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(POV shift: You are Kealan Jegede, the Doctor-General of Valhalla.)
You haven’t slept for the last thirty hours. You would lambast some fresh-faced Lts if they didn’t take proper rest, and yet her you are. Though you find hypocrisy to be an all-encompassing thing.
Taking a stim, you feel a slight prick upon your neck as the mixture of chemicals rapidly enters your bloodstream. You are certainly going to feel it tomorrow and no doubt your body will be affected. With this, you probably lost around a day of your lifespan, but you’ve got to keep your concentration. The damned gene sequence had proven annoyingly complex. You cannot even ask for anybody’s help. Zack and his technicians could not tell someone’s head from their rear if given an x-ray picture. Garrick and his engineers are utterly uninterested in anything not involving explosives. And you are the only qualified damned doctor in the entire colony, so you cannot rest.
You are close, oh so close. Whomever designed the securities of the genetic structure must have been a genius, annoyingly so, but you are certain that you are about to crack the code. Whatever secrets the blood holds will be yours.
Rising from your seat, after having wolfed down some sweet fruits and getting the stim, you think you are in a good enough condition to allow your brain to work properly.
With tired steps, you end up before the various machines that had been running tests non-stop. You halt before a monitor.
<span class="mu-b">That’s odd.</span> The machine’s readouts appear to be erratic, functioning in a way that they shouldn’t. You can hear the whine of motors and you soon pick-up the scent of burning plastic. Suddenly, sparks erupt and various machines begin to shake as the light above your head begin to dampen and suddenly grow bright only to dampen again.
“Fuck !” You swear out loud, rushing towards the sockets, you need to cut all power to the machinery. It seems that the anti-tampering protection in place may have had something unexpected, a hidden code that when read by a machine would mess with its computer programming.
Pulling the plug, the lights above your head explode violently, showering you in heated plastics that you quickly try to get off of yourself.
Taking a moment to take a few deep breaths, you take out your tablet and use it to illuminate your surroundings and regard the still smoking machinery.
Holding onto the back of your neck, you can already imagine the amount of shit you will get for wrecking all this gear.
Not only did you lose the blood samples, it also seems that you will have to ask Zack for <span class="mu-r">1 standard unit of rare materials</span> worth of equipment again. This will dig into the reserves.
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