[ WP ] A freak explosion occurs at a bio-medical research laboratory while scientists are celebrating a recent breakthrough over some beers . The explosion creates an airborne virus that causes inebriation . A pandemic of drunks ensues .

*03.10.16* 
 
 `` A great way to consider the evolutionary development of the brain,'' said professor Jake Micks, `` is through the effects of alcohol.'' 
 
 The students in the lecture hall glanced at each other with subtle smiles. 
 
 `` We start at the end. Can anyone tell me what's the most recently evolved feature of our brains?'' 
 
 Some hands went up. 
 
 `` Yes, you at the front row.'' 
 
 `` The prefrontal cortex.'' 
 
 `` Excellent! The prefrontal cortex is the command central of the brain. And also the seat of inhibition. It can counteract signals from older parts of the brain telling you engage in one of the four F's: fighting, fleeing, feeding or... breeding.'' 
 
 Laughs were heard all around. It was an old joke, but worked every year. 
 
 `` When you consume alcohol, the prefrontal cortex is the first man to fall. Suddenly you might feel like punching that guy ogling your girlfriend, run away from a scene of an accident caused by yourself, eat a pile of kebabs, or... well, you get it. Further behind we have a structure important for memory. Any clues?'' 
 
 `` The hippocampus?'' 
 
 `` Indeed. And here alcohol impairs memory, which is the reason why some of you might one day wake up finding yourself alarmed by a stranger by your side.'' 
 
 More laughs. 
 
 `` Our next structure is importal for motor control. Anyone?'' 
 
 `` The cerebellum?'' 
 
 `` Right on the money! Ever had that drunk gait? When alcohol reaches the cerebellum, we can hardly stand upright. What's worse is what happens when the alcohol reaches the brain stem. As I am sure you all know, this is where breathing is controlled. If the alcohol reaches this point... well, at least you wo n't have to suffer through an awkward encounter with a stranger the morning after.'' 
 
 *03.17.16* 
 
 Jake Micks had just finished his presentation for tomorrowday's lecture when he heard the news. A research facility in Tampa, Florida had blown up. Fifteen researchers were killed, but that was n't all. There were reports of rampages and shootings in the surrounding area. The president had released a statement calling for evacuation. 
 
 A few hours later associates of the killed researchers held a press conference. 
 
 `` This is a virus. It has... it has been contaminated -- get that light outta my face -- it has cross-bred with a strain of bacteria turning glucose into ethanol. Yeah sugar into alcohol you know. I, uh, yeah. That's it.'' 
 
 The researcher burped and excused himself. Then he went on to explaining the whole thing again, this time noticably drunker. When he fell off stage, Micks felt a jolt go up his spine. This thing was *fast*. 
 
 He knew what was next. He had to warn them. Had to... join a conga line? 
 
 *** 
 
 Pete Knowles had just cleaned out the gutter when his wife staggered out. 
 
 `` Hey,'' she said. `` Do me. Do me right now.'' 
 
 Knowles, a man eager to please, was happy that she for once recognized his efforts with keeping things tidy. When she fell asleep before he climbed down the ladder, he knew something was wrong. 
 
 `` Honey?'' he said. `` It's not even noon. You've been hitting that bottle plenty hard, have n't you?'' 
 
 No response. Typical. He carried her up the bed. Then he felt something. A slight buzz. It felt pretty good. 
 
 `` Hi neighbor!'' 
 
 He looked out the window. A group of people were dancing in a line. A man had a boombox on his shoulders. 
 
 `` Join in!'' one of them said. *Well*, he thought. *That sounds like fun*. 
 
 *03.18.16* 
 
 A man had overtaken Jake in the conga line. He was the one who started it. He thought. Things were fuzzy. But it was his line. That was for certain. 
 
 `` Hey you!'' he said as he grabbed the guy by the shoulder. `` The fuck you thank yar doin? This *burp* is mah congah line. Get the... Get the, get lost.'' 
 
 `` Oi, pal,'' the man said. `` You're stumbling like a deer on like a hockey field. Like ice, you know? You're... I'm the conga-master, old man.'' 
 
 Jake did something he'd never done before. He took a swing at the guy. But missed. Then the man hit him. Hard. And something happened. For a brief moment he regained clarity of mind. The virus. The alcohol creeping towards the brain stem. 
 
 `` Hey! We need to stop. There's a virus. We're all going to die unless we --'' 
 
 The next punch knocked a few teeth out, but Jake felt even sharper. 
 
 *** 
 
 This old guy would n't leave Pete alone. Somehow it did n't feel wrong hitting him. He was wrecking the vibe. 
 
 Pete put his hands in the air. It felt good to be the king. Then he felt something. He fell down. Saw blood. And the old guy with a plank. 
 
 `` This is for your own good.'' 
 
 `` What the hell do you think you're doing? I -- Wait a minute. The fuck is going on?'' 
 
 `` There's no time to explain,'' said the old man. `` Take this.'' He handed him a plank. `` Now beat the living crap out of these people.'' 
 
 *03.19.16* 
 
 It turned out the virus was short-lived. It had disintegrated and apparently it had nothing to do with the beating. Jake looked over at Pete. 
 
 `` Yikes,'' he said. 
 
 `` Yikes, indeed,'' said Pete, staring out the prison bars.
