Patient Zero

By Fallen Seraph


Somewhere in mexico, a small village is destroyed by the W.H.O. to prevent the spread of Ebola Zaire.

A lone figure stumbles into an albanian village, muttering incoherently. A week later, the village is wiped out by cholera. The stranger's body is not amongst the casualties.

In China, unknown pathogens in the water supply kill 160,000. Locals claim a "foreign devil" drowned in the river feeding the reservoir. No body is found.

Somewhere in the mid-west, a shambolic figure climbs down from a goods wagon. His companion hobos are found dead from typhoid fever. He wanders, not knowing where he is or how he got there, but feels something tugging at the back of his mind. an emptiness, or rather a loss, but one that grows less every day. He can sense something. a glimpse of former glory. Slowly, memories return, drawing him back from oblivion. A betrayal? His home stormed? Fire and wings and swords and hideous, bright, burning light? He recalls he had a purpose once.

AIDS is developing resistance to treatment.

Russian scientists advise global vaccination against Smallpox.

The western world is gripped with fear over anthrax and other biological agents.

Foot and Mouth devastates Britains farming community.

Cancer is rampant, and on the increase.

Across the world, the Word of Disease is waxing strong.

Can a resurgent Word resurrect a remnant? Pray it can't...


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