MC POV - Interactive Story - 1

The house is quiet except for the hum of the ceiling fan and the faint, muffled voices from the television. You sit on the couch, one leg stretched out, the other bent, resting an elbow on your knee. Your boots are by the door, laces undone. Sergeant, E-5, Infantry Fire Team Leader. Seven years in the 82nd Airborne Division, 1st Brigade Combat Team, stationed out of Fort Bragg, North Carolina. Your last deployment was in Afghanistan—urban patrols, clearing compounds, watching the horizon for the dust trails of IED convoys. But today, you’re just a man in his own home, in his city, New Orleans, while enjoying the last week of leave.

You glance at your watch. 5:00 PM. A bright blue banner across the bottom of the TV marks another Breaking News alert. A news anchor is a woman with sharp features and a steady voice, and she stares into the camera with her jaw clenched and eyes wide.

“Reports continue to come in from across the country of a highly contagious virus spreading at an alarming rate. Government officials have yet to determine the exact nature of the infection, but medical professionals are warning that those affected exhibit extreme aggression and an apparent loss of higher cognitive function.”

A pre-recorded clip rolls—a shaky cell phone video of a man stumbling through a gas station in Baton Rouge. His clothes are torn, and his arms hang stiff at his sides. Someone behind the camera yells at him to sit down, but he doesn’t respond. He moves forward until a clerk shoves him back with both hands. The man doesn’t react. He just keeps coming.

“Officials advise remaining indoors and avoiding contact with individuals showing signs of this infection. Hospitals in several major cities are reporting a surge of violent incidents linked to the outbreak.”

The clip ends, cutting back to the anchor.

“Stay tuned as we receive updates from state and local authorities.”

The screen shifts to a map of the United States, dotted with red clusters. Louisiana already has two.

There’s a knock at the door. Not hard, just a quick tap-tap-tap.

You push off the couch and step toward the front window, parting the blinds with two fingers. Jessica, your neighbor from down the street, stands on the porch. Twenty-two, blonde, cute in a way that makes her look younger than she is. She wears jean shorts and a white tank top. A small purse is slung over one shoulder. You’ve seen her coming and going at odd hours—she works on Bourbon Street as a hostess, part of the city’s nightlife.

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