Dr. Sarah Boxom adjusted the lab goggles and peered at the small vial of deep purple liquid labeled Experimental Blueberry Compound #7. “Let’s see what happens,” she muttered, barely containing her curiosity. As she tipped the first drops onto her tongue, her belly swelled instantly. The sensation was strange, almost ticklish, and a sudden sneeze erupted—followed by a loud, involuntary burp.

“Oh no…” she gasped, feeling the expansion crawl up her legs, her arms, and even her cheeks. The lab computers started beeping alarms. Fellow researchers stared in horror as she grew larger by the second, her skin taking on the rich hue of the compound, turning her into a walking, burping blueberry.

Panic spread. One by one, her colleagues touched contaminated surfaces, accidentally ingesting traces of the compound. Within moments, they too began inflating, sneezing, and burping uncontrollably. The lab became a chaotic sea of rounded, purple bodies, all struggling to maintain balance as the virus-like compound spread rapidly. Dr. Boxom tried to warn them, but every sneeze and hiccup only intensified the effects.

“This… isn’t just an experiment anymore…” she wheezed, her voice distorted by her expanding form. “It’s a… virus.”

By the time containment protocols were attempted, the lab was completely overtaken, the blueberry virus now airborne, threatening to spread far beyond the walls of the research facility.