The Unspoken Accord
His hand, trembling, scrabbled under the lip of his glass desk.
He found what he was looking for.
He didn’t look at Strom, or the guns. He looked directly at Mimi, his eyes blazing with apocalyptic finality.
“If the variable cannot be isolated,” he hissed, saliva flecking his lips, “then the entire lab must be purged. Contamination protocol, total sterilization.”
He slammed his palm down on a large, red button.
A new, deeper sound vibrated through the chamber, the shuddering activation of heavy-duty industrial pumps. All around them, from vents in the ceiling of the server room, a fine, hissing mist began to spray. Not just here.