.
"Where are you going? Don't tell me to wait it out in the airport...and so suddenly.."
"Any problem with that?"
"You have a wife-"
"A fake wife." I interrupted him.
"She loves you Lucien. She cares about you beyond that government contract. When are you going to stop pushing people away? When are you going to stop viewing humans as clusters of cells and tissues?"
"Is that what the airport told you when you called and asked for a ticket?"
"Haha, very whimsical."
I was a great man and every great man meets his fate eventually, but Seraphine wasn't going to be the one to induce that.
