The year is 2030.
Everyone and everything is fucked.
A new virus, discovered only five years earlier and dubbed W3N.D1 has threatened the security of the nation and the livelihoods of the citizens.
We were worried about the wrong virus.
While we were checking temperatures and wearing masks, W3N.D1 crept in unknowingly.
First spotted in a small clipping of a newspaper, it wasn't any headliner. This virus was spread by migrating seabirds. We were a country surrounded by water that was out of their flight path; we were safe.
The birds spread overseas first. Infected birds died and leeched into the earth that was then eaten by grazing cows, pigs, and chickens.
Those livestock were then infected, butchered for their meat that was packaged and shipped interstate.
We couldn't keep it out if we tried.
The infected meat had no different taste, smell or colour. To a struggling family pinching cents, cheap and fresh meat that was a blessing.
The infected meat makes it's way into the hungry mouths of millions before it is detected. Out of those millions, a few hundred-thousand cram into airplanes to travel overseas.
They aren't carrying the virus the airline is warning them against. They think they are safe.
At landing, the infected spread. They go home to families or get to do the joys of sightseeing as a tourist.
Still unknowing, the trail spreads further.
The climate here is much hotter than a country further north. Sweat drips into the ground, smears over adorable wildlife on exhibition, sticks to the railings of trains, busses, and ferries.
A few make risky choices in back-alley restaurants, or get just a bit too hammered in the local pubs.
Vomit smears the streets. Diarrhoea enters our sewers.
By the time W3N.D1 is detected by scientists, it's already infected our wildlife and caged poultry.
Crammed together in cages and living in shit is the perfect breeding ground. With feed thrown over the layers of shit, and the shit itself being sprayed down with hoses into the grass outside, it was bound to happen.
We were just looking the wrong way to see it.
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Infected meat has already been consumed by the public in masses before the warning finally makes the news two years after first entering the country.
Despite the warnings of infection making it's way into our lands through our meat, the decision to increase the price has the opposite of the intended reaction.
People swarm supermarkets and butchers. They fight over the cheap cuts quicker than staff can rip them from shelves.
Others simply have never seen this much traffic or money pass their hands. They sell out happily, blowing off the severity as another scare designed to control consumption to prioritize the rich pigs.
The public all have the mindset that they'll never taste meat again. Their pots and bellies will never be full; the government is only inducing panic to tear food from our mouths.
Panic spreads almost as quickly as W3N.D1.
There are demands to return the cheap meat. Money is even offered in the same value as what they spent on it to try and contain the spread.
Freezers guard the spoils of their battles.
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Two years and five months after W3N.D1 first entered the country, a meat shortage knocked the country backwards.
Prices surge hundreds of percent for products that didn't even exist anymore. Even pasted meats used to form fingers and nuggets are nowhere to be seen on shelves.
Blank areas dominate supermarkets where meat once sat. Vegetarian options flood inwards to sate the craving, but most stocks go untouched.
Businesses hemorrhage money trying to scrape together a solution. Smaller ones are forced to close; regretful signs pasted where locals once stood.
Farmers who thought they were safe by breeding their own livestock are forced to slaughter them as the price of feed skyrockets.
Some people trickle in for under-the-table deals wrapped in brown paper, but it's not enough for either party to be satisfied.
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The government cracks down on the illegal 'meat trades' being run three years after W3N.D1 is discovered.
Brown paper is an indicator of it. What was once a rarity to see under the arm of someone was now being hidden inside environment bags and coats.
Meat is cheaper when it's cut straight into the hands of a desperate person. There were questions raised about what sort of meat it was since the problem seemed so rampant behind the scenes.
Coincidentally, it was only two months later when the first death to W3N.D1 was shared through the news.
A girl, Aria Berchoulsch; eight years old.
She had been infected after allegedly eating infected nuggets her parents had provided her for her birthday.
Being wealthier, they could afford clean meat that wasn't touching our shelves. The talk of the rich being handed it directly seemed so farfetched until the tabloid was released.
The death of little Aria confirmed something worse too.
W3N.D1 had much different symptoms and side effects than we expected or watched for in other viruses.
Aria's body was completely rotted within five days of her eighth birthday. You couldn't escape the image of it slipped into links on the internet, shared in leaked body cam videos, or even cruely snippeted and pasted across newspapers under bold, black letters crying out about the terrors amongst us.
The virus destroyed her into something out of some horror show.
Her skin was completely rotted black. Her fingers had shattered at the tips to form pointed claws that stabbed through them.
The skin around her stomach had melted inwards to make her ribs so much more prominent.
Her eyes were completely void of colour. There were theories that her pupils had dilated so much that they had devoured her entire eye. Others whispered that all the vessels had burst and bled to create such a darkness.
Whatever it was, it was nothing compared to her gaping mouth.
All of her teeth had shattered and pierced her gums to form new fragments.
They looked like ones belonging to a shark. There were layers of shards that were sharpened perfectly.
'The teeth of a killer' people called them. Only carnivores had teeth so dangerous and designed for tearing.
Her spine had been forced into a position more adept for walking on fours. While it was still flexible enough to stand upright, little Aria was a savage predator trapped in a eight year old body.
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Three years and two months was all it took for us to realise how completely fucked we all were.
With Aria's death serving as a warning to others, the public really started to panic at what this virus could do to them.
Suicides were in the highest numbers for centuries. Hotlines couldn't keep up, and there were only so many people that could stop people from jumping when they were climbing up right beside them.
The upper-class family Aria belonged to proved that even the rich were not safe with their supposed 'clean' meats.
Some said she deserved it. Another rich kid dying was no harm to the families who actually knew struggle.
Others sympathized with a little girl torn from her family so soon into her life.
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Out of malice, the nickname 'Wendi' was born to describe those infected with the W3N.D1 virus.
With it distorting their bodies into what most resembled mythical wendigo's, it made sense to try and give it a name that wasn't from a lab.
Make it more familiar, I guess.
The sudden boom in the illegal meat market made sense now.
While it wasn't broadcast to try and hide the severity of the virus, it was clear that the meat being wrapped in brown paper wasn't exactly from a conventional cow or pig.
People speculated that Wendi's had been cropping up since the very first discovery years ago; they just had to get rid of them discretely.
But with Aria, being a little girl at a birthday party, filling phones and livestreams with proof, there was no hiding what we were facing. They couldn't just sweep her under a rug and pay off the attendants when visions of her were already swirling the internet.
Were they still human? Or could they be sold off as cuts of meat?
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It only took five months for vaccines to be rolled out for W3N.D1.
Suspiciously quick for something that was meant to be a freak of nature.
Theories sparked whether we were facing a freak virus derived from migratory birds, or if that was just a cover for something more sinister born in a petrie dish.
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A list of symptoms were rolled out to try and recognize the signs of someone who might be infected.
Try and stop the spread they said.
It was more infectious than we took it for.
Infected meat was only the start. Saliva, bodily fluids, and even a deep enough scratch could introduce the virus to a healthy person.
Businesses that hadn't been forced to close were now forced to check the temperature of every person passing through.
Wendi's had colder bodies than ours. Anything thirty-two degrees celsius or below was deemed too risky to let inside.
Lack of sweat was another sign.
Wendi's didn't need to spread the virus when they already had it. With their bodies running cooler, they weren't as sensitive to the heat as we were.
Sudden back pain became the biggest indicator.
With Wendi's stooping over and having their bones broken, any pain that came suddenly, especially back pain, made anyone panic.
Back pain was common in the working class. It wasn't something unusual for someone slaving one or two jobs to experience it.
It may have been the biggest indicator, but it was also the most unreliable.
Lastly, light sensitivity.
The Wendi's eyes were so large that the had to be dilated. With infections and cases climbing, we could now see that sudden light sensitivity in a seemingly healthy person made it apparent that they could be in the first stages of turning.
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Cold skin.
Heat tolerance.
Back pain.
Light sensitivity.
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A bunch of symptoms majority of the people slaving through work battled.
In and out of blast chillers, stocking drinks fridges, toiling in dark backrooms or in the night itself. A list so specific couldn't have been less comforting.
As a way to put a lid on the panic, the vaccines were rolled out and made available for free.
The government cracked down on their miracle prevention on contracting W3N.D1.
No-one could enter a business without being vaccinated. If you wanted to leave town, you had to have proof you were jabbed. Other than entering a supermarket for essential food items, anyone non-vaccinated were put into such a choke-hold that it forced them to take the vaccine to enjoy basic luxuries.
Still, some fought it. They said that the vaccines were what turned us into Wendi's. It had infected blood in it that would make us how the government wanted us; dead.
They'd control the population and get food to sell to others while disguising it's origins.
Something so unethical couldn't be true.
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Four years after W3N.D1 was first discovered, clean cuts of meat returned to shelves.
Stories of butchered Wendi's remained and lingered with the expensive beef now suddenly supplied.
There was no risk anymore. We all knew how fucked we were whether we ate it or didn't. It was just a chance of how sooner the virus would enter your body if you decided to take a chance on the meat.
Still, the people who could afford it, bought it.
Some shuffled in shame with the packets under their arms, knowing how risky it was to be fed in a time where everything had to be scrutinized.
We were all in the same boat. We knew how desperate times were, especially with the value of our money buying less and less every week.
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Wendi cases climbed with the return of the clean and questionable meat.
Vaccinated or not, the virus turned anyone, and made our little false hope nothing but a waste of resources.
Climbing cases and no signs of Wendi's made it no secret that government officials were killing the infected to keep them controlled.
Little Aria, now dubbed 'Case Zero', had been killed. Even if she wasn't the first, the blame was shifted to her to make it more tolerable.
The virus didn't kill her after five days. The government had.
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With all traces of human nature stripped from the Wendi's, they became feral as the virus seized their brains.
Voice-boxes were strained or punctured by W3N.D1, making them gurgle and rasp rather than speak.
They were still smart. Wendi's grouped in hordes to stay better protected against the officials hunting them. They used their sensitivity to light to retreat to darker caves or carparks so that they could better hunt at night.
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The craving for meat never disappeared with Wendi's.
They yearned for it when they were fully turned.
Scientists said it was because of the virus steering them towards it to spread further. Even if they didn't completely eat whatever they killed, the picked carcass would attract wild animals that would scavenge the organs and be carriers themselves.
Deep down, it was only a mechanism to try and infect as many as it could while subconsciously controlling the host.
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Four years after being first discovered, W3N.D1 had adapted.
It beat our vaccines and attempts to kill it. It became something we had to learn to live with as it continuously mutated into something hardier.
Wendi's were breeding like rabbits in the hordes. With new mutations and strains of the virus becoming more pure with each baby introduced, it became clear that the virus was set on outliving any human or Wendi that used to be one.
Wendi's not only had their rotted skin that blended into the night, but now pure white skin that matched the cracked paint on our roads.
These creatures were much bigger and stronger than their counterparts. They maintained some of the rot around their fingers and arms; sometimes on their faces like markings on wild animals.
No-one knew if the bright skin was an accident of adaptation to our billboard cities, or if it was more of a distraction to draw fire from the weaker ones.
Whatever it was, it was proof W3N.D1 wasn't going to stop mutating anytime soon.
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Curfews were set in to make sure people were off the streets for if the hordes poured through.
Six o'clock became the time everything closed. Six-thirty pm was the cut-off before curfew set in and you were left to fend for yourself if you didn't make it to the safety of somewhere secure.
Walls were built around towns. Wendi's didn't have the controversy protecting them now than what they did when Aria first shed light on the situation.
They were just animals now. Animals were killed to keep us higher humans alive.
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The killing wasn't just reserved to fully turned Wendi's.
People who bore symptoms were shot in streets in countries overseas.
Whole towns were slaughtered or rained on with gunfire.
Bombings began on hordes. Even those who were still fortifying in nearby towns were left for dead when the bombs shredded their walls and homes.
Countries turned on each other.
Imports were frozen. Exports were withheld in retaliation.
Northern countries shot chemicals through each other to try and be the first to claim they were free of disease.
A safe haven for a fresh start.
No-one was safe. Innocents didn't matter to them. Everyone was a disease. Only a clean slate would fix this.
Those who fled for airports were stranded. Boats were moored and given orders not to leave land.
Bombing them was easier than turning them away.
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The news only made it worse.
Pointed fingers and opinions for something that was already done only rubbed in the reality.
Leaders gathered to plead and blame each other for what we had been reduced to.
Four year and eight months after W3N.D1 was discovered, the Supreme Leader declared war on his neighbour. The Soviet Leader was shot by the Resistance Leader who had concealed a weapon in retaliation to seeing his people suffer from the chemicals.
His own wife and three children had suffered terribly as they choked on their own foaming lungs; as he had screamed when he blew the Soviet's brains across the faces of those around him.
All hell broke loose. Slaughter ran red at what was supposed to be a peaceful Summit conference.
Hate and fear tore through countries considered pacifists. Others governed by regimes overpowered weaker leaders shoved down.
Guards let loose. Bullets lodged into the panicked masses to try and protect their own.
One hundred and fifty countries gathered. One hundred and twenty five scurried out the doors.
Three later died in hospital.
Those who didn't witness what was supposed to be our salvation that day saw it the one after.
It was repeated across every channel. Newspapers spread word of our doom, and the internet was flooded with people trying to escape those countries who now had no leader to stop their implosion.
How were we supposed to hold it together when the most influential in the world were at each other's throats?
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With the world killing itself, there was no reason to live in it anymore.
Even if I did still live with my family, I knew that it was only time before they either tried to outrun the impossible, gave themselves to the Wendi's, or did was I was about to do.
I took the most easiest, least painful way out. I was too scared to throw myself from a building or jump in front of a car.
If I survived that, I would be kept alive in a shell of myself I never wanted to imagine.
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I drove myself down to the supermarket with every dollar I had scraped together.
I knew my money wasn't going to be worth much in this failing economy. Better do it now before our currency was completely worthless.
I stood there at the chilled meat section, pondering over which one looked like it would be the most dodgiest.
With the cheapest chicken skewers tucked under my arm, I wrapped my shame in a biodegradable bag and took them home.
With my parents out at work, I fried up the chicken and took the whole pan up to my room where I locked the door.
I didn't want them being infected unintentionally if I left the dirty pan downstairs. Better leave all the evidence where it was safest.
Dragging across my cupboard to block the way, the reality of it all started to sink in.
Was it going to be painful? Was this the right thing to do while my parents slaved away, thinking they were still providing for me? Keeping me safe?
Sitting on my bed, I laid out the pan on my covers, lit a candle, and flicked on the TV.
I wanted to be sure when I did this. I didn't want to regret it after it was too late.
The world was coming to an end. Stocks were crashing, our society was crumbling, and our Prime Minister was fleeing their responsibilities.
There was no backing down.
Picking up the skewer, I glanced back to the blocked door before leaning over to snap open my window.
I didn't want my mum or dad finding me like this. I'd rather them not gag on my rotting body when I became one of them.
At least I wouldn't know it if they decided to kill me.
Wendi's weren't human. They were something else entirely. I wouldn't even know. I wouldn't even feel it.
Fuck.
Tearing into the chicken with tears rolling over my cheeks, I made sure to strip through the burnt teriyaki coated like tar around the meat.
I stripped the skewers and laid them in the pan I slid under the bed.
The sight of news anchors sobbing over the collapse of the world made my own choke out of me.
They jerked my body and had me mourning for a time when things were simpler and dumb inconveniences felt like the worst thing that could have happened to me.
There was nothing else I could do now but hope that the meat had been contaminated so I could forget about everything.
Five years after W3N.D1 was first discovered, I was waiting for it to take me.
Hopefully, when it did, things would be better.
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