Y/n's Diary Of The Zombie Apocalypse

2009 : WHERE IT ALL BEGAN

July 31st, 2009

The sterile lab hummed with a nervous energy. Dr. Evans, a man with worry etched into his brow, adjusted his glasses as he peered into the microscope.  On the screen, a nightmarish ballet unfolded.  Virions, the infectious particles, pulsed with an unnatural luminescence, multiplying at an alarming rate.

"This...this is unlike anything I've ever seen," Dr. Ramirez muttered, her voice laced with a tremor.  "The replication rate is off the charts."

"It's working," Dr. Thompson, a man perpetually shrouded in an air of clinical detachment, spoke for the first time.  "Maybe a little too well."

They were staring at Project: Ghost Reaper, or Phantom-X as it was internally known.  Designed as a bioweapon to be a military game-changer, the virus had initially shown promise.  Early simulations projected a rapid, targeted infection, leaving infrastructure and resources untouched.  But the reality unfolds before their eyes painted a different picture.

Across the lab, alarms began to blare, red lights strobing like an arterial bleed.  Dr. Miller, the team's biochemist, rushed in, his face pale.  "Containment breach in Level 4!" he shouted, his voice ragged.  "The damn monkeys…"

A collective gasp filled the room.  The test subjects, genetically altered primates, were the key to studying the virus's effects.  If they were infected…

The intercom crackled to life, a distorted voice screaming, "Help! They're…they're attacking!"  Then, silence.  A cold dread settled on the scientists like a shroud.

Dr. Evans slammed his fist on the table.  "Lockdown! Initiate full quarantine procedures!"

Panic surged through the lab.  Red emergency lights bathed the room in an ominous glow.  Scientists scrambled, sealing off sections, their movements jerky and frantic.  A guttural shriek, inhuman and bloodcurdling, pierced the tense silence.  Another scream, then another, each one closer.

Dr. Ramirez scrambled to activate the automated incinerator, a last-ditch attempt to contain the outbreak.  But the doors wouldn't budge.  A sickening thud echoed from the other side.  The automated systems had failed.

Suddenly, the lab door burst open with a sickening groan.  A figure stumbled in, its once-human form contorted and grotesque.  Fur matted and bloody, eyes milky white, it moved with a horrifying lack of coordination, its jaw hanging loose, revealing a glistening maw filled with needle-like teeth.  A guttural growl escaped its throat, a sound that sent shivers down their spines.

The first Phantom. 

Chaos erupted.  Dr. Thompson, ever the pragmatist, reached for his firearm, a tremor in his hand.  "We need to get out of here!" he barked.  But the escape route was blocked by another shambling figure, its body grotesquely swollen, its exposed intestines glistening under the harsh lights.

One by one, the scientists fell.  Dr. Ramirez, her scream cut short as the Phantom's claws ripped through her lab coat.  Dr. Miller, cornered, his pleas for mercy drowned out by the symphony of growls.  Dr. Thompson, his gun clattering uselessly to the floor as the Phantoms swarmed him.

Dr. Evans, the last one standing, backed away slowly, his heart hammering against his ribs.  He fumbled with his keycard, desperately trying to unlock the emergency exit.  The infected pressed closer, their moans a grotesque lullaby. 

With a click, the door swung open.  Dr. Evans stumbled out, the screams of his colleagues echoing behind him.  He didn't know where he was going, only that he needed to get away.  The once sterile hallway reeked of death and decay, the walls stained with crimson.