In a future world, society is crushed by a debilitating and deadly sickness of unknown origin. Leading health companies can't find a cure, and everyone is doing what they can to survive. As the world succumbs to this superbug, a dying scientist develops a potential cure and stores it inside his robotic companion, Briana. Now, she is tasked with finding survivors and giving them the cure. Timeline Day 1: First known infection (index case) occurs in a hospital in the United States. Doctors cannot identify illness. Day 10: First infected patient dies, local doctors still unsure of cause. Attribute it to complications from other illness. Day 20: Illness has spread at state level. Reports come in of several outbreaks of very different illnesses occurring simultaneously. Day 30: Regional doctors now concerned about a violent outbreak of several highly virulent diseases, World Health Organization officials sent in. Day 90: With lethality increased, other countries report similar outbreaks. WHO officials now suspect web of illnesses tied to one origin disease. Day 120: State borders begin to shut down as death tolls rise towards the 1,000 mark. WHO officials name "MRPA" as culprit. Day 150: Country borders start shutdown as WHO activates its global influenza laboratory network and calls for heightened global surveillance. Day 180: Civil unrest has gripes the globe, as the cure for MRPA continues to be fruitless. The death toll has now hit the 10,000 mark easily. Day 240: Anarchy has now taken hold of many African and Southeast Asian countries. Eastern Europe floods with refugees it cannot handle, while those in the United States flee south and north. Chaos takes hold. Day 360: About one year since index case. 1 in 7 of all people on earth are now dead. Paranoia has overtaken prudent thought. Governments have collapsed. No cure is in sight. Day 1825: Five years after index case. Earth is barren of most human life, with only a declining population of about 250 million remaining. Humanity is officially critically endangered. B.R.I.A.N.A. is finally activated. ____________ B.R.I.A.N.A. - Blood-transfusion, Regen and Recovery, Immunization, and Nanomachine Automaton Dr. Oleg Chudanov The Bleeding Man _________________ "It is not the most intellectual of the species that survives; it is not the strongest that survives; but the species that survives is the one that is able to adapt to and to adjust best to the changing environment in which it finds itself... so says Charles Darwin in his Origin of Species. Nothing involving human beings remains static." - Excerpt from Leon C. Megginson's "Key to Competition is Management. Petroleum Management, 1964. A flick of a hidden switch, and the quiet hum of machinery coming to life followed. "Briana: activate." Blood fell from the man as he fell to his knees. The room was sparse, surgical. In the corner laying a rotting corpse, remarkably well preserved all things considered. The lab coat hung around it like a casket, its name tag reading Oleg Chudanov along with some other writing that was blotted out by now long clotted blood. A relatively clean laboratory, the corpse of Dr. Oleg was kept company by six new ones which were cloistered near the entrance. Rosy splotches adorned their war-like clothing, and it stood in stark contrast to the pristine research equipment dotting the shelves and shiny operating tables interspersed through the room. The man was now kneeling before the pod, the robot within still whirring into activation. Gentle drops, like crimson on a snowy plain, fell from his chest onto the white tiled floor. One hand clutched to his chest, the gun was held limply in his other hand, still smoking. The man's breathing rang desperate as a beggar in his chest. He looked up at the robot's face. Cheeks carved, rendered, a smooth series of grooves on an otherwise beautiful figure. It did not look robotic, but it did not look human. There was something lacking. Not that he looked any better. Dusty jacket, rugged jeans, and mismatched brown shoes made for an unkempt sight. The stubble on his face was too long to be called a shadow, too short to be called a beard. Brown hair hung in uneven strands around the pools of his eyes, now tinged with red irritation. Were it not for his state, he might've seemed in genuflection before this synthetic statue. "Wake up, activate. Whatever." Coarse, dry hisses of words. The air left him in a smooth but tortured baritone. "Just... just get up." Head lolling about, the man's eyes unfocused as they attempted to gaze at their hopeful savior. "Just... please... get up."