u/Qanadov

​The "Echo" virus swallowed the world in less than three weeks. Unlike Hollywood clichés, the infected didn't have rotting skin, decayed brains, or milk-white eyes; they looked completely normal on the outside, except for one nightmarish trait: being locked into their last pleasant memory.

​Before its total collapse, the World Health Organization announced that this pathogen hijacks the motor skills and control of the cerebral cortex, but leaves consciousness and perception completely intact.

This means:

​Your body turns into a ruthless, toxic killing machine.

​Your mind remains imprisoned in a corner of your skull, watching all your body's atrocities in absolute horror.

Your vocal cords involuntarily and continuously repeat a single cheerful, nostalgic sentence.

​My little sister, Sara, got infected last night. She is now cowering in a dark corner of the room, staring at me with terrified eyes, whispering in a soft voice:

​"Mom, look how high I'm going on the swing without anyone pushing me!"

​But her hands... her hands reach for my throat with superhuman strength. Her nails tear through the skin of my neck. I press the barrel of the gun against her forehead. I see the begging in her tearful eyes; inside the fleshy prison of her body, she is screaming at me to pull the trigger. Yet her mouth still smiles, saying: "Look how high it goes..."

-Shot-

​The room falls into silence.

​I collapse to the floor. A sharp, stinging burn ripples through my body. It takes me a moment to notice my slight bleeding.

​Suddenly, my jaw muscles contract. An involuntary smile spreads across my lips. My mouth opens, and in a voice I no longer control, I whisper:

​"Happy birthday, Sara, come blow out the candles..."

I knew Sara was cheating. The signs were far too obvious and cliché.

Her phone, always placed face down on the table; the scent of a bitter, expensive men’s cologne that she had never bought for me; and those faint, baseless smiles that played on her lips whenever she stared at her screen.

But one thing didn't make sense. Ever since Sara had started this secret affair, she had suddenly turned into an extraordinary cook.

For years, due to our busy work schedules, we had mostly eaten frozen and ready-made meals. But over the past month, our dinners had turned into a lavish feast; meat stews and steaks that were strangely delicious, rich, and so tender they melted in the mouth. Every day, she would go to a luxury, traditional butcher shop in the city center to buy fresh meat, claiming the meat there tasted completely different.

One night, I couldn't control myself anymore. When she went out under the pretext of a late-night errand, I followed her. She headed toward that same butcher shop. The shop was closed and the shutters were pulled down, but Sara had a key. She quietly stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

My blood was boiling. I sneaked inside through the back door of the butcher's workshop. The place was dark, and the pungent smell of blood and hanging carcasses made me sick to my stomach. A low whispering sound was coming from the far end of the hall, right inside the large walk-in freezer room.

I made my way to the stainless-steel door of the freezer and looked through the small, dusty glass window. I was prepared to witness an intimate, passionate encounter and start screaming.

But what I saw caught my breath in my throat.

The young, handsome man was sitting on a metal chair in the middle of the freezer. White bandages covered his arms and legs, stained red with blood here and there. Sara was standing over him, holding a very sharp, delicate surgical scalpel in one hand and a stainless-steel bowl in the other.

With bizarre skill, Sara drew the scalpel across the bare skin of the butcher’s thigh and carved out a small piece of fresh flesh. The man let out a faint groan of pain, stared into Sara’s eyes, and whispered:

"Does Arthur still love your cooking?"

Sara placed the piece of meat into the bowl, gave a sweet smile, and kissed the man's forehead:

"He adores it, darling. Last night he told me he has never eaten meat this delicious and magical... He says he feels like this meat gives him energy, like he feels younger. How much can you give me for tomorrow night?"

The man gave a painful smile: "As much as you want... Everything I have is yours."

Utterly stunned and paralyzed, I quietly backed out of the butcher shop and returned home. I sat on the couch before Sara arrived.

Now, Sara has returned home with a bag of fresh meat. The sizzling sound of the pot and the savory aroma of fried onions and meat are coming from the kitchen. With that same habitual smile, she is preparing tomorrow night's dinner for me.

I am still sitting on the couch, looking at my hands. I feel like my skin is fresher and my muscles are stronger. Sara was right...

Only one question keeps spinning in my mind... When the flesh of that man's thighs and arms runs out, which part of him is she going to feed me?

"Arthur... dinner is ready! I've been calling you for a while now!"

I swallowed my spit and got up from the couch.

"Alright, I'm coming."

The wall clock in the control room showed 3:30 AM.

I was panting, but the smile hadn't faded from my lips. I had finally succeeded. With the sharp edge of my belt buckle, I had cut the thick ropes around my wrists. Pulling the chair back silently, I used the darkness of the room to deal a fatal blow to the head of that serial psycho with the iron base of the table lamp. He was now lying on the ground, drenched in blood, no longer breathing.

I snatched the heavy keys from his pocket. I passed through the damp, concrete corridors of the basement. Every moment I expected a hand to reach out from the darkness or an alarm to blare, but absolute silence reigned.

I opened the heavy iron exit door. The cold, rainy night air hit my sweaty face. The smell of the damp forest soil smelled like freedom. I had escaped from the most terrifying killer in the state; someone the police had been dying to catch for two years. But I was smarter. I had won.

I ran for hours through the trees and mud until I finally saw the flickering light of a lamp. A black SUV was parked on the side of a back road. With all the strength left in my half-dead body, I made it to the car and banged on the window.

The driver was a middle-aged man with a calm face and a neat suit. Seeing me, he became flustered and quickly opened the door: "My God! Son, what happened to you? Aren't you the guy the police are looking for? They say you were caught by that psycho killer!"

While crying tears of pure joy and adrenaline release, I threw myself onto the back seat: "Yeah... yeah, it was him... he wanted to kill me... but I... I gave him hell! ...I killed him! I won... I survived!"

The driver gave a deep, kind smile. He hit the central lock, shifted gears, and smoothly drove off. I glanced at the car door; there seemed to be no handle to open it. There wasn't even a manual lock for me to open it without the driver's permission. But... it didn't matter.

After starting to drive, the driver locked his eyes onto my tearful eyes through the rearview mirror and said:

"I know, son. Your work was truly flawless. To be honest, we are all proud of you."

The blood froze in my veins. My smile faded from my lips: "Excuse me... what?"

The man reached out, pressed the walkie-talkie button on the dashboard, and said in a calm, cold tone: "Inform HQ... Subject No. 7 has successfully passed the survival instinct test. His level of fear, despair, and adrenaline secretion at the moment of escape has reached the ideal level. His meat tissue is now in its most delicious state. We are heading back to base for dinner."