A.
I run out of the lab, out of the building, across the street, past some person coughing their lungs out (not literally), into the mall across the road. It’s a monster of a building, hosting offices, shops, restaurants, even a large conference hall. Get in the elevator, push the button. The screen lights up: ‘Based on previous purchases, we think you might like this skirt, which is now on sale at XBlack’. Screw you elevator, stop telling me what to wear. ‘To the funeral of humanity’, a dramatic voice in my head says. I chuckle at the thought. If each suspected bio-terror attack would turn out to be truth, we’d all be dead by now, several times over. They told me to act casual, there’s no reason to incite panic when we don’t know what we’re up against. I casually step out of the elevator and see that several people have, not very casually, fallen over, coughing up blood. So it’s true, the coffee had indeed been spiked with modified Thermobacter. I wish I could have at least worn gloves. Gloves, a breath mask, an entire goddamn hazmat suit. I’m not keen on getting killed by something some junkie high on god knows what biosynthesized crap cooked up in order to rid the world of the human pestilence. I hold my breath and hurriedly step back into the elevator. Hopefully, this thing isn’t airborne as well. ‘Lock down the street and send in a team’, I tell the Boss over the phone as I run back across the street and into the building. ‘Have them bring me a cup of that coffee, I want to see what this thing is capable of’. (‘How do you take your coffee?’ ‘With a smattering of death, please’. Oh, brain. Focus.)
No comments:
Post a Comment