#col22fsbug

Well that’s just fucking peachy, isn’t it Eileen? 

[Ugh, E i l e e n. The human embodiment of an eye roll, a long legged mosquito, one of those grating headaches that come out of nowhere and linger at the back of your head like your clingy Aunt Margery who over stays her welcome, kisses you with her plastic-y barbie-pink lipstick and reeks of stale B.O.

Eileen knows everything there was to know about everything, of course. Eileen can do no wrong and is always sure to passive aggressively scoff to make certain you know she disapproves of whatever choice action she’s watching you take like the fucking nosey neighbour that she is, and Eileen can mother fucking shove it up her—]

You touch that, you die—[Wes snaps, his tone somehow both icy and heated.] And not by this fucking plague, which would surely be too slow, but by the knife you just tried to put in my back. 

[Eileen, who had just told him that two more of the on-call nurses are no longer ‘on call’ as they are currently heaving up their intestines in the bathrooms, had now just tried to pick up the clipboard slung over the foot of one of the dorm room beds, and though it isn’t likely she’d be able to read Wes’ cliche chicken-scratch writing anyway, he’d be damned if she was going to get her grubby paws all over his work, the weasely, conceited little—

That’s when he notices one of the newest victims of this virus—or whatever the fuck it is—looking up at Wes with wide eyes.] Sorry, [he blurts out, softening a bit, and quirking a lazy smile.] This thing isn’t going to kill you, trust me. I just really hate that woman. [He shoots another withering glare towards her back, before picking up the clipboard of this particular patient, and drawing up a nearby chair between his legs. He plunks himself down onto it in a casual straddle, long arms hooking over the backrest and taking a few notes on the yellowing papers there. Of course, he could be doing all this on an Echo Pad, but sometimes when shit hits the fan, the easiest, most efficient method is a simple, old school approach. 

Of course, his mood isn’t helped by the fact that he feels sweaty and disgusting, and his hair uncharacteristically un-coiffed from sweating palms raking through it too many times. He is well aware that... the worst is on it’s way for him. His sweats had started about an hour and ago and the dizziness hit him around 11. He figures he has another hour, max, before what is currently a very bad day gets much, much worse.] 

Okay, so—go on, give me the deets. It goes without saying, you feel like shit. But walk me through it, because if you’re lucky, you get to stay here with me. If you’re unlucky, you get to go to the infirmary and get hooked up to machines. Fun times. 

[Tell him about it—he’s been bouncing back and forth between Houses all fucking morning—there are not enough staff to handle an epidemic of this size, especially with half of them out of commission. And so he’s running between wings like clockwork—at least he’s getting his cardio in.] 

[This day couldn’t get any worse. 

Rhys thought at some point during the day when matters could indeed get any worse. 

He was walking around like a zombie with serious hearing issues. 

People were constantly talking to him. 

Although that had gotten somewhat less, because a lot of people had been send back to their houses, and only the worst cases remained in the Infirmary. 

Rhys was still sort of helping, especially with the IVs, which meant he was allowed to stay.

Also nobody told him to go.

Also he was afraid that if he did go, the sound of puking would return tenfold, because here people were mostly passing out, while at Brink he guessed there was still some vomiting going on. 

So he stayed. 

He had just helped one of the still capable people around the place unplug someone from their IVs so they could be send home, when he turned and found himself eye in eye with Percy.

So the day could get worse still.

He didn’t want her to see him while he was all sweaty and terrible and unable to hear anyone. So he quickly tried to explain himself before he could confuse an other individual.]

I popped my ears so I can’t hear much more than fish tank noises!

[He was still shouting, but he had adjusted his voice level based on one angry person who had written “YOU ARE SHOUTING!!!!!!!!!!” on a notepad and handed it to him. He still carried the piece of paper with him, and if people gave him a confused look, he would give them the paper, and then point at himself. Just in case he was shouting again.

He felt pretty stupid for still trying to hear his own voice, while after all these hours he should’ve become adjusted to not hearing much of anything aside from the Colony 22 ambience track.] 

[Zach had never experienced what it was like to have a migraine, but he figured it was pretty close right now. He had vomited twice in the morning, but otherwise since then his stomach seemed to he rather fine. His nose was constantly running and a headache from his shoulder up to his nose made him close his eyes everything time he passed a single beam of light. He told everyone around him to whisper, and despite feeling like ice clung to every muscle and nerve, he still tried to help his housemates as much as he could. He had been asked to leave the infirmary because other people were in a worse state than him. And given the amount of vomiting, he guessed they were right.]

[He worked completely in silence, because even talking to himself brought out waves of nausea and tremors through his brain. Meanwhile he thought, his brain racing over the prospect of this being Mother Nature’s final attack on humanity, the last of the last, killing every person on the earth’s surface with a terrible virus that would end them slowly. He couldn’t help thinking this was the last thing he was ever going to do, watch people around him vomit until they had nothing left.]

[Yet, despite the image of death looming over, Zach felt pretty calm. Because if this was truly it, at least most of them would slip away pretty quickly, without violence, and most of them wouldn’t be aware that it wasn’t just their end but the end of humanity itself.]

[Or it was simply a virus, something in the water, or some cruel joke from the NWRF’s enemies out in the Wastes. Whatever it was, they would have to sit it out and see if people were going to get better any time soon. He carried around his bucket to the next person, and sat down as if he had just gone five days without sleep and ran a marathon, his muscles telling him to just drop and not move because moving hurt too much. He held out the bucket.] Here, just let it all go. [He couldn’t help joking around a bit, it was already a terrible day for all of them as a collective, and they had all now seen each other at their worst. What better day for people to unite.]

☭ FEVER STATE: “A BUG IN THE SYSTEM”☭ stage i 

Fresh biscuits baked long before the sun rose the morning of Monday, January 3rd, 2163, had the dining hall smelling sweet and inviting by the time people arrived for breakfast.

Overall, it was more or less like any other day. The coffee was mediocre at best, but it’d definitely been worse, and so that, combined with the scent of fresh flakey pastries put most in at least a half-way decent mood. A down right good one, for some.

It was roughly half nine when the first civilian fled their classroom for the bathrooms, claiming feeling ill; about a quarter to ten when not one, but two citizens threw up in the middle of the training fields; and just past ten thirty when an entire rotation of Infected citizens on meal prep chores were all but collapsed on bathroom and infirmary floors.

The sickness took everybody, regardless of status, age, infection. It didn’t matter what they’d had for breakfast (or hadn’t) or what they’d had for lunch: by 2pm, Monday afternoon, not a single person in Colony 22 wasn’t showing symptoms. Not even the NWRF.

The sickness started like many common fevers or the onset of viruses. For most, it began with the sweats. A quickly rising internal temperature, but chills on the surface of one’s skin, often engulfing an individual in miserable, sickening shivers.

Soon after came the shakes, vertigo-like dizzy spells, and extreme nausea, followed swiftly by an inability to keep anything down. A complete purging of the stomach, the biggest concern for the quickly filling infirmary was keeping everyone hydrated. Nurses, all of whom were also sick to varying degrees but working tirelessly and bravely through it, began to separate those in desperate condition as the sickness spread, from those in a more manageable condition—in other words, those who were more likely able to keep some water in their system, and those who weren’t.

Infirmary beds were then reserved for citizens whose symptoms were more critical, so they could be hooked up to IVs which would keep them hydrated and in a stable condition. Those lucky few whose symptoms were slightly less severe and maintained at least strength enough to move around between bouts of vomiting and to drink water slowly, were contained to their dorms, where whichever medical staff were still upright would check their vitals and tend to them as best they could. 

No one was to leave the infirmary or their respective houses under any circumstances. Not until more could be understood about this sickness, where it came from, and most importantly, what its consequences would look like.

Officials worked frantically to communicate with other Colonies—was this happening anywhere else? Had a source yet been located? Had any fatalities been reported? Colony 22 as a whole was immobilized; at a complete and utter standstill, desperate for information that would only come with time.

cambie andrews: status

Cambie was one of the last to start experiencing symptoms. She was a little warm in the early afternoon, with a little discomfort in her stomach that could even be written off as anxiety. When she realised how severe things were getting around the Colony, she naturally flew into mama bear mode - she raided the janitorial closets for buckets, bowls, anything, to put by the bedsides in Delma for anyone that couldn’t make it to the bathroom, as well as water bottles and granola bars, a few pieces of fruit. As she distributed, she implored people to try and take a few bites of something, because the vomiting would hurt less if there was something other than stomach acid to bring up. She also left her own Elite suite door open, and invited people to use her own bathroom if the ones in their dorm were all in use.

caelan whitmer: status