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Locked-Down: Part 4

If you have missed the story so far, here it is: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3

I wake up feeling groggy. My whole body aches and I feel lethargic. I walk to the kitchen, pour a packet of crisps into a bowl and add milk. I put a spoonful of it into my mouth and spit it out. I was supposed to add cereals to the bowl, not crisps! Ugh! The sour and cream onion crisps are now soggy and the milk tastes like diluted white sauce. I gobble it up anyways.

I feel tired so I take a quick shower. Nope, not feeling any better after the shower. I pop up some painkillers and go down to the basement. I set up the chemicals on the countertop and look at my formula notebook. I MUST remember to add the ingredients in the right ratio this time. I do not want any exploding rats… I have one last rat left to test. Fingers crossed this sample works. If not, I have to go in search of rats.

As I start to mix the chemicals, I feel drowsy. A crash brings me back to my sense. I am lying slump on the countertop. I must have fallen asleep. A hissing sound below my foot grabs my attention. I dropped the test tube! Shit! I have to clean this up right away. Argh!

Murmuring to myself, I walk upstairs to the garage, pick up the dustpan, broom and a garbage bag. I walk back to the basement/laboratory and clean the mess. I feel even more tired now. I want to sleep for a while. I mix the chemicals, this time in the correct ratio and let them sit for a while. They would be ready for testing tomorrow.

I walk back upstairs, throw the garbage bag in the hallway and crash on my couch.

“No, don’t kill me! I repent for what I have done. Please forgive me,” says the man in glass-bottle spectacles. A bead of sweat trickles down his forehead. His hands and legs are quivering with fear.

“No! You must die. You shall die. I will kill you, Dr Ond … kill you… kill you…” and the man brings down a cleaver on Dr Ond’s flabby neck.

I wake up with a start. My shirt is drenched in sweat. For a minute I do not realize where I am. It’s gone dark outside. I must have fallen asleep for a long time. My body still aches.

Dr Ond! How I wish I knew him better. I wonder what went on in that brain of his. He created a virus that killed almost the entire population on Earth. There’s a thin line between good and evil, isn’t it? He could have used his intelligence to create something brilliant. Instead, he used his intelligence to destroy the world.

Enough of philosophical talk, I need to do something about the wound on my palm. It’s hurting like hell. I get up from the couch and find my way to the light switch.

I look at my wound. It’s turned bluish and pus has started to ooze out of it. Oh shit! it’s infected. I run to my bathroom and open the medicine box and dab a thick layer of antibiotic powder on the wound.

The realization hits me like a cargo train. Lethargy, body aches and pus-filled wound – I might be infected by the virus. No, no, no, that’s not possible. No! I do not want to die.

I start crying. I do not want to die. I am creating a cure. No, please God, do not let me die. I will save mankind. Please, god, please.

I cry until I pass out.

When I wake up, I find myself on the couch. How did I end up here? I must have woken up in the middle of the night and walked up to the couch. Hmm, I don’t remember waking up though. Since the virus outbreak, I have been having a lot of blackouts. I do not know if this is a side effect of stopping my bipolar meds.

The laptop on the coffee table beeps. I look at it and see a live recording of the lab rat in a glass cage. That’s strange. I don’t remember injecting the poor bugger with my latest sample.

I walk to my basement/laboratory and have a look at my logbook. Every time I start the trial, I write down the dosage on a book so that I can keep a track of it.

I see one log under yesterday’s date. I see a name and dosage detail. It says: Mickey – 10cc. I don’t remember naming the rat Mickey. I am not good with names. If you have observed, over the past couple of days, I told you guys a lot about me. But I never formally introduced myself, did I?

I hate my name. As a kid, I was often teased; my classmates called me Mouse. I blame my mum for it; she named me Mickey. I… wait! Oh no, no, no!! Did I inject myself with the sample?? Oh god, no! I injected myself with an untested drug. What if I explode just like that rat?? What do I do???

I pull my hair in frustration. I woke up on the couch and the last thing I remember from last night was passing out in the bathroom. Is someone else in my house? I found a threatening note in the pocket of my overalls. Is someone is trying to steal my research? Are they using me as their lab rat?

I need to do something about this right away. I do not know how long it has been since the sample was injected into my body. I do not have an antidote for…what does one call an antidote for an antidote? Oh gosh! I can’t breathe. I am having another panic attack. Nooooo…

To be continued…

I hope you guys are enjoying this story and waiting to see what happens next. Big revelations coming up tomorrow ๐Ÿ˜€

8 thoughts on “Locked-Down: Part 4 Leave a comment

  1. That sounded fun. Nice to meet you Mickey. Hope he finds a cure, kind survivors not the kinds wanting to kill him, and hot babe to populate the earth back.. Or maybe you can cut the last one out

    • Nice to meet you too, Shalini. Since you work in the medical field, how about we joining hands and saving the Earth?๐Ÿ˜‰๐Ÿ˜‰

      • Hmmm….errr….you see…. You blast rats… And I hate rats…
        Do you have another hazmat gown? How’s your hand with pus? You are not keeping safe… Let your incubation and symptom period pass smoothly… And we can join hands… No sorry no contact join thought waves to check it out

      • You hate rats so I blast them.๐Ÿ˜ˆ I have Cinderella gown, it’s yours if you want. No joining hands, one must maintain social distancing.๐Ÿ˜œ Waving also spreads virus right? ๐Ÿค”

      • Hahaha ๐Ÿ˜‚ ๐Ÿ˜‚ the Cinderella gown would not fit me. ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚ Finding a solution to virus in Cinderella gown ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿคฃ๐Ÿคฃ๐Ÿคฃ๐Ÿคฃcouldn’t think of sexy leathers?

        A nod would be safer, methinks

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