𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐃𝐎 𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓, 𝗔𝗣𝗢𝗖𝗔𝗟𝗬𝗣𝗦𝗘 𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗜𝗡𝗔𝗟

00, prologue

TUESDAY, 17TH AUGUST
the beginning.

DR ALEX CHAMBERS WALKED THE pristine halls, the smell of chlorine following him wherever he went. His shoes squeaked against the polished, shiny floor as he rushed towards the laboratory, his white coat flowing behind him almost as if it was flapping in the wind.

The lanyard around his neck jangled against the keys which he had tied to it, however, none of these bothered him like they usually did. It wasn't any normal Tuesday afternoon, instead of trying to make antibiotics, he was trying to keep a zombie virus at bay.

Beads of sweat collected at his hairline, his hair slick with sweat as it stuck to his clammy skin. He anxiously wrung his hands as he paused in front of the closed door, the glass blacked out.

The doctor took a deep breath, as he reached to the doorhandle before him and opened the wooden door. As the door creaked open, the squeaks of tortured mice could be heard echoing around the tiled walls.

His heart pounded in his ears, trying to block out the sounds of the tortured mice as they screamed out, almost as if to tell him to get them to stop their experiments.

He got to work as he usually would, however, everything felt different, like what he was doing was incredibly wrong even though it was for what seemed to be the greater good. He hated it, as an animal lover, watching and hurting the mice made him want to cry.

He pushed — well, attempted to push — his emotions to the back of his mind, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than how much he was hurting the animals.

Rather than reacting to the medicines being pumped into their veins, the mice became erratic and made attempts to bite the closest human. If you could even call the scientists humans, for what they were doing to the mice.

Doctor Chambers reached towards the white gloves in the box, grabbing a pair before slipping them onto his hands.

The white-gloved man slowly stuck his hands into the clear case in which a white mouse was cowering in the corner. Instead of running away from his fingers, the mouse slowly grew closer and closer to his hand. His confusion was almost palpable as the mouse supposedly nuzzled against his gloved fingertip.

However, the mouse turned and bit straight through his finger, causing a yell to rise out of his throat. He quickly pulled his finger away from the clear case.

All of the scientists in the room, which was only about three others, all turned to face him. Blood slowly seeped from the wound, the crimson liquid dripping onto the table as the doctor scrambled about, panic-stricken.

The blood began to drip from his finger at a fast pace as his heart pounded against his chest. He quickly pulled the glove off his hands with a hiss as the bite stung.

He cupped his uninjured hand beneath the bitten one, trying to prevent blood from splattering onto the floor as the dark-haired man rushed to the closest sink — which for some reason was in the men's bathroom.

He quickly turned on the tap, the cool water running over the irritated wound on his finger. For such a small bite, it hurt like a bitch.

A groan escaped his lips as he scrunched up his face in pain, a headache forming behind his eyes.

Deciding to take the rest of the day off, he quickly wrapped his finger up with some toilet paper before rushing out of the bathroom.

He ran a sweaty hand through his wavy hair, looking down and seeing a splotch of blood on his white coat.