Hello Monday

Part 12; 7:43 pm

We stare at each other for the longest period of time. For the first time since I first met him a year ago, I stare at him with the coldest look I can muster. No one dares to move. Heck, I dare him to move.

Then it dawned upon me.

All this happened perfectly. Too perfectly. The lockdown alarm rang when the juniors are on their camping trip. That time was also the only hour when all the classes were held on the seventh floor. They rounded us up like sheep, making sure no one strayed away. That's why they knew there was supposed to be a class in our room.

The more I connect the dots, the more I feel the anger hardening my heart. I feel pain in my chest, the weight of two broken pieces of stone. The longer I stare at him, I see black dots clouding my vision. I am very close to being blinded by rage.

I see a man approaching us from the corner of my eye. "Vulture, where is the..." he trails off as he sees our stare-down.

All along, the culprit is standing right in front me.

"Vulture?" he questions, not once taking his eyes off of me. When he walks closer to Anthony, he sees the person standing behind me, "Monday? Who is this?"

"This is her," Anthony mutters under his breath. What was meant only for him to hear was loud and clear to everybody.

"Ah, pretty little thing," the man replies, looking me up and down. Normally, I would have had something to say, but at this moment, I have no words. It is as if the words that were on the tip of my tongue drained from my mouth.

"Victor could use her right now," the man approaches me and takes me by my arm, breaking our eye contact.

It feels as if my body is disconnected from my brain. Inside I am telling it to move and fight back, but even my limbs no longer listen to me. I am numb. I don't have the energy left in me to snap out of my trance.

He drags me by the arm to the lab and opens the door with zero patience, "Victor, look who's here!"

As soon as I step into the lab, my eyes fall on Dr. Sanders. They come back into focus and slowly, my arms, then my legs, then my neck begin to work in sync with my brain. I come to life again. I start to fight against the guy holding me, wanting to get to Dr. Sanders. Seeing the dried blood running down her check and a bruise that is above her eyebrows, I fight harder. I swing my head to the back in the process, but the man holds both my hands in one hand and grabs my hair with the other. Pain shoots through my scalp.

"No," Dr. Sanders whispers.

"Ah, perfect," the man, Victor, who I assume is the leader says. He faces Dr. Sanders and leans on a workbench, "Now, where were we? Ah, right. The report."

Dr. Sanders grits her teeth, "I cannot give it to you. I told you, it is not ready."

"Really?" Victor does a little shake of his hand and before I know it, the tip of a long gun is pressed to my right temple. "What about now?"

"Please, just let her go. Our business is our business. She has nothing to do with it." I hate seeing Dr. Sanders beg. She is not made to beg.

"Oh she has everything to do with it alright. She is something to you, that's all that matters to me," he smirks full of evil. How someone could be so vile is beyond me. I feel like throwing up but that wouldn't do me any good.

I can see the wheels turning in Dr. Sanders' head. Her eyebrows scrunch up together as she focuses her eyes on me. "I will write the report with her, so give me ten minutes to explain everything to her in the clean room. I need to show her the sample inside," she finally requests after letting a few minutes pass in silence.

"Five minutes." That was all he said.

The man who is holding me releases me at once. Without waiting another beat, I run to grab the hand Dr. Sanders extends for me. She pulls me to the clean room in the corner of the laboratory. She grabs two lab coats on the way and tosses one at me. I put my arms through the holes and button it up.

With urgency, Dr. Sanders pushes me to one side of the workbench in the middle of the clean room, "I need you to stand across me so the only face they can see is yours. Don't talk, don't make any facial reactions and just listen to me." I glance at the little window that is in the door behind me. I give her a curt nod.

Dr. Sanders grabs a pen on the table and starts writing random chemical equations on the back of the lab manual. She doodles the distraction while giving me an explanation, "You remember the gene therapy project I told you about? The one I am currently working on?"

I nod stiffly.

"That will be the future of medicine. When the project becomes a success, it will be able to heal the majority of incurable diseases. I thought it was for the benefit of our future, but I am not too sure myself now," she pauses, the end of her pen no longer moving on the paper. With her eyes on the random scribbles, she blurts, "Something is not right. The success rate is roughly eleven percent yet the president keeps asking for it. I tell him that the gene therapy will be as good as carcinogens if the percentage is not even close to half, but he insists I hand him over the project now."

"Carcinogens?"

"It is exactly what you think. Used wrongly and this therapy can target the wrong cells, triggering uncontrollable growth—like cancer."

I stare at her with a blank look. I am finding it very tough to keep a straight face when all I want to do is wail. What is the meaning of all of this?

Dr. Sanders turns on the computer that is on the table. As if on cue, codes appear on the screen, row after row after row. My eyes follow the growing codes. It's far too much and far too fast for me to catch anything. When I start to feel pressure behind my eyes, I look away from the screen. I may be capable in science, but Computer Science is not my forte.

"What... is that?" I question, looking at Dr. Sanders.

Keeping her eyes on the screen, Dr. Sanders explains, "This—This right here is what is supposed to be the future of medicine. I found this in this," lifting up the vial that was given to her, supposedly the "gene" that is supposed to be for the gene therapy.

I look back at the screen. The contrast of the colorful text against the black background makes my eyes sting, yet I cannot seem to take my eyes off of it this time. I'm staring to get a bad feeling about this project. Don't get me wrong—I don't know much about coding, so I'm hoping my hypothesis will not be confirmed.

"Is that... a spyware?" I stammer, crossing my fingers behind my back.

There was a slight pause before Dr. Sanders gave me a single nod,

"Yup."

Well, there goes my hope.