FIVE YEARS BEFORE THE OUTBREAK...

A heavy snowfall covered the Forest of Bowland that January. Soft particles of ice drifted down from the night sky, paving the land around the armored personal carrier in white. The vehicle continued its journey through the woods, the dirt road it followed hidden under the white blanket of snow. Trees stood beside the road like hitchhikers awaiting a ride, but instead it kept moving forward to the new facility, four more similar-looking vehicles trailing behind it.

Each APC carried eight people, two at the front of the vehicle and the other six in the back. The vehicle at the front of the line carried six men, each one over forty and full of experience in the British Army. Hardly any of them knew where they were headed, only that their contributions to this project would benefit mankind and end one of its weaknesses. It would be the ultimate motivation to keep fighting for what they loved most and not fear the possibility of a cruel and unusual death.

While all of these soon-to-be-test subjects were ordered to forget everything about their pasts, one man in the front vehicle dared not to. As the APC trekked through the snowy, ragged road into the forest, he wrote what he felt would be the last letter to his daughter for a while. And if this project was really as lethal as that pipsqueak Simon Reid said it would be, this might be his only access back into the outside world until he died a death that no one would know about.

His wife had abandoned him. There was no way in hell he'd let his daughter forget him, too.

Sarah,

I know it's only been a couple of hours since I departed from Lancaster, but I already feel worlds away from you. You were asleep when I left the house. I hope you read the note I left behind, and if you did, you should know to call Auntie Emma to cook you food and take you to school. You've made it to Year 7, darling. I know you can keep it up.

And whatever those kids tell you, just remember. Your mother is not a witch. She just doesn't feel like I'm the perfect father for you. And that's the other thing. There is nothing wrong with not being perfect. Striving to be perfect only brings out your flaws even more. Striving to improve brings out the best in you.

And, Sarah, no one in England needs more improvement than I do. That's just something I had to learn.

I love you, dear. And even if you might not be perfect in the eyes of everyone, you'll always be the perfect child to me.

Love, Daddy

The APC bounced over a bump in the road, and the man dropped his pen right as he concluded his letter. The pen rolled to the edge of the vehicle behind another man, a gentleman old enough to have wrinkles on his face and grey fuzz on his chin. He reminded the first man of his grandfather, back when he was still alive.

"What are you scribbling, old man?" a younger lad asked. The first man glanced over to see Simon Reid, the scrawny man who nervously convinced him to join this project.

"Scribbling?" he repeated.

"Yeah. No drawing allowed. This isn't a retirement home. You geezers are headed to a secret facility where you will be tested for your strength and endurance. I wouldn't be surprised if you and the rest of these granddads broke something on the first day."

"I'm only forty-three, you wanker. And do you want to know what I'm scribbling or what?"

Simon shrugged. "Sure."

"Well, first things first. What kind of knickers does your mum wear? I need help finishing up this drawing of her."

A couple of the other men in the vehicle chuckled, leaving Simon grumbling in a lack of amusement.

"Come on, mate," the man continued. "What are her knickers like? Frilly? Thin?"

"Fuck off," Simon muttered.

"You gotta admire a man who wants to know what a woman is like on the inside," the oldest man in the vehicle chimed in. "Quite literally, I must add."

"You got that right, mate," the first man replied. "But I'm just taking the piss. I really need to get to know a lady before I can go that far with her. You got to form a bond of trust first, y'know." He leaned forward, still staring toward the oldest man. "What is your name, good sir?"

Before the old man could reply, Simon held his hand out to silence them. "Please don't. Your names are not important where we're headed. At least not your real names."

"What do you mean?" the old man asked.

"You'll see."

The APC came to a halt. The cacophonous sound of an alarm filled the air, muffled by the vehicle's thick walls. The clanking of gears followed; something must've been opening up for them to pass through, the man with the letter thought.

Once the clanking and alarms subsided, the APC nudged forward. The three other APCs followed behind the first one into what the man with the letter assumed was a garage. They all separated in opposite directions, each one finding a place to park. Each one eventually paused at a spot, and everyone inside the vehicles exited out in a line.

Simon lead his group to the center of the garage. The room was cavernous and raised two stories high. A balcony overlooked the garage at the end of the room, several people watching from behind the rails. The groups from the other vehicles joined them in the center of the room several seconds later, bringing a total of about thirty people.

Up on the balcony stood Troy Schaefer, Walter Bennington, and a woman who was unknown to the new arrivals. Nobody in the room had a name tag of their real name, instead replaced by the name of a figure from Greek mythology, often a god or goddess. Schaefer's tag read Zeus while Bennington and the woman's tag read Hades and Hera respectively. The man with the letter noticed that Simon's tag was Poseidon.

"Welcome, ladies and gents," Schaefer announced with his hands raised. "Welcome to the Ambrosia Project. My name is Troy Schaefer, but that should be of no importance to you."

"Then why the hell did you even bring it up?" the old man from the APC replied.

"To get to my next point. You will all have new names. Aliases that will represent who you people really are: gods."

Simon awkwardly applauded, gaining unwanted attention from everyone in the room. After a few seconds of awkward staring, his clapping grew quieter as he lowered his hands to the ground, followed by a few snickers.

"Last time I checked, gods don't have battle scars," the man with the letter said, stuffing the letter into his back pocket.

"Exactly, Mister..." Bennington chimed in, pausing to think of the man's name. Instead of his real name, he responded with, "Ares."

"Ares?" the man replied.

"Yes. Ares. That is your new code name. Ares, the Greek god of war."

The man with the letter, apparently now known as Ares, shrugged with satisfaction. "I mean it's got a ring to it, but I'm gonna need to get used to it."

"Now that we're on the subject of establishing names," Schaefer continued, "allow us to complete our introductions. As mentioned before, I'm Troy Schaefer, but you will all refer to me as Zeus." He glanced toward Bennington and the woman. "This here is Walter Bennington, also known as Hades." And then he motioned to the woman next to him. "This is Sabrina Smythe, but you will call her Hera."

The older man on the bottom floor whistled. "How old are you, lass?"

The woman grimaced. "I'm probably the one who should be asking you that."

"Well now that this old geezer is in the spotlight," Schaefer chimed back in, "how about we pick a name for him?" He covered his mouth as he stared at the old man with deep concentration. Seconds later, he snapped his fingers and declared a new name. "Hermes."

The old man shrugged. "Not my favorite character from Greek mythology, but I guess I'll play your game."

"I'm pretty sure you all now understand the point of our naming system," Schaefer continued to the crowd. "But names are not important right now. You're all here for one thing and one thing only: to test out the Ambrosia."

A murmur traveled through the crowd, each person questioning what this Ambrosia substance is. Is it a code? Is it a drug? Are they just going to try out the dessert of the same name?

The woman known as Hera held out a small vial of bright red particles, swirling around in a clear fluid. Normally it would've looked like a blood sample, but the tiny particles swarming around in there reminded Ares of flies around a pile of dog shit of all things. There was a small tab attached to the side of the vial labeled AMBR-051A.

"This is Ambrosia," Hera explained. "Also pronounced Amber 051A. It might not seem like much, but these minuscule nanites will change the world and the way we fight for it. As part of the Ambrosia Project, all of you will be the first lucky customers to try out our new nanotechnology. Once these have been injected into your bloodstream, we will activate the powers within."

"I'm not too comfortable with having a bunch of shrapnel running through my veins," Hermes chimed in. "So what positive outcome is this supposed to have on us?"

"As these nanites self-replicate throughout your system, you will be granted superhuman strength, agility, and--if this experiment goes as planned--a fast-acting healing process. Maybe even immortality."

Another round of murmurs echoed through the crowd of soldiers. Some of them seemed impressed by the innovation while others seemed understandably intimidated.

"My age is holding me back," Hermes said. "But then again, so are the wounds I receive. I'm willing to try this out."

"I have mixed feelings about this," another soldier called out. "Living forever might actually be a fate worse than death. I've already seen too many horrific things and I don't want to spend the rest of my life seeing more."

Many more responses followed, one half loving the ability to recover quickly and the other half shunning the idea of cheating death.

"I can already tell some of you aren't so thrilled about the whole immortality thing," Schaefer said. "But we're not here messing around with human nature for your sake. We're doing this for the sake of England. And your families."

"Both of which I'd get to watch die off," Ares chimed in.

Bennington gave him a dirty look. "In that case, we should probably add these two details. Firstly, we are working on a way to reverse the immortality process. Once we've proven it works, we can deactivate the nanites and return you to your normal, fragile selves."

"What's the second detail?"

"The second?" Bennington repeated. "That's my favorite part!" He then pulled out his rifle and cocked it. The sounds of guns being cocked and ready to fire echoed through the room as guards pointed their firearms at the crowd.

"If you don't go through with our plans or attempt to contact the outside world, we'll kill you. And before you ask how, it's simple. These nanites are still in early development, so they might not be as reliable as you hope. And because of that, we've mapped out a few points on your bodies than aren't protected by the Ambrosia. Triggering said points guarantees an instant death. Guess you can call it an Achilles heel." Bennington chuckled sadistically at that comment.

Schaefer gave Bennington an unamused look, emphasizing his distaste for the joke. He cleared his throat and continued. "I hope Hades made it obvious that many things are at stake here, especially your lives. So, ladies and gentlemen..."

The guards closed in, still aiming their guns at the soldiers.

"Any questions or complaints? You can take them out on these armed men if you'd like. There's no pain in trying."