The Immortal Virus

The room was dark, silent, as if the very air was holding its breath. Arlotti’s heartbeat echoed in his ears, a dull sound that seemed to clash with the loneliness surrounding him. The president, weary and battered, had never been so aware of his own frailty. His skin, gray and thin, betrayed the age he was trying to deny. He had seen many die from illness, and now his own flesh was beginning to give way.

“President Arlotti! President!” How he loved hearing himself called that, "president." His policies had started to falter, the polls declared him finished: "Too old to lead the future," they said, but he knew that another realm, the eternal one, was waiting for him. He had worked hard to get where he was. He couldn't give up now.

It was the first day of his new life, or so he thought. When he entered the secret laboratory, he knew he would have to take a risk, but there was no more time. His hand trembled as he grasped the vial; the liquid inside seemed to reflect a promise: the promise to halt decay, the promise to extend his reign. But the anxiety, that cold sensation creeping in every corner of his mind, would not leave him. Yet, when the doctor handed him the syringe, the act became inevitable.

A sharp jab to the arm, a burning sensation coursed through him. Then, nothing.

The laboratories had long been forgotten, hidden in the belly of an ever-expanding metropolis, but in the heart of those who had created them, the shadow of what they had made would never fade. Under the effects of the virus, Arlotti fell into a dreamless sleep. But he would not die. He would never again be a man, but neither would he be a corpse.

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, in the heart of the desolate lands of Siberia, the virus had fallen into the hands of another government. The spy, a man with a face carved from ice and eyes of stone, gazed at the vial in his hands, an object both small and unsettling. President Arlotti could never have imagined the extent of his mistake, for no one could have foreseen that, instead of being a project for his country, this virus would become a global weapon.

His country, the Eastern Union, should have remained silent, but secrets are meant to come to light. They had not come to steal any ordinary formula. The Siberians, unaware of the true power they held in their hands, stole the virus, thinking it was a weapon destined for them, a promise of strength for a future of domination. In their minds, the contents of that vial were merely another tool, a resource to exploit. Their act, carried out in the shadows, would open the gates to a hell even they, in their darkest nightmares, could not have foreseen.

When the virus was released in Hong Kong, its arrival was unexpected. The city was buzzing with life, with stories woven through the streets, men and women crossing paths without ever stopping, rushing in a frenzy that mirrored their survival in a constantly changing world. But no one knew that death and rebirth had just taken residence in the heart of that metropolis.

The effect was devastating. Bodies bent, collapsed, disintegrated under the virus’s regenerative fury. But not all died. Some became something else. Something that had neither soul nor purpose. But some, the strongest, the healthiest, rose above, standing tall in the horror of what they had become. They were no longer afraid, no longer remorseful. It was a new era, and they were the predators.

And as Hong Kong became an invisible battlefield, on a ship anchored off the Spanish coast, the virus was taking on a completely new form.

The sky above the ship was tinged with a deep blue, the sea breeze carrying the sound of waves crashing against the bow. Inside, music filled the air, but there was a subtle tension, like a rope pulled too tight, ready to snap. The Spanish soldiers, young, strong, full of desire, were preparing for a party. The girls, arriving to have fun, were already intoxicated by wine and laughter. But something was changing.

The first soldier, a man named Raul Calderón, felt a sudden shiver. His skin seemed to heat up, his muscles pulsed as if charged by an invisible force. His eyes, once gleaming with joy, darkened. He looked at his hands but could no longer recognize himself. His breath became heavy, his blood surged in his veins like a wild fire. Then, he looked up and saw the others: they were changing.

The features of their faces hardened, their skin became paler, almost spectral. Their hands stretched, their teeth elongated like sharp fangs, ready to tear flesh. They were different, powerful, ferocious. They were no longer men but bloodthirsty predators.

The party turned into a slaughterhouse. The girls’ screams merged with the sound of the violin, creating a distorted melody of death and desolation. Raul pounced on his prey, the neck of a young girl who trembled in fear, and a twisted smile lit his face.

And as the bodies writhed and the predators launched themselves at each other, the reality of what had happened became clear. The mutation would never stop. There was no control, no end. Regeneration had taken over, but in its place, there was only hellish chaos.

The screams echoed, but there was no compassion. The mutants kept growing and evolving, an endless cycle of death and rebirth that fueled only hunger. There was no more peace. No more hope. Only hunger and the desire to kill, to consume each other in an endless spiral.

At that moment, Raul, like the others, didn’t understand. He had no awareness of what was happening. He didn’t know that the virus had transformed him, that it had transformed them all, he was no longer himself. He didn’t even understand that the end was inevitable. Nature had taken its course, and man, in his attempt to subvert it, had unleashed hell.

Arlotti, the man who had set everything in motion, in his desire to live forever, to dominate time and death, had unleashed a tragedy he could never control. His ambition had not led him to glory but to a tragic and inglorious end. And yet, his mark was indelible: the virus had not only destroyed him, but entire peoples, entire civilizations. Humanity would never have a future again. His dream of eternal power had turned into a curse that would consume everything and everyone.

A craving for eternal youth. A mistake that became a curse. Creatures that mutated and devoured without cease, humanity now facing the consequences of its own arrogance. The pursuit of absolute power, the desire to defy death, and an inglorious end.

The step towards immortality was a step towards ruin. Death never came. Only destruction. The world would never be the same again.

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