[ WP ] You are a cleaner in a lab when you witnessed the first victims of a horrific airborne supervirus . To bad no one belives a cleaner .

*Shoot me* I thought as I opened the door to the lab. This was the third day in a row that they ’ d called for an extra cleanup after I ’ d already been through the lab once. If they couldn ’ t keep their interns from trashing the place during the open research hours, then why the hell was it my job to clean it over and over? I technically didn ’ t get overtime, but my super was generally willing to let me go home early…if the damn lab didn ’ t need yet another extra cleaning. Beakers were spilled, microscopes were left out, solutions were left running on mixers, and even some of the biohazard containers were left open. Everything went into a bio-disposal bin and into the incinerator. At least I got to have some sort of revenge; if those disorganized PhD students left their work out to mold and didn ’ t mark it or store it properly, I got to dump it and burn it. Start over from scratch you brilliant, lazy, unorganized slobs. 
 
 *Shoot me* I thought once again as I wheeled the bio-bin around one of the heavy tables and noticed one of my coworkers on the far end of the lab. Eric should ’ ve gone home hours ago, but apparently he was staying late doing the same thing I was. He motioned irregularly at me and turned to face a wall. Something about him seemed odd. Then I remembered that Eric had said he was feeling unwell that morning and had called off for the afternoon. He turned towards me and took one fairly unsteady step before lunging ahead in a full speed sprint. Now that he was in a better light I could see his face was covered in red. It was contorted into a painful expression. 
 
 I staggered backwards and tripped on my mop bucket. As I regained some sense of composure I realized that Eric was only a few feet from me. I quickly swung the bio-bin around and planted him squarely on his back with a blow that knocked the lid off of the secure container, revealing all manner of sharps, solutes, and other undesirable materials. Eric Suddenly seemed to regain his composure and grabbed a broken portion of beaker. He stabbed it into his neck over and over again. As he did this, his eyes seemed to glaze over and eventually he dropped his shard and turned towards me once again. 
 
 I grabbed one of the tables and flipped it directly onto him. The table weighed every bit of two hundred pounds and was sufficient to slow him down enough for me to make a run for it, but then I heard him gurgle something. 
 
 “ Shoot me ” He managed to sputter out. 
 
 It sounded pained, and almost inhuman. With the table on top of him I could see more of his symptoms, blood oozing from his eyes, nose, and ears, pink irritated skin, cloudy white eyes, and unchecked aggression marked by intermittent periods of lucidity. The monkeys used for study exhibited the exact symptoms after being exposed to a highly contagious virus, if the PhD students were to be believed. It hit me that the monkey lab was completely airtight; you wore a biohazard suit in, showered off after, and only a few employees, Eric included, were experienced enough to safely clean it. 
 
 “ SHOOT ME! ” Eric snarled and brought me back to my senses. I quickly ran to the cupboard where I knew a loaded gun would be stored. Too many thieves had broken into the lab in the last few years and Brazil wasn ’ t the safest place to begin with…even if it was incredibly easy to get monkeys on short notice. The only gun was a.44 magnum. 
 
 I walked over to Eric, ensured a round was ready to fire, and aimed it at his head. He nodded somberly. At the last second I thought about spatter, and flipped a table for cover. I fired one round around the corner of the table. The explosion was horrific. Blood flew to the ceiling, covered the table, and basically everything within a few feet of what was left of Eric. His head was a destroyed mess. I discarded the gun and quickly got into the chemical shower. They always told us how to use it in case the worst happened, but, to date it ’ d never been needed. 
 
 I quickly dressed and called my super who apparently had a hard time understanding my incoherent babble, but informed me that the police were on their way. As I waited I checked the computer for the other two cleaners who ’ d been on Eric ’ s shift. Both had left shortly after Eric called off. They were on vacation. The note in the computer indicated that they ’ d be flying home to visit relatives in the US. By now, they were probably already in the air. As this horrific thought washed over me I was tackled to the ground by a large man screaming Portuguese at me as he cuffed my hands. I was hit hard on the head with a baton and blacked out. 
 
 When I came to, I was strapped to a chair with three other police officers asking me rapid fire questions in a language I didn ’ t understand. Once they got an interpreter, I was able to glean that our lab was slightly illegal at best and a blatant animal rights violation more likely. The cops thought I killed Eric and robbed him. No one believed my story of his contorted face, or oozing blood. There wasn ’ t much left of his head to tell the truth. I checked the time and realized that both of Eric ’ s coworkers had long since landed in the US. 
 
 Once the cops decided I wasn ’ t going to give them any more information, they left and took the interpreter with them. I began to cry. I was devastated. I ’ d be kept here until they decided it was time for a trial, no lawyer, nothing. As I cried I began to feel dizzy. I noticed that my tears were leaving dark stains on my white coveralls. My nose began to run and I felt an incredible anger begin to well up within me as I slipped from consciousness. 
 
 *Shoot me*
