162 lines
7.9 KiB
Plaintext
162 lines
7.9 KiB
Plaintext
|
|
### ###
|
|
### ###
|
|
### #### ### ### ### ####
|
|
### ### ##### ### ###
|
|
### ### ### ### ###
|
|
### ### ##### ### ###
|
|
########## ### ### ##########
|
|
### ###
|
|
### ###
|
|
|
|
Underground eXperts United
|
|
|
|
Presents...
|
|
|
|
####### ## ## ####### # # ## ## ####### #######
|
|
## ## ## ## ##### ## ## ## ## ##
|
|
#### ## ## #### # # ####### ## ## ##
|
|
## ## ## ## ##### ## ## ## ##
|
|
## ## ####### ####### # # ## ## #######
|
|
|
|
[ Bio Hazard ] [ By The GNN ]
|
|
|
|
|
|
____________________________________________________________________
|
|
____________________________________________________________________
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
BIO HAZARD
|
|
by THE GNN/DCS/uXu
|
|
|
|
|
|
When I think back, I recall a lot of symptoms that I did not notice at the
|
|
time. That is a shame, I know, and I take full responsibility. Let me tell
|
|
you what happened that afternoon last week. Due to circumstances, I have to
|
|
write it down.
|
|
Wednesday - October 11 - 1343 hours: The door to the laboratory swung
|
|
open. Charles Chen (Ph.D, M.D. and some other degree I cannot remember)
|
|
appeared. He looked really, really scared, which is a very, very bad sign in
|
|
this profession. The group of five people (including me) in the laboratory
|
|
gasped. Perhaps this was it, I guess we all thought, the end of the world.
|
|
Perhaps Charles Chen had accidentally smashed a bottle from the Red Zone.
|
|
(The Red Zone, as we all know, was the most hazardous area of this medical
|
|
research centre. People there exclusively worked with lethal and incurable
|
|
viruses.)
|
|
I cautiously put down the test tubes I was working with (status: Yellow),
|
|
and removed my face mask.
|
|
"Chen," I said, "what's wrong?"
|
|
He did reply in words. He just waved his hands in front of his chest,
|
|
open and closed his mouth without saying anything. Well, that spoke for
|
|
itself. The end of the world. Perhaps.
|
|
I picked up the intercom, pushed the ALL button and begun (trying to
|
|
sound calm): "Listen up! This is an emergency. I want all of you..."
|
|
I was about to say that I wanted all personnel down to Disinfection. But
|
|
suddenly Charles Chen began to scream.
|
|
"East! East!"
|
|
I wondered for a second if I had heard him right.
|
|
"Eh... east?" I asked.
|
|
"East!" he screamed once again. "Go east!"
|
|
Then he fell to his knees and banged his fists against the concrete
|
|
floor, while yelling that we collectively ought to do something eastwards.
|
|
I concluded that whatever virus Charles Chen had caught, it was fairly
|
|
obvious that it affected the brain. I quickly put my face mask back on. Then
|
|
I sent all people in the building down to Disinfection. Everyone, except
|
|
myself and my colleague Richard (the thin and pale graduate student).
|
|
"Why do I have to stay?" he mumbled.
|
|
"You got the best grades."
|
|
"I've always cheated. I can prove it. Send me down to Disinfaction."
|
|
"Yeah, yeah, sooner or later."
|
|
We climbed the stairs up to the Red Zone. Richard constantly whined. He
|
|
did not want to die, he argued. Whatever he wanted to do, I said, it was
|
|
too late. (That is, if and only if Chen had smashed a bottle from the Zone.
|
|
Perhaps he was just overworked?)
|
|
The doors to the Red Zone carried a huge poster that said that only those
|
|
who wore proper protection clothes were allowed to enter. Right beside the
|
|
door, there was a list over current researchers. I examined it to find out
|
|
which laboratory Chen had used.
|
|
But Charles Chen's name was not on the list...
|
|
"Why did he want us to go east?" Richard asked.
|
|
"I don't know. He's probably chemically insane. Anyway, how come his name
|
|
is not on the list...?"
|
|
"Why should it be? It's Tuesday. On Tuesdays, Chen works down in the
|
|
Light Green Zone, soiled trick vase."
|
|
I slowly turned around and faced that darn idiot.
|
|
"You're telling me this now?"
|
|
"Well, you didn't ask me before, so..."
|
|
"Never mind!"
|
|
I was up shit creek, to say the least. I had ordered people down to
|
|
Disinfection without any reason at all. Chen had not caught any virus. You
|
|
could not even catch a cold in the Light Green Zone.
|
|
I called Disinfection and explained the situation.
|
|
"You're up shit crook, you know?" someone down there certified.
|
|
They were of course pleased to hear that this was not the end of the
|
|
world, but pretty annoyed with the fact that they had to explain this happy
|
|
news to one-hundred and fifty people who had just been violently sprayed
|
|
with all kinds of aromatic substances.
|
|
We took the elevator down five storeys to Light Green. According to the
|
|
list beside the door (which did not carry any poster at all) Chen had used
|
|
laboratory number five.
|
|
Laboratory number five was a one-man facility. Yes, there was a smashed
|
|
bottle on the floor. I picked it up and read on the label: NON SENSE.
|
|
"Shouldn't you... wear something?" Richard said by the door.
|
|
"There is nothing to be afraid of in here."
|
|
"As you fish."
|
|
The desk was scattered with various notes. One of them caught my
|
|
attention at once.
|
|
|
|
non sense: cognitive
|
|
NOT DEADLY
|
|
neurone-firing in left frontal lobe
|
|
affects: the ideas immanent in nervous activity in the brain,
|
|
the processes involved in verbal syntactic and semantic capacities
|
|
|
|
"Oh dear..." I said. "Seems like Chen spent his lunch inventing some
|
|
funny viruses on his own. Lucky for him this one didn't turn out to be
|
|
deadly."
|
|
"Chaos," said Richard.
|
|
I did not react properly. Instead, I said: "Yep, that would have meant
|
|
chaos. The end of the world. Damn, I keep on saying it: do-not, never-ever,
|
|
invent your own viruses! Yeah, they're funny to use, great at parties, a
|
|
true ice-breaker, especially that 'rip-your-blouse-off'-thing I invented
|
|
myself when I was a graduate student, damn break come god fast live..."
|
|
I babbled for a minute or so without listening to myself. That is my way
|
|
of calming down.
|
|
"... but what does this damn virus do?" I said to end the session of
|
|
therapeutic rapping.
|
|
Richard looked at the floor as if he was thinking. Then he raised his
|
|
finger. "Call."
|
|
"Call who?"
|
|
He breathed in. "Call... splinter..."
|
|
|
|
verbal syntactic and semantic capacities
|
|
|
|
"Richard!" I said and laughed. "You've caught Charles Chen's virus! Hey,
|
|
this is a really funny virus! Say 'hello'!"
|
|
Richard concentrated hard. But said: "Rocket."
|
|
Oh, I laughed and laughed. And I would have kept on laughing if I had
|
|
not glanced down on Chen's desk one more time.
|
|
|
|
no cure
|
|
|
|
I looked at Richard. He looked at me; fear shined in his eyes.
|
|
"Oh dear..." I said.
|
|
I threw myself over the intercom. "Sunday move like... can... gas..."
|
|
someone down at Disinfection stuttered.
|
|
It had begun. Now, I had to work fast. Really, really fast. I obviously
|
|
had not caught the virus, as I still could utter comprehensible statements.
|
|
I better get Richard away from me before it was too late.
|
|
"Gold cigar eternity!" I said and realised that it actually was too late.
|
|
Thankfully, Charles Chen's virus have yet not affected any other part of
|
|
our hardwired neural features concerning communication. But you never know
|
|
what might happen, as homemade viruses mutate easily. I dare not speculate
|
|
on this subject, but assure hungary connection pan. Bring gold user must
|
|
whether sympathy pleasant. Blue mud beer sailing police in fierce.
|
|
|
|
|
|
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
uXu #470 Underground eXperts United 1998 uXu #470
|
|
with Noriega on the pay roll
|
|
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
|