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| It was dark, and raining. The dome surrounding the arcology was
supposed to give an idyllic climate year round - bright sun, blue
skies, no rain. All the plants would be irrigated from under-soil
pipes, and lamps would illuminate the place at night and on cloudy
days.
That was the idea at least. When the green fungus had first been found on the solar-collectors that powered the arcology they'd simply detailed more janitors to clean it off. Three months later and they were fighting a losing battle. Most of the solar-collectors were now covered with the stuff, and the arcology was running out of power. To save this precious resource the suits decided to turn everything off at night, including the lighting and the air conditioning. So it was dark, and the air became far too hot and humid. When this air touched the cold dome of the arcology it condensed, and by about 10pm enough condensation had formed that it began to fall like rain. All of which made it perfect for the man turning the corner of 3rd and Lyle into the quiet cul-de-sac of 5 dark houses. He had a hat pressed down low over his eves , and the collar of his long coat turned up, shielding his face from the rain and the eyes of strangers. His arms were pressed deep into his pockets, the right hand gripped tight around the handle of a short, mono-bladed, knife. After a quick check to make sure he wasn't being followed, he walked up the side of 23 Lyle Crescent, home of the well respected Dr Carmichel. Walking round the back he found the rear door of the house unlocked. "Your safety and security is our #1 priority" said the company propaganda, so why should the door be locked? Still, even if the door had been locked it wouldn't have kept him out, wouldn't have stopped what he was about to do. As the dark clothed man walked silently through the house and up the stairs, he felt pity for the woman and children he was about to kill. If only the woman had managed to persuade her husband to take the job he was offered at Biotechnica then this wouldn't have to happen. Perhaps if the children hadn't enthused so much about how nice school was, or how much fun they had with Thomson twins next door, then things might have been different. Perhaps if the offer had been received now, not six months ago, before the fungus had brought the arcology to it's knees. Perhaps... Still, there was a job to be done, and he wasn't the sort of man to bend to his emotions, so he put his pity aside and held the knife even tighter. Creeping round the bend in the corridor he approached the master bed room. Opening the door a fraction he saw Mrs. Carmichel lying on the left hand side of the bed, snoring soundly. He moved to the side of the bed, and pulled the knife from his pocket. Drawing in a breath he steadied himself then quickly pulled the knife from the right hand side of her neck all the way round to left, the mono-blade cutting through the tendons and cartilage like butter. He eyes flew open as the blood began to pour out of the gaping wound, and her hands clenched tight as the pain hit. A few seconds later her hands relaxed again as the massive blood loss began to tell. Within a few more seconds the light in her eyes began to dim, and the feeble shuddering in her chest stopped. He was already on his way out the door, heading for the childrens' rooms down the corridor. Two minutes later he was in the bathroom, running the bloodstained knife under the bathroom tap. Looking up into the mirror he saw the haunted expression on the face of a man he hardly recognized anymore. Pulling his left hand out of the pocket of the long coat where it had stayed the entire time he held it up in front of his face. The process seemed to be speeding up, and now most of the fingers were gone, and some of the outside of the hand. Strangely he felt no pain, just a persistent phantom itch in the missing fingers. Catching him by surprise, tears began to well up in his eyes. Perhaps if he'd listened to his wife. Perhaps if the indiscriminate use of herbicides hadn't given rise to the super-fungus. Perhaps if the company had been willing to buy him new protection suits as he'd asked. Perhaps if they didn't want a quick fix solution by yesterday. Perhaps... He didn't feel the blood as it came flooding down over his chest, he didn't see the eyes in the mirror lose their haunted look, he didn't hear the thud as his body hit the bathroom floor. --------- "...In other news, Dr Andrew Carmichel, his wife, and their two daughters, were found dead in their home last night. According to police reports he killed his wife and daughters before committing suicide. The scientist, made famous by his invention of self-replicating nanomachines to clean up nuclear waste, was working at the Petrochem archology in the Rocky Mountains. Unconfirmed reports suggest that there was a minor accident at Dr Carmichel's laboratory on the night of the incident, although Petrochem sources deny the rumours. We will bring you more on this, and all our other stories as and when they happen. Now the weather..." |
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