It started out innocent enough. No one really thought about it too hard.

The oldest living person, a women in Denmark, passed away at 115. It was crazy that she lived that long. Crazier still that she died on her birthday.

After she passed away, there was a new older person in the world. This time it was a man, a Tibetan monk who had reached 113. Then he passed away. On his birthday.

Sadly, it took 8 of the world’s oldest people to pass away before anyone started asking the obvious question. Why were these people all passing away on their birthday?

Some said that it was all coincident. Some said it was genetics, some code in the human DNA that dictated this. All those theories were dropped when more people died.

Suddenly it wasn’t the oldest. It wasn’t one at a time. Thousands of people started dying, across the planet. All on their birthday.

For my good or ill, I don’t know, but I was born on February 29. It’s another 3 years till my birthday. I am one of a handful of people still alive in a world of mysterious death and mountains of corpses.

What happens now?

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