David Hanrahan - Archon of the Covenant

DDC39 rolled around the park trail leading up to Picacho Peak, its dust eddies obscuring Interstate-10 in the distance. The sun was just behind the peak now, casting a monolith eclipse on the eastern desert floor. The quiet brumeland of old memories. A breeze whispered through dead weeds and around DDC39s frame as it made its way through the national park. Adrift in solitude amongst the dry brush.

DDC39, the sentinel, has been out on recovery for over a year. It left the Martinez Manufacturing Complex on full-autonomous vectoring and followed its own scans to the northern Sonoran desert what was once the American Southwest. If there was any salvageable human life, any living person without prefrontal cortical hypotrophy (PCH), Sonora would be one of the few places they could possibly be the satellite data having confirmed this. This was what it was programmed to do. To find a survivor.

When the illness first appeared, there was little understanding of what was happening. The initial symptoms were tame, and it was hard to discern it from more common and treatable diseases. This bug was a slow burn. Later symptoms arrived en masse in a way never before recorded. The infected devolved, a few years after contraction, into something different. Some would say animals. The prefrontal cortex was slowly shutting down, leaving only the basic, survival instincts intact. Reason, speech, abstention, decorum all the things that had defined our evolved existence were disintegrating under our noses. It had been in the air all this time, originating in the atmosphere within the past decade. Mankind was facing a cognitive extinction, unaware. A reversal of encephalization. CAT scans were showing activity, albeit changing, and so no one caught on until it was too late. Patients, who had been simply battling ongoing confusion and headaches for the past couple years, suddenly stopped bathing, stopped going into work. They talked less and less. Then there were other changes. Affected individuals no longer recognized the people who loved them. Instead, they began to huddle amongst their fellow infected. Their memories were wiping out. They were uneasy around those who had not devolved. Theyd start assaulting others at random. If you had food, theyd come at you fingernails digging in, rocks thrown. The base animal emotions fear, rage, and apathy were amplified in the infected. Restraint was lifted. Hatred was acted upon. And nearly everyone was infected at this point. When the realization hit that all mankind had been breathing the very air that was slowly disintegrating our cortex the doomsday reactions materialized. The religious huddled in churches now no longer afraid to be infected by others. Christians, Muslims, Jews they all envisioned a much more dramatic apocalypse. Not this. There were no seas boiling, no skies falling. This infinite sadness was such that common people would simply become something else something so ancient and pathetic and that the waking society would all but be gone.

Scientists initially thought it was some form of viral, early onset dementia. Or a contagious variant of Bensons Syndrome, sans vision disruption. They had been trying to pinpoint a vaccine once they determined it was airborne. The problem was: who could be vaccinated if they had been breathing for the past few years? Everyone took in the same air. There were only a few pockets on earth where people had been living and breathing uncontaminated air. These salvation outposts were put on notice to stay sub-troposphere and reverse-quarantine until news of a vaccine or, worse, until the air cleared. Once a vaccine was created, there was such short supply, and logistics so broken down, that it only got as far as the nearest salvation outpost. The first test vaccine, created by scientists at the University of Arizona, made it to Biosphere 3 on the outskirts of Tucson.

Biosphere 3 was built two years pre-virus (2PV) through a joint effort between UofA and NASA. It was built to study, through a continuous live operation, the ability for man to manufacture and sustain an ongoing base on Mars. The occupants of Biosphere 3 a mixture of aging astronauts, jaded scientists, and poor laborers had committed to a 5-year engagement. And so, around the time when they would be emerging from their fully-sealed glass enclosure, the occupants of Bio3 were phoned by the researchers at UofA and told of their new mission: that they would need to receive and take the first vaccine. Not only take the vaccine, but something much, much more: to be the sole survivors of an epidemic that would wipe out everyone outside of the SOs. They had to take the vaccine and replicate it. Replicate it and reproduce. Be the re-birth. Bio3 would become Salvation Outpost Zero. They would transmit to all other potential SOs that they had the vaccine and would send out help once the immunity was confirmed. Stay put. Stay in your SO until help comes. But confirm receipt of the message and relay your status. With any luck, only the truly uncontaminated would be responding at that point, as it was now roughly three years after-virus (3AV). Anyone else hearing the message outside of an SO would be the once-humans, those reverted incurables. The revins.

At first, the revins were stationed for observation in large outdoor barracks tent cities surrounded by electrified wire. When found roaming in a populated area, frothing and maniacal, theyd be rounded up and taken to the tent cities outside of town and fed by a constant stream of propelled slop and water cannons directed at open basins. All this was quickly abandoned though. It was pointless why round up creatures that you knew you would resemble any day/week/month from now? The tent cities were abandoned and revins simply began to fill the capitals. There was some hope that people who still had not exhibited any cortical hypotrophy would show that there was some natural resistance. This was true, to a point, and helped the scientists come up with a late vaccine trial. But even they succumbed. They would huddle in their homes and apartments. The water shut off, then the power. Phone and internet signals went offline. You could look out your window one day and see traffic on the highway, but the following week it would be a trickle. Then one car here or there. Then nothing. Sometimes youd hear a crash, or explosion. Then when normal society came to a halt, the revins would come out.

The revins wandered in packs. There was usually a pack leader, and they would rummage through trash, or homes, looking for food. Occasionally theyd find a house with someone, or something, living in it. Screams. A revin would come out of the house dragging a baby, holding it high above its head and bringing it down hard on the sidewalk, sinking its jaws into the mangled viscera. They would wander, sunburnt and broken, from shade to shade. Clothes, no clothes. Bloody, wild-eyed.