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I look down at my watch and take note of the time- five more minutes to enjoy my coffee in relative peace before I have to head into the lab. Fleetingly I think of Charles and how I should have checked on him since I didn’t hear the bathroom shower running as I headed out the door. These thoughts have the tiniest bit of guilt and embarrassment mixed in them, similar to the small chunks of artificial sugar still floating at the top of my coffee. No matter how I try, they won’t go away. It wasn’t entirely my fault that I didn’t feel inclined to interact with him, it was simply that ever since the morning of the bombing, he’d begun activity avoiding me. 

[b]”So, any neeews yet?”[/b] 

Someone bumped into my elbow and I just managed to avoid having my coffee spilled all over my pristine lab coat. I looked over to see it the small, plump frame of Sally Enright, her large green eyes focused on me. 

[b]”News?”[/b] I said, my mind still preoccupied by my roommate who was, more than likely, still sound asleep.

[b]”About the designation?”[/b] Sally prompted.

I often found myself wondering what exactly Sally’s job was. Since we (thankfully) didn’t work in my lab, I had little interaction with her outside of the break room. Unlike the rest of the staff, she never seemed to be worried or stressed or under any pressure at all. I would have chalked it up to personality except for the fact that she was perpetually asking people about their jobs or their life to such a degree that it was almost like she had nothing better to do for her time. The part of my brain I tried not to listen to- the logical part- told me that the only explanation was that Sally was some sort of spy whose job was to keep tabs on scientists.

[b]”No news about my husband-to-be just yet,”[/b] I said and tried to force a smile, [b]”I...uh… have to run. I’ll see you around.”[/b]

Throwing the empty paper cup of coffee away in the trashcan, I head down the hall and press my watch against the sensor at my lab’s door. An acrid smell of dying flowers and animal litter wafted past as I step inside.

Walking to my computer, I turn it on and check out the most recent data from the reports. My eyes scan past numbers and calculations when I feel breath on my neck. I don’t have to turn around to know it’s my supervisor, Dr. Lark. 

[b]“Any luck?”[/b] He asked, his voice sounding cool and indifferent although I know otherwise.

[b]”Not yet. It’s hard to get the right balance. Too little and the drug has no effect. Too much and the subjects lose their appetite and become sleep deprived.”[/b] My fingernails click against the glass of one of the nearby rat cages, emphasizing my point.

 [b]”More productive people who eat less might not be such a bad thing,”[/b] Lark suggests but I know- or hope- he’s making a joke so I ignore the comment.

[b]”It’s also affecting the subject’s memory and ability to learn new things.”[/b] I continue on, [b]”Plus it’s rather addictive.”[/b]