《NANITE: INFECTION (Book 1)》
Prelude: Breakthrough
(Press Release/United World Syndicated News/April 11, 2020)
Genetech NanoSystems, Inc., a start-up company funded by venture capital and several large medical and major computer companies announced today an innovative breakthrough ¨C the melding of nanotechnology and artificial intelligence resulting in revolutionary nanomite hardware. The perennial software and integration issues hounding early researchers was solved by building on virus characteristics, greatly simplifying adaptation. Trading of stocks in Genetech Nano was stopped due to abnormal market demand.
(Press Release/United World Syndicated News/October 24, 2021)
Genetech NanoSystems, Inc. announced the successful testing of its prototype nanomite hardware with artificial technology components. The effort was made successful by the combined expertise of its Chinese and American research group, taking the advantage of the strengths of Chinese AI advances and American materiel and miniaturization technology. Genetech stocks jumped 231 percent upon disclosure.
(Press Release/United World Syndicated News/July 16, 2022)
Alfa Imaging Conglomerate, Inc. announced the release of the Vulcan nano processor series, the first of its kind. The new processor, eagerly awaited by the industry, enables unbelievable processing speeds and ease of use. Plug-and-play features incorporated in the nanotech design enable changing of existing processors without need of replacing the entire system. Upgrades are now sent to the AI by an activation code. Safety considerations raised during its development have been resolved by integration of a kill switch encoded in the product in addition to replication limitation safeguards. Sent online, the command renders the processor inactive by a master command or it may be entered by the appropriate device. Industry reports indicated that the company has an eighteen-month backlog of orders though it is now setting up five more manufacturing plants worldwide. The shortage is blamed in the US government demanding priority in deliveries.
(News Item/United World Syndicated News/August 26, 2022)
On the heels of GenetechNanoSystems'' momentous announcement of its revolutionary nanomite, Petrova Future Technologies of Moscow, Russia, announced today that it had also successfully developed its own version of the nanomite system and that the technology will be adopted by Russian companies. The company further announced that it had formed a joint venture with Zavtra Processors, the largest maker of Russian computer chips, to manufacture the new Baltic series with the new discovery. Production is believed to begin in a month''s time. Industry observers speculate that Petrova delayed its announcement to enable Zavtra to prepare its manufacturing plants.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
(News Item/United World Syndicated News/November 26, 2022)
Disturbing reports about knockoffs of the Vulcan and Baltic nanomite processors being produced have surfaced. Counterfeit and unauthorized copies have already entered the market according to market insiders. Vulcan and Baltic processors are already being used in numerous fields including new models of consumer electronics and hardware upgrades of military systems.
(News Item/United World Syndicated News/February 12, 2023)
In a joint press release, Genetech NanoSystems, Inc. and Alfa Imaging Conglomerate, Inc. announced today that commercial production of the new Vulcan II series was paused due to software issues found by third-party researchers. Upon further questions from reporters, the companies refused to comment, saying that news updates will be given at a later date. Petrova Future Technologies, the maker of Baltic nanomite processors, refused to comment.
(News Item/United World Syndicated News/April 21, 2023)
Consumer complaints against Alfa Imaging Conglomerate, Inc., makers of the popular Vulcan nano processors, have flooded federal agencies. Most of the charges allege that the processor had melded with the motherboards or mainframes of the affected computers. Unsubstantiated reports from Russia and other parts of the world also state the same problem.
(News Item/United World Syndicated News/October 24, 2023)
In an unprecedented move, the federal government announced that the Vulcan processor series will be replaced by a lower grade processor on a phased basis. Replacement is expected to take over a year in order to minimize disruption in the normal lives of citizens and the course of business. New processors will be given free of charge by Alfa Imaging Conglomerate, Inc. On the issue of processors melding with devices, the spokesman of the company says it¡¯s fake news. Vice-President for Public Relations Ray Metzer says such an outcome is impossible unless purposely done by users themselves.
(Unverified video on the Internet/No sound/Only images and handwritten slides/allegedly from Alfa Imaging engineers/February 25, 2024)
¡°The kill-switch doesn¡¯t work.¡±
"Replication limitation codes have been changed."
¡°The nanotech processor has evolved and is evolving.¡±
¡°We don''t know what it is now.¡±
¡°We don''t know what to do.¡±
12:00 GMT. February 25, 2024. The world ended.
Prologue 1 - Underwater
South China Sea
CNS Changzheng 11
Type 95A fast attack nuclear submarine
8:02 A.M. / 00:02UT - Universal Time. February 26, 2026.
Captain Hao Cheng looked at his second officer as he entered the control room. He only had three hours of sleep and a quick cup of coffee. Playing hide-and-seek with that American attack submarine kept him up until early morning. Captain Hao just agreed to grab some rest when his executive officer confirmed that they¡¯re safely out of detection range.
¡°That American is still around?¡± the captain asked as he adjusted his eyepatch. A useful habit picked up since his first deployment. The red illumination in the room during a low-level light condition wreaked havoc on one¡¯s sight unless proper precautions were taken. He heard some officers in the Western navies also use the eye-patch.
¡°Yes, Xiao. He¡¯s trying to find us. Probably excited about finally being able getting our signature. But he¡¯s in the wrong place. We still know where he is. Our new sonar model has definitely longer range.¡±
The captain moved to one of the console operators.
¡°Where is he?¡±
The man pointed to a spot on his digital screen. Captain Hao smiled. He was in command of the finest and most sophisticated nuclear attack submarine of the South Seas Fleet. A variant of what was declared to be the Type 95. He knew that the news of the Type 95 being the primary production model was pure misinformation. It was the Type 95A which was the true production model, a model the Western navies suspected to be in service but they couldn¡¯t validate its existence. It even looked like the Type 95 prototype. The advanced submarine model adopted the USS Virginia design by having a mastless layout. The inconvenient and hull-penetrating periscopes have been replaced by a photonics system. Control of the vessel, as with the American submarine, was done by a pilot and co-pilot. It was faster and quieter than even the German electric models. The advanced rim-driven pump-jet propulsion system was proving to be all its designers had promised.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
It was something to report back to Yulin, he mused. A far cry from the times when even the Japanese navy could force a Chinese submarine to surface. Like that Shang-class incident back in January 2018. That was humiliating.
¡°Xiao. Sonar has something,¡± his executive officer whispered. The captain quickly moved to the person pointed out by the officer.
¡°Xiao. A loud crumpling metallic sound from the location of the American submarine. Then nothing,¡± said the petty officer.
The captain knew his men. They were the finest the navy could produce. Something as incongruous as that statement would be founded on a fact.
¡°Were there contacts before? After I left the control room, I mean.¡±
¡°Faint and intermittent, difficult to track. Rudders couldn¡¯t be detected. Excellent design.¡±
¡°And now?¡±
¡°Nothing, Xiao.¡±
He turned to the man whose console he had visited. The submariner was looking at him and shook his head.
What happened? An accident?
Then he heard several gunshots. It sounded like a pistol being fired in a hurry. At the highly unexpected sounds, some technical personnel stood up in their stations. Some looked where the noise came from.
Ta ma de! Now what? he thought, immediately glancing at his XO. There was no need to give instructions. The man was on his way. As the captain stood there, waiting for the officer to report back, another fusillade exploded. In the cramped and isolated space of the 500-feet long vessel, the gunfire was deafening. Captain Hao was furious. He wanted to rush to the scene, but discipline and experience prevailed. At the back of his mind, he gave thanks that only frangible ammunition was issued. Full metal jacket heads allow the possibility of hull damage. The sudden sound of a struggle at his back caught his attention. He swiftly looked in the direction of the commotion.
In the reddish illumination of the control room, he could see uniformed personnel shoving and hitting others. Though shocked at the sight, he still noticed that the people they were trying to push back were naked, their uniforms gone. For some reason, the roseate glow of the lights reflected off their bodies. As he watched, one of the figures touched the face of an ensign who was trying to kick him back. The ensign suddenly stopped struggling as his uniform disappeared and a film rapidly engulfed him. It covered the person¡¯s body from head to foot in barely two seconds, revealing the man¡¯s naked body sheathed in what appeared to be a metallic sheen. Then the figure turned and rushed towards him.
Prologue 2 - Rats
Interstate Route 110
Harbor Freeway and Transit Way
Los Angeles, USA
5:02 PM (00:02 UT)
Fox Daddy quickly got out of his Cadillac Escalade. He stood up on the hood of the car and looked into the distance. Traffic had suddenly stalled. The tumultuous din of shouts and loud cries coming from the far front of the gridlock greeted his ears as the car door opened.
Through the flashing tail and car lights of the hundreds of vehicles lined up in a jumbled mess, he could see cars have crashed into each other, a couple were burning, and a trailer rig had run up on top of some vehicles. In places, thick smoke was in the air. Sirens were loudly blaring, and car alarms were futilely screaming from wrecked cars. It was not your everyday traffic pileup. It looked worse further down the route. He could smell the acrid fumes and smoke being blown his way.
What the fuck? His shocked mind reeled from the sight. It looked like a Michael Bay disaster movie. He looked around, trying to check if a Hollywood crew was indeed filming along the freeway. Then his keen eyes picked out some strange additions to the apocalyptic scene. In the smoke-shrouded vista, the Fox saw that various groups looked as if they were assaulting drivers and commuters. Some attackers were crashing through windshields and side windows. A mass of people was already running back his way, abandoning their cars.
He quickly jumped down from the hood and went to the backseat of the Escalade. The Fox pulled out the loaded PWS Diablo from the backpack stored in the trunk, got the two extra PMags, and stuck the polymer magazines in his back pockets. The trusty Beretta 92F, in a De Santis IWB holster with an extra magazine, he tucked in his waist. Glancing at the cars beside him, he could see some drivers had already followed his initial move and also began to survey the scene. The man in the BMW to his left had already pulled out his phone and dialing a number.
Probably 911, he thought as he removed and checked the assault rifle¡¯s magazine. He slammed it back into the magazine well and pulled the charging handle, setting the selector to semi-automatic. He slung the PDW across his body.
Well, 911 ain¡¯t gonna solve that nightmare, Armani boy. The National Guard would be a better choice. I don¡¯t know what the shit is happening, but there¡¯s no way I won¡¯t have my babies with me, Fox Daddy thought. The Beretta pistol he didn¡¯t bother to check. It was always on Condition One.
As he glanced up after getting his trade tools, he noticed a minivan was to the right of his car. A Latino family was inside, and the husband was arguing with his wife in the front seat. He glanced around. At the rear was a Toyota Camry, with a couple in front. The woman was also trying to call somebody.
This is a bitch of a situation, he cursed to himself.
The Fox had just concluded a business deal netting him a cool twenty thousand dollars. He didn¡¯t even get double-crossed during the cocaine exchange. It was a nice, smooth, and profitable transaction. A necessity for an independent operator like him. He maintained good relations with all the major gangs and suppliers and made it a point to stay on their good side - buying from all, ignoring none, and not selling to anybody¡¯s regular clients.
He took a bad money hit from time to time, principally from those in the lower rungs of the business. Newbies for the most part. But a word to some long-time friends in the responsible group usually resulted in a return of his lost investment or a better price during his next deal. And he made sure he didn¡¯t deal too much merchandise. That would have attracted police attention and created unwelcome, turbulent waves in the ranks of the suppliers who might begin to see him as a threat.
The stampede of running people was already in plain sight. He glanced at the man on top of the BMW. The guy looked rich, though he had ditched his suit jacket. But the Fox noticed Mr. Rich Guy was acting weird. The phone was still in his hand and raised to his ear, but he stood stock-still. A mass of gray ooze had slithered down his arm and was already starting to fully cover his head and torso. A quick look at the car at the rear revealed the couple was also already covered with the same strange goo.
He looked up. The Wilshire Boulevard overpass was just above. An access stair on the side of the highway led up to the thoroughfare. Fox quickly returned to the backseat and picked up the backpack. No way he was going to leave the twenty grand. He locked his car, ran to the side of the road, and quickly bounded up the concrete steps. A chain-link fence blocked his way at the top. He rearranged his attire, leather jacket hiding the weapon slung over his body and concealing part of the outline of the PWS Diablo, and then the backpack on top of the coat. Fox swiftly clambered up the rusting obstacle and jumped over.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Another hellish scene greeted him. To his left, vehicles were crashed into each other at the intersection. Two buses had rammed into clumps of cars. Others had smashed into each other. The crossing was effectively blocked. He could see the headlights of other vehicles at the back of the mess showing they were turning around. The din of loud car alarms, honking vehicles, shouts of the frightened, police sirens, and similar worrying sounds exacerbated his rising fear. Masses of people were running to and fro.
From what he could see, they were being chased by humanoid forms, glinting from the reflected multi-colored illumination coming from the street lights and signs; the blinking headlights of crashed vehicles adding a crazy dimension to the surreal scene. Fox looked at the building in front of him. It seemed like an office building. Most of its lights were off. But the few lit office windows he could see were broken.
Fox Daddy had lived a life of constant danger. Dealing with significant amounts of illegal drugs would do that. But his short stint in the sandbox helped hone his survival instincts and weapon skills. He learned not to trust anybody and, more importantly, how to quickly adjust to a dangerous situation facing him. Even the friendly smiling face he cultivated was a front for a hungry and merciless wolf.
He had lost count of numbers of huts, rooms, and houses he had tossed grenades into during patrols in T-man country, despite the operational procedure to first check out each area before taking such drastic measures. No way he was going to risk his neck in such operations. Even ten-year-olds in the bush knew how to handle an AK or throw a grenade. He didn¡¯t give a shit who was inside the space when he threw the explosive. Fox Daddy intended to survive raghead country.
When out of sight of his platoon leader, he invariably teamed up with his squad leader in doing the explosive clearing. The man was a gang leader from Brooklyn who was drafted into the army by his bosses. Apparently, the military skills and organizational training given by the US Army was a much-sought-after promotion premium in the drug business on the streets of New York. The man did help him start in the trade and guided him through its dangerously lethal beginnings. The Fox moved to LA after getting the needed connections. New York was too cut-throat even for him.
Now, all his survival instincts were screaming at him. But the Fox was confused as to who the enemy was even as his adrenaline rushed through his body, elevating his situational awareness. He crouched in the cover afforded by the wall of the building he had found himself, the PDW at the ready. As he watched the fleeing crowds, Fox Daddy saw those pursuing them jump on the backs of those too slow to keep up with the rest. Where a victim fell into the ground under the weight of the bizarre creatures, two rose and continued the chase.
Fucking zombies? Part of his mind told him. But the rational side of his brain refused to accept the conclusion.
That¡¯s only in the movies, he told himself. But they do act like freaking brain eaters. Then he noticed that the pursuers didn¡¯t stop to feed on their victims like in the Hollywood movies. Nor was their trail or the scene littered with half-gnawed human remains or even blood. The blood he could see came from the crashed vehicles. Surprisingly, the humanoid creatures didn¡¯t bother with the dead. The injured did attract their attention.
What the fuck is going on? He wondered as he assessed his situation. But one thing was clear in his mind - the unfolding crisis before him was definitely not a limited one. The creatures appeared contagious. Very contagious, if he was to go with the speed the victims were being converted. And that means more than half of the city would be infected before any government reaction happened. If the problem was limited to Los Angeles. Somehow, he doubted it.
Then his training kicked in. He considered his options. Assuming it was a zombie or a medical plague, it seemed that he could assume that touch was a primary means of spreading the contagion. Fox knew he could be wrong, but that was the best information he could go with as of the moment. Moving across town was a shortcut to suicide. The best bet, he concluded, was to find a place and hunker down until matters could be resolved by the authorities.
Hopefully resolved, that¡¯s a laugh, he thought. This seems like a totally SHTF situation.
Fox looked to his right. He could proceed to Bixel Street and avoid the intersection and the teeming humanity and their predators around that area. A grocery outlet and a small convenience store were along that stretch, if he remembered correctly. The drawback would be the locked and barred entrances. He glanced at a mall in the distance. It was a temptation, he admitted. A nearby location with shops and cars in the parking lot, and it can be reached without going through the hell in the intersection. But the on-going nightmare he could observe dissuaded him. No telling how widespread the problem was in that area.
Bixel Street it is, I¡¯ll worry about the locked doors later, the drug dealer said to himself as he turned right, keeping to the shadows.
As he neared the shuttered grocery on the street corner, the Fox sensed movement behind him. He didn¡¯t hear anything. It was instinct, born out of combat, which ran his mind¡¯s alarm bell. It was quite loud, forcing him to look back and bring his firearm into position. Fox Daddy the ex-soldier felt prepared. He was crouched, his back was to the cement wall, and he had kept a low profile. The darkness of the night before him was illuminated by the fires and flashing sirens in the background.
Then he sensed something nibbling on his shoes. Fox Daddy looked down and saw a shiny, metallic moving object on the ground. Then he noticed that the left of the pair of expensive Italian shoes he wore was already covered with the same metallic sheen. Suddenly he realized that his left foot had lost all tactile sense. More shiny rat-like things came out, all running towards him. As he started to rise, a number jumped on him from the rear, making him lose balance.
As he lay on the hard pavement, his throat already stricken by the strange paralysis, the last things he saw were the shiny, metallic rodents swarming all over his now shiny body.