trenchkamen: (Nothing to fear but...)
It's been hell in here.

Two grad students turned on us, but we managed to have them turn on the trussed-up undergrad who was lagging behind them in rapidity of transformation. The carnage... well, I get sick of the sound of snacking, but I find myself increasingly indifferent. This concerns me.

A principle investigator from the third floor was added to our impound. As the door opened, a grad student tried to run out, but he was shotgunned into a stump. He's still moaning on the floor. The principle investigator has told us that the virus is mutating too quickly to do much analysis on; it isn't responding to any lectin or peptide-specific tests. Out of the body, however, it responds to soap and ethanol, like an virus.

Which brings further hints:

1) If you have any contact with the infected, even peripheral, DOUSE WITH ETHANOL AND SOAP.
2) I'm wearing a mask because even the smell of ethanol in here is making me increasingly sicker. I restate: even douse yourself and your area with ethanol. It may detour them slightly.
3) If you have dead who were not infected, crude as this may sound, use their bodies as bait. In a pinch, the smell will confuse the zombies. I find my eyesight failing as my sense of smell heightens, and from what I observe it is a uniform trend. At least I can type by touch.
4) If you have access to ventilation masks, use them. Viruses can get through in a pinch anyway, but it's better than nothing.

[ profile] miwasatoshi said he was heading up here to "get us"; it would be greatly appreciated if anybody who can helps guard the building so the scientists can concentrate on synthesizing an antidote. That is most important. Too much of our energy is going into crisis control.

And I say, on behalf of all of us here in Tissue Culture 1, your lives come first. We've accepted that we are going to die, or at least come to terms as best we can. Just beware opening fire in here, or anywhere in the labs. There are flammable chemicals and infectious agents everywhere. This is not a place for horsing around.

This sucks ass. I wish I could do more to help research, but I know I’m more of a danger outside than sitting in here on my hands.

I pray if any of you see me, I will still be in enough of a right mind to go down honorably for my fellow humans, with a straight back and all the dignity any of us can have at this point. I find panic subsiding as a function of time.

Time is running out.

I’m going blind--
trenchkamen: (Oh god.)
So I had one hell of a day at work.

Upon arrival I noticed a guy shuffling out of the building who forgot to key himself out; I tapped his arm to remind him, and he shifted around, neck at an angle I was just beginning to realize was impossible, and grabbed my arm. I smashed him into the wall several times until he let go, keyed into the doors, and slammed them as fast as I could, but he got scratches into my arm. They are currently green and crusty and evidently infected, still. I have them wrapped up in gauze, and I've been locked in one of the tissue culture rooms with others who have been exposed. It's a somber atmosphere in here. Our colleagues are frantically trying to synthesize an antiviral for us, but it's been hours and to no avail. The demand will be great. We'll be cured first, put back to work in the lab to frantically synthesize antivirals for the rest of the entire Phoenix Valley.

If they make it in time.

Shit, I just had to pull one of the undergrads out of the incubator; he was smashing the flasks against the counter and eating the contents. He had shoved me aside and growled that it was them or us; he's been subdued for now with zip-ties. He's really starting to turn. He's moaning and thumping his head listlessly against the wall.

I've finally found a quiet moment to blog. It may be the last message I send to the world. I have faith in my colleagues, but shit, if one lab can eradicate a virus more virulent than any experienced in one night, when we haven't even eradicated HIV...

Who am I kidding? I don't know who we're kidding, but looking out the window it seems most of them are more cynical than I am. They're trying to alleviate their own guilt, by saying they did all they could. It's not like anybody is leaving anyway; they've surrounded the building. I think we've got something they want.

Really, I could wax stereotypically philosophical and ask what hath science wrought, but ultimately we were trying to help. We did all we could. It's the risk we accept when we venture into new territory, and ultimately, I for one have no regrets.

They're all turning.

They've disarmed us in here; I've got nothing to defend myself, no blades, no club-like implements, not even glass. I only have my fists and boots. I'll turn; I don't know what state my cognizance will take when I turn, but I don't think I will be myself anymore. It seems like those who are fully zombies are organic machines with no ghost upstairs. I hope they are, for their sakes and ours.

I wonder if I should take my own life before I turn on my colleagues. I don't want to be remembered like this.

I don't want--

If you can hear me, and you know who you are, I love you. You will be in my heart, guts and marrow until I draw my last breath.

Everybody, I hope you are okay. Barricade yourselves, stock water, protect your families and loved ones. Get upstairs. They have trouble with stairs. Protect those weaker than yourself. Go for their heads. Keep your pets indoors. We won't survive otherwise. And for God's sake, if you have technical expertise, get to your lab. Now. We need more synthesizers. An antidote is our best bet at this point. It's that or die

And this is the hardest thing: once they turn, you have to kill them. It's that, or you become one, and the cycle continues. Their souls are already gone. Do a credit to their memories and destroy the organic machines they used to inhabit.

And for God's sake, live these moments as though they could be your last. I know the phones are down, and I don't know how much longer the internet will be up.

I wish science could do more, but the more involved in science you get, the more painfully aware you become of its limitations. Ultimately, we're just humans bumbling with machines.

The locals are getting restless. It's about to get really, really ugly in Tissue Culture 1.

I've still got some Lauren in me, and I'm not going down without a fight. It's pointless, but I want my last memory of myself to be on my feet and standing my ground.

It’s been an honor to know you all. Do me proud.

Blog like it's the end of the world.

July 2012



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