CONTAINMENT: BUILDING 9 - THE LEAK
CONTAINMENT: BUILDING 9
PROLOGUE: THE LEAK
Deep beneath the bustling streets of downtown, in the bowels of HelixChem's primary research facility, something had gone catastrophically wrong.
Dr. Ethan Cross hunched over his monitoring station, the blue glow of dozens of screens reflecting off his wire-rimmed glasses like accusatory eyes. Tank 47-X was showing anomalous readings again: temperature fluctuations that shouldn't be possible with their military-grade containment protocols. The readings pulsed with an ominous rhythm that made his stomach clench.
"System, run diagnostics on Tank 47-X," he muttered, fingers dancing across holographic interfaces with practised precision.
DIAGNOSTIC COMPLETE. NO ERRORS DETECTED.
But the temperature kept climbing. 2.3 degrees above normal. Then 2.7. The compound inside, 47X2-C, their experimental neural-hormonal realignment serum, was designed for battlefield applications. Psychological warfare through biochemical manipulation. Making enemy soldiers more compliant, more focused on... basic drives. Sexual submission instead of combat effectiveness.
It had never been tested on civilians. The concentration in Tank 47-X was military grade, designed to affect hardened soldiers through minimal exposure. On ordinary citizens, the effects would be...
"Fuck," Ethan whispered, watching the readings spike again. He reached for his emergency protocol tablet, but hesitated. Reporting this would mean congressional hearings, criminal investigations, his project shut down, his funding pulled. Twenty years of research flushed down the drain. His career would be over before he turned forty.
The readings stabilized at 2.9 degrees above baseline. Still within acceptable parameters... technically.
Ethan stared at the numbers, his jaw tight. Probably just a calibration issue. The containment vessel was rated for much higher temperatures anyway. They'd stress-tested it to twice these levels. He'd run a full diagnostic tomorrow, during his scheduled maintenance window. No need to panic the whole department over a minor fluctuation.
He dismissed the alert with a swipe of his hand, the motion sealing the fate of everyone in Building 9.
---
Three levels up, in the maintenance tunnels that snaked beneath the city's water infrastructure, a single valve, corroded by months of exposure to trace chemical vapours, finally succumbed to the increased pressure... A thin stream of pinkish liquid began to drip, each drop carrying enough concentrated 47X2-C to transform dozens of people.
The maintenance tunnel connected to the city's secondary water line, a backup system that serviced a six-block radius in the downtown core. By morning, trace amounts of the serum would be flowing through every pipe, every faucet, every shower head in the area.
Building 9 sat directly above the epicentre, its aging plumbing acting as the perfect delivery system.
By the time Ethan arrived home to his expensive loft apartment across town, poured himself a double scotch, and collapsed into his Italian leather chair with a satisfied sigh, the contamination was already spreading through the building's water supply like digital code rewriting human programming.
He never drank tap water anyway. Only imported spring water, only the best for his refined palate.
Some people, he thought smugly as he savoured his eighteen-year-old whiskey, didn't have his standards.
If only he knew what those standards were about to cost.
