Chapter 1: The First Horseman
Maranatha Coastline Research Facility, Rhydin, 05:38 A.M. 5.2.13
"How are we doing today, Margaret?" a scientist asked, approaching his attractive co-worker as part of the morning ritual of small talk leaned against the side of her desk with a coffee.
"Still hating my elderly-sounding protective I.D. the corporation generated for me. How are you, Todd?" Margaret asked back, never breaking once in her typing to lose so much as a minute's worth of cryogenic monitoring and its subsequent report.
"I think I'm still liking mine today. 'Todd''s a lot cooler than my real name, not to try to narrow your search down any. Wouldn't want to go against the privacy code. I don't see what the big deal is, though. We're just playing babysitter to a bunch of obsolete germs most days," Todd complained, strolling back over to his own work desk.
" " Until those other days, when, you know, the actual professors come and conduct their government-funded research."
" " On a bunch of obsolete germs..." The two looked at each other then, arriving at some junction of disinterest and oral stalemate. Margaret did not linger unproductive for very much longer, however, returning to her report on the day's meter readings and the like. Todd's job, on the other hand, was arguably more important, and thus easier for him to procrastinate about without supervisors on weekdays; so a pink rubber ball was fished out of his desk drawer, the same faded color of a pencil eraser, and thrown at a downward angle against the wall his office neighbored. It would not be long, neither, until Margaret would sigh exasperatedly.
The visitor alert light blinked then at Todd's office, one of his station's parameters, and surprisingly he noticed it early on and gave the ball to the little nook of space behind his phone and beside his computer monitor.
"Hey, Margaret. Looks like today's one of those days." Todd waved her attention at the little red bulb that blinked quite blindingly at the side of his desk beneath the screen currently broadcasting the checkpoint guard, Desmond, who monitored the road from the beach helipad by the tennis courts to the research facility itself.
Margaret came over to see what this was, making the face that neither of the professors were expected in today. During this time, Todd had caught wind of a peculiarity in the urgency on Desmond's face. He quickly flipped the jagged switch to permit audio accompaniment with his broadcast as Margaret arrived, grabbing the upright privacy wall on Todd's desk to lean in as well.
"Hey, are you guys there, or what"! Somebody say something!" Desmond shouted, obviously unnerved.
Todd depressed the push-to-talk switch. "We hear you, Desmond. What's wrong?"
"Gulls! Dead everywhere! They're all over the beach. I don't know what?s going on. Some kinda leak in the ocean, maybe, I don't know. Is it something maybe you guys have been working on?" You wanna call someone??"
He was in a panic, noticeably shaken by what he'd seen. Todd and Margaret looked at each other with cautioned perplexity. A sudden abundance of dead, should-be-living-otherwise things appearing close by on the coast of the transmissible disease research facility was not such the conundrum. They again communicated with their eyes, her gaze reflecting their shared position on this issue before she whispered subtly but dutifully to him.
"I'm going to make sure everything's alright on the computer," she told him, going back to her desk in urgent stride. Todd then went to turn on the microphone again.
"Desmond, stay right there, okay' We're coming to you." He released the push-to-talk and shut his monitor off so that a much more dire stare could cease being suppressed.
"Dead seagulls...?" Margaret called over to him, and Todd took a moment before grabbing his keys and getting up suddenly.
"Until we know what this is, we're not taking any chances. We're going on Yellow Alert. Check what you're checking and come meet me at the lobby. It's a lovely day out for the biohazard suits." Todd walked on out of the computer room, leaving Margaret at his desk in petrified terror.
Maranatha Coastline Research Facility, Rhydin, 05:38 A.M. 5.2.13
"How are we doing today, Margaret?" a scientist asked, approaching his attractive co-worker as part of the morning ritual of small talk leaned against the side of her desk with a coffee.
"Still hating my elderly-sounding protective I.D. the corporation generated for me. How are you, Todd?" Margaret asked back, never breaking once in her typing to lose so much as a minute's worth of cryogenic monitoring and its subsequent report.
"I think I'm still liking mine today. 'Todd''s a lot cooler than my real name, not to try to narrow your search down any. Wouldn't want to go against the privacy code. I don't see what the big deal is, though. We're just playing babysitter to a bunch of obsolete germs most days," Todd complained, strolling back over to his own work desk.
" " Until those other days, when, you know, the actual professors come and conduct their government-funded research."
" " On a bunch of obsolete germs..." The two looked at each other then, arriving at some junction of disinterest and oral stalemate. Margaret did not linger unproductive for very much longer, however, returning to her report on the day's meter readings and the like. Todd's job, on the other hand, was arguably more important, and thus easier for him to procrastinate about without supervisors on weekdays; so a pink rubber ball was fished out of his desk drawer, the same faded color of a pencil eraser, and thrown at a downward angle against the wall his office neighbored. It would not be long, neither, until Margaret would sigh exasperatedly.
The visitor alert light blinked then at Todd's office, one of his station's parameters, and surprisingly he noticed it early on and gave the ball to the little nook of space behind his phone and beside his computer monitor.
"Hey, Margaret. Looks like today's one of those days." Todd waved her attention at the little red bulb that blinked quite blindingly at the side of his desk beneath the screen currently broadcasting the checkpoint guard, Desmond, who monitored the road from the beach helipad by the tennis courts to the research facility itself.
Margaret came over to see what this was, making the face that neither of the professors were expected in today. During this time, Todd had caught wind of a peculiarity in the urgency on Desmond's face. He quickly flipped the jagged switch to permit audio accompaniment with his broadcast as Margaret arrived, grabbing the upright privacy wall on Todd's desk to lean in as well.
"Hey, are you guys there, or what"! Somebody say something!" Desmond shouted, obviously unnerved.
Todd depressed the push-to-talk switch. "We hear you, Desmond. What's wrong?"
"Gulls! Dead everywhere! They're all over the beach. I don't know what?s going on. Some kinda leak in the ocean, maybe, I don't know. Is it something maybe you guys have been working on?" You wanna call someone??"
He was in a panic, noticeably shaken by what he'd seen. Todd and Margaret looked at each other with cautioned perplexity. A sudden abundance of dead, should-be-living-otherwise things appearing close by on the coast of the transmissible disease research facility was not such the conundrum. They again communicated with their eyes, her gaze reflecting their shared position on this issue before she whispered subtly but dutifully to him.
"I'm going to make sure everything's alright on the computer," she told him, going back to her desk in urgent stride. Todd then went to turn on the microphone again.
"Desmond, stay right there, okay' We're coming to you." He released the push-to-talk and shut his monitor off so that a much more dire stare could cease being suppressed.
"Dead seagulls...?" Margaret called over to him, and Todd took a moment before grabbing his keys and getting up suddenly.
"Until we know what this is, we're not taking any chances. We're going on Yellow Alert. Check what you're checking and come meet me at the lobby. It's a lovely day out for the biohazard suits." Todd walked on out of the computer room, leaving Margaret at his desk in petrified terror.