[ WP ] The year is 2170 . The air is no longer safe to breathe , courtesy of hundreds of genetically engineered CRISPR viruses all capable of altering human DNA within seconds . A cult of clean air worshippers decides to venture out into the open and remove all their masks at once

Nothing happened. 
 
 James's blood pulsed in his ears as the day he'd been dreading collided with reality. He sat kneeling, tasting the rich, sweet October air. The rest of the 14 stood there, silent, while the wind whipped across the plains. The grass blew in soft waves and the mountains sat in a far off blue haze. James could hear one man and a woman screaming faintly through their environment suits. 
 
 The leader of the cult stood behind James. He watched James take tired breaths. He let out a chuckle and in a low voice boasted to his followers, 
 
 >'' Y'see? All just fine. It's fine.'' 
 
 The cultists had taken the 14 mostly unwilling prisoners out into the field to demonstrate how right their beliefs were, while affording themselves no direct physical danger. James was first. They forced him down to his knees and pulled his helmet off. One made to kick him into a small earthy ditch they all stood around, but the leader put out a hand an stopped him. Instead he gestured to James, like a waiter presenting a meal. 
 
 James slowly squirmed in his suit, in immense pain, shaking his limbs back to life. He had been trapped and unable to move for days, but in their zeal to rip his helmet off his arms had become loosened enough to search for the high caliber pistol, which had fallen down into the leg of the loose plastic suit. 
 
 >'' Alright, the next one.'' 
 
 The leader had large staring eyes, visible from outside his visor, even through the glare of the pink sun. The eyes stared at the next to be `` freed'' into the `` new world.'' He nodded and the cultists began feverishly clawing at the unknown woman's helmet. James could hear small screams from inside her suit. No, no, no I do n't want to. Before the ceremony, one cultist had run off out of fear or excitement or pure insanity. The runner stood and watched from a long way off, a blue speck in the rapidly dwindling light. 
 
 They did the same with the woman as to James, but ripped the upper half of her suit off, from the shoulders up. One kicked her into the ditch. One of the woman's bare arms shot out to try to catch her balance. She fell face first into the dirt. 
 
 >'' Next one. No, wait, let's do the rest. Those five, go ahead. 
 
 It was a group project. Cultists were scrabbling at helmets in batches, creating lots of commotion. The leader walked around the perimeter of the ditch, observing with a cold intensity. James fumbled for his gun. Fear, cold, and adrenaline gave his movements huge tremors. 
 
 No one noticed the woman in the ditch. How could they, as it was nearing twilight. In the bright blue light put out by her enviro suit, her once red hair had turned to gray, and maybe another color no human hair had ever been. For a long time she lay face down with her elbows up, as if she was trying to push herself up. She never moved, not even when the light came out of the depths of her suit. 
 
 James watched the cult leader. His hand had found the handle of the pistol, and he waited. He waited for his nerves and for an optimal time to put a bullet in the man whose idea this had been. 
 
 The leader watched the woman in the dirt. He was the first to see the light come from the her suit. Sparks began to bounce around inside it and pop out of the gaping hole where the suit's chest used to be. She may have screamed. Hard to tell amongst all the other screaming. The cult leader found himself yelling inside his own suit. This was it. Everything he'd hoped. Everything he'd wanted to tell them. Every comforting belief he had tried to deny himself as a scientist. 
 
 His religious ecstasy peaked as the woman burst into flame. 
 
 James pointed the gun at the transfixed cult leader. James was a hunter. And he used his expertise to aim the weapon, slightly less accurate than what he was used to. In the dark and the cold his aim was much worse. So he only shot that son of a bitch through his helmet, destroying his mouth and shattering most of his teeth, rather than through his brain pan. 
 
 The cult leader pitched forward, down into the pit. He bucked and writhed in pain, blood totally coating the inside of his helmet. 
 
 The woman burned, lying there in the same awkward push-up position. The flames began to funnel and roar, producing a large pillar of dirty jet black smoke from the plastic suit. 
 
 James aimed his gun around at the melee of identical enviro suits, all writhing and screaming, struggling in the dark. He clenched his jaw and squinted his eyes. He wanted to kill all of them, all who were responsible. But who was who? 
 
 The flames coming off the burning woman focused and increased in intensity. They became blue, while, translucent. Blinding. 
 
 James turned and ran. He fled in the dark, away. He wondered, why him? He could n't be immune. Did it work at different rates? Was he about to die too? Perhaps whatever was in the air had settled into the soil? 
 
 Was it that? He slowed down and breathed the sweet, poisoned air and made his way best he could into the dark. He tried not to stumble over the clods, plants, hidden animal holes, and roots. He walked, slow and steady, away from the blinding infernal beacon of the woman. 
 
 But why him? He asked himself again and again, even when he was far away an he could no longer see the light. Even when he thought he had the answer. Why, just out of pure chance, did he live? Why him?
