James Turnbow

And as I watched my friend die horribly, I realized I didn't care what the O5 Council said.

I would kill them all.

The combination of Philo's Texas lilt and the nasally tone he developed when angry was like a kebab skewer in my ears.

I knew that turning around to see his melantite gut and wide, ruddy face might send me over the edge.

I remained at my desk, staring at my computer screen as I answered.

And I told you I don't need any time off, sir.

Philo crossed from the door quickly.

The next words came on a breath that disturbed the hairs on my left ear.

I don't want to have to revoke your security clearance.

It's too much paperwork.

But I will if you don't leave right now.

I don't want to see your face here until Monday.

My eyes ranged over the newly generated report on the pathogen that had killed Wade so quickly.

I had arrived early and spent several hours researching it and entering data.

I had even done some in vitro experimentation.

I spun in my chair and stood, fists clenched.

Memories of Wade's bloody, convulsing body played in my head.

Philo stood a few inches shorter than me, and I looked down into his coffee-colored eyes.

His curly brown mustache twitched as he sneered, daring me to make a move.

In my head, Wade suddenly stopped convulsing.