Lost Boy | Carlisle Cullen |

ONE

His hands worked tirelessly as he inoculated an agar plate with clostridium difficile, he chose to be creative with it and sketch shapes in the media while maintaining sterility. As long as he did not lift the loop and touch it back to the gel-like substance without sterilising it first, it was fine. His workbench was illuminated by a yellow lamp light and it cast a fine amount of rays at him, he enjoyed the delicacy as opposed to the harshness of the ceiling lights. He pulled the loop away, let it glow in the gas flame of the Bunsen burner, and then let it cool before he grabbed more of the pathogen with the tool.

When James was working with his specimens he was in is own world. He paid no mind to his mobile device, in fact it never even came in the lab with him. He dragged the metal loop on a new plate of agar, a different type, and then began to draw more patterns onto that material. The two agar, in this case, did not matter so much in type; it was really just to differentiate when he placed his trial medication on top of the infectious spores versus the leading treatment in the health care industry.

He had to start small, James did. The cure for cancer was a great idea, but the likelihood of that being his first marketed drug was low, and it would have taken years longer than his experimental treatment for c. diff. The primary goal he had in mind was to mass produce and donate to underdeveloped countries. Yes, the primary prevention strategy was to teach water purification methods to those people, but tertiary prevention was always going to be needed until time itself ran out. Besides, he could make profit off of the citizens of the States after the FDA approved his trial run.

The plates went into the incubator once his designs were completed. He had already set them to the temperature consistent with the human body and then settled with the fact that he would have to wait two days to see his work. He rigorously scrubbed his hands, dried them, and then moved to disinfect the desk. Gloves were strongly suggested during the handling of the disinfecting agent used to clean bench tops, but after you worked in a field for so long, there were things you skipped over that really had no ramifications.

James threw the rest of his trash away, stepped out of the lab, locked up, and made his way upstairs. He was the only one left in the entire building that night, it was peaceful to him. His building was his home, the office was located on the main floor, the lab in the basement, and storage on the top level. He, of course, lived in a different area, slept and ate outside of work, but he felt bliss when in the walls of his dream. He filed the details about the day's experiments and then locked his office as well. He had maximum security in the facility every hour of the day, but he couldn't trust anyone fully, not when he actually put his intellectual property out for the world to see.