**Chapter 6 - Meteorborn and MB Infectee** In the heart of the White House, the air crackled with tension. High-ranking officials, faces etched with worry and determination, convened within the confines of a discreet meeting room. A global catastrophe had unfolded, and the aftermath of last night’s meteor shower had thrown nations into disarray, each grappling with the horrors that had come from the skies. Across the globe, thousands lay dead, victims of a calamity that no one could have foreseen. What rattled them most was the inexplicable nature of the meteorites; they had materialized without warning, as if they defied the very fabric of cosmic predictability. In a frantic response, the United Nations had dispatched an urgent alert: all nations were to keep a vigilant watch over anyone who had survived the meteorite strikes. An eerie sensation lingered in the air—the present crisis was tinged with something otherworldly. Field Marshal Martin Roxas, Chief of Defense Staff, broke the silence with urgency in his voice. “We are managing to contain the situation at most hospitals, sealing their entrances and deploying military units to mitigate threats while rescuing survivors. But new reports are flooding in about violent outbreaks from multiple locations, with the infections spreading at an alarming rate.” Seated at the head of the table, George Grey, the President of Nepthal Country, ran a hand through his disheveled hair, clearly agitated. The weight of the situation bore down on him. “We have no choice. A national emergency must be declared—now,” he asserted, his voice steady but grave. He turned sharply towards Lucio Gordon, the Chief of the Nepthal National Police. “I need your team collaborating with Marshal Roxas. We need to secure our streets, protect our citizens, and eliminate any threats before this catastrophe escalates.” Gordon gave a decisive nod, his posture rigid with resolve. “Understood, sir,” he replied tersely. George pivoted his gaze to Dr. Marlon Pitt, the leading scientist tasked with unraveling the mystery of the meteorite crisis. “Dr. Pitt, enlighten us. Are we facing some kind of plague? We cannot panic the public with rumors of a zombie outbreak without concrete evidence. What do we know?” Dr. Pitt adjusted his glasses, standing with the air of someone carrying both knowledge and an unsettling burden. He began tapping on his tablet, and with an audible hum, a holographic display illuminated the large screen behind him. On it flickered images of meteorite debris intertwined with medical scans and classified reports. “We’ve gathered multiple samples from the impact sites,” he began, his voice steady yet laced with concern. “However, there’s something... off about them.” George furrowed his brows. “What do you mean ‘off’?” “Analyzing the fragments revealed that, superficially, they’re just ordinary rock,” Dr. Pitt continued. “Yet, upon impact, they emitted energy signatures unlike anything we’ve ever encountered. It's as if they harbor a hidden power.” He paused, inhaling deeply before pressing on. “Even more bewildering is that neither survivors nor the deceased—those struck by the meteorites—show any signs of foreign elements in their bodies. No traces of radiation, no bizarre substances... nothing at all.” Frustration simmered within George as he cut in, “Then what ignited this madness? Is it airborne? Surely there must be a source. People don’t just start attacking each other in hospitals without a cause.” “Sir, we’ve just acquired CCTV footage from various hospitals,” Marshal Roxas interjected, his voice urgent. “The pattern is chillingly consistent: the attacks originate in the morgues. The deceased from the meteorite impacts have undergone extreme physical transformations.” “What kinds of transformations?” George’s voice was strained, a feeling of dread creeping into his chest. At the Marshal’s signal, one of his aides stepped forward to play the footage. The room seemed to constrict as they viewed scenes from security cameras that recorded unimaginable horrors. Corpses, once lifeless, jolted back to a grotesque semblance of life. “Pause it!” Dr. Pitt exclaimed as the footage showed a sheet flying off a corpse. In a heart-stopping moment, the body sat up with unnatural speed, its eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. It turned, jaw unhinged, releasing a deep, guttural growl that resonated in the air like a death knell. The footage abruptly ceased, the room filled with tense silence. But the horror didn’t end there. More clips revealed bodies moving with a terrifying clarity, some even feeding on the remains of fellow victims. Chaos erupted as the reanimated figures attacked doctors and nurses, gnashing teeth and clawing at flesh before anyone could intervene. Expressions of horror washed over the officials, disbelief mirroring each other’s shock. “Are you saying,” George’s voice barely rose above a whisper, “that the victims who died from meteorite strikes... have returned as monsters?” Dr. Pitt braced himself, drawing a deep breath. “Our military captured one of the reanimated individuals. I observed its behavior post-exposure to the meteorites and its victim.” He pointed at the screen. “This individual exhibited cognitive functions. Moreover, they’re stronger, more agile, and, as we’ve seen, exceptionally aggressive. We’ve classified them as ‘Meteorborn.’” His voice carried a weight of finality as he continued, “Meteorborn are now infectious creatures, driven by an insatiable hunger for flesh. Anyone bitten becomes what we’d commonly liken to zombies.” George’s brow furrowed, the implications striking him like a blow. “They have no hope... no chance for a cure?” Dr. Pitt shook his head resolutely. “These individuals are dead, Mr. President. They’re no longer human. We are not merely facing an outbreak of some virus or infection; we’ve encountered a new species birthed from the meteorites.” “And what about those who survived the strikes?” George’s voice quivered as he felt despair suffuse the room. “If the fallen are transforming, what fate awaits them? Will they also become Meteorborn upon dying? How can we assure the survivors aren’t carriers of whatever contagion turned the deceased?” Dr. Pitt switched to another video, this one depicting chaos in a hospital hallway. A nurse stumbled, blood streaming from a graze on her arm, then crumpled to the ground, her body convulsing with an unknown agony. Moments later, she rose again—movements jerky and grotesque. With feral instincts, she lunged at a nearby doctor, tearing into his flesh with a savage bite. “The infected lose their higher brain functions,” Dr. Pitt explained bleakly. “They become utterly mindless, driven only by an insatiable desire for flesh. Their humanity is gone. We’ve categorized them as ‘MB Infectees.’” He scanned the room, locking eyes with each official, the weight of the truth heavy in the air. “There’s no hope for a cure for them, either. The infection alters their physiology and overrides their neurological systems. Once they are bitten... they are lost. There is no turning back.” A palpable tension filled the room, a collective anxiety that hung heavily. George clenched his jaw, a sense of powerlessness overwhelming him. “And the survivors? Are they safe? What happens to them? Can we be sure they’re not becoming the carriers of whatever infected the deceased?” The questions hung in the air, unanswered, as the gravity of their reality pressed down upon them all, uncertain of what horrors awaited them in the shadows of this new world.