THE COCKROACH scuttled silently along the baseboard and up to the sink. It cautiously explored the toothbrush with its undulating feelers. Satisfied with its destination, it lay a sticky, viscous transparent egg-like mass within the bristles.
After finishing its task, the critter crawled back down the sink and disappeared behind the baseboard. Within the walls, hidden away from prying eyes, the cockroach convulsed and rolled on its back, legs up. A tiny plume of smoke emerged from its thorax as an enzyme pouch erupted from within. In mere moments, the cockroach body disintegrated into a desiccated exoskeleton.
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The alarm went off at the usual time of 4:30 AM. Before the second alarm cycle had a chance to sound off, a hand slapped down on the bedside clock, thus ending its morning rant.
The man made a slight groan before sitting up and rubbing his face to clear his eyes. Sliding into his slippers, he stood and shuffled into the bathroom. The face looking back from the mirror showed lines of weariness, cut deep from too many difficult decisions made over the years.
Turning on the faucet and applying some toothpaste, he brushed his teeth as he had done so many mornings before. Except that this time, something was different. A sharp pain emanated from the left side of his chest. The intense pain exploded unnaturally fast. He stumbled to the floor and was dead before his head hit the porcelain rim of the toilet.
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Tyler Wilkens had just settled into his window seat on a full flight. He was flying on the shuttle to make it home in time to attend his daughter’s recital. Since being released from prison, he was determined to become more involved in her life. And that included participating in her extracurricular activities.
His daughter, Sterling, showed exceptional promise with the viola and she was so excited when Wilkens told her on the video call that he was attending her performance. But something nagged at Wilkens from within his core. His unhindered freedom seemed too good to be true, and he tried to force it from his mind before it became a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Although he had succeeded in eradicating the virus from the World Government’s computer system, the win had come too late and at great cost. The World Government missed a crucial debt payment to OmniClon Universal (OCU) and now had to face substantial penalties. The specter of Clarence’s death also weighed heavily on his shoulders. Clarence Rainer, the Systems Supervisor, was an administrator, not a fighter. The government bureaucrats had insisted that Clarence accompany Wilkens on his mission despite the risks.
None of those things was Wilkens’ fault, but the ominous feeling he was experiencing came to a head. Three black sedans, with lights flashing and sirens blaring, rushed onto the tarmac and blocked the plane from approaching the runway.
After what seemed like hours, four agents, dressed in black suits and sunglasses, boarded the plane. The lead agent spoke to one of the flight attendants. She pointed down the aisle, and all eyes fell on Wilkens.
Here we go again. Wilkens slumped down in his seat, trying to look small. The disappointed look on his daughter’s face flashed through his mind, and it broke his heart. He hoped she would forgive him. He knew what was coming next.