When Ezra came to, she was back in that cell, locked up, waiting for the inevitability of one of two things. By midnight, she would either agree to their demand and save her family—her one life goal since she lost her mum—or she'd face the music, as Dad often quoted. She'd never fully comprehended that saying, and even now, sitting huddled in that cot, she struggled to see how facing the music was in any way bad or scary. This was no music she was facing. Death. Death was no music, either for herself tonight, or for her family when the culling started.

Or the thousands, if not millions, if I do this...

The images of men and women, scientists alike, dead on the lab floor swam back into her vision, one after the other. So much blood. So much death.

Ezra scooted to the side of the cot and retched again. I can't let them die like that. Dad and Shaki...

Yet another voice in her mind asked, 'And what about strangers? Can you let them die like that?'

She clutched her empty stomach. There was nothing in there for her to bring up. Nothing except guilt. Why did I write that paper? None of this would have happened if I hadn't written that stupid paper...

'It was inevitable, like the General said. You. Or someone else. One of you would have designed the perfect pathogen. One of you would be the brains behind it. It was a matter of time, or worse, if no one did anything, imagine what the real last resort would be?' her logical brain chimed in.

Ezra didn't need to imagine it. She'd had many such debates with other students when she was in uni, discussions she'd bring home to Dad, to see if any had merit. Now, the one scenario that had even the mighty and brave Siddhartha Mayur blanching white simmered in the back of her mind.

She could almost imagine the sound of bombs dropping in high-density areas. They'd make the atomic bomb look like firecrackers in comparison.

"They'll target cities at critical mass and blame it on an integral malfunction at the plants or silos. Or a hacker, some disgruntled 'scapegoat' they'll latch the blame on probably," had been her dad's exact words. "If worse comes to worst, that's what they will do, those deep-pocketed bureaucrats and politicians. To save their bacon..."

But what if I can stop them? Stop them from making this...?

'How would you do that?' her skeptic voice raised the issue.

"As the General said, it's me or some other scientist they grab..." Ezra eyed that grey door, chewing her lips. She'd have to come up with something. Given time, she could. She was sure she could come up with something.

'Yes, and?'

"If I design this thing..." Ezra paused, suddenly aware that they may have bugged the room. Her dad had taught her not to trust any unfamiliar spaces. There could be cameras and microphones. Gadgets that could steal her secrets... her haphazard plan to foil any nefarious projects...

If I design this, maybe I can put in some fail-safe? Something? I don't know... something that could stop it from spreading like wildfire...

Thus, by the time that door opened again, at precisely midnight, Ezra Mayur realised there was no choice before her. She was the only one who could save her family, and she was also the only one she wanted doing this abominable job. If anyone was going to design a pathogen for 'pest control', it would be her because she doubted the next person may share her morality.

So Ezra jumped off that bed as General Waterford crossed the threshold. "I'll do it." She hadn't meant to sound so enthusiastic, but the smile on his face told her he bought into it.

"That's the spirit." He took long strides to reach her and extended a hand.

Ezra wanted anything but to touch his hand, to shake on it. She'd rather dip her hand in hot oil, but this was to save lives. Dad, Shaki, others... if I can... so she did it. She shook the man's rough hand.

"It's us or someone else who comes up with a bioagent strong enough—perhaps too strong—and wipes us all out. At least this way, we are doing the devil's work, but with the hopes of a positive outlook." His grip was firm around her small hand. Eager.

Ezra tried to smile, or what might pass as a faint one at least. She had no words.

"Welcome to Project Rescue, Dr Mayur! We're very excited to have you with us, the original brains behind this project."

#

Ezra could not control the goosebumps prickling her skin in waves as they marched her, with no less than four soldiers flanking her, and the General leading the way. "Where are we going?"

"To the lab," came his short, blunt reply.

"Already?" Those goosebumps ramped up all the way till the small hairs on the back of her neck stood. The vision of those hazmat suits briefly came to mind. Were they done cleaning up a massive biohazard leak of the deadly infectious agent, no less?

"Is there a problem?" The General turned around without a warning, almost causing Ezra to walk straight into his rigid frame.

Where do I begin? Ezra shook her head reflexively before noticing the men all turn to resume their march. "Yes," she blurted then. "There is a problem."

The General and his men stood at attention, waiting for her to enlighten them.

She eyed the men who were within her eye line. "It's one in the morning. I haven't slept for almost two days. I'm tired, I'm hungry, I need a fucking shower, and I can not work under these conditions."

The General studied her a moment, a scrutiny that made Ezra uncomfortable. His gaze lingered on her torso a tad longer than was necessary. Then he nodded. "Very well."

He resumed walking. A soldier at the back prodded her back—keep walking. But Ezra wasn't done.

"I can't work under these conditions." She stood still, arms folded across her chest. "You can't possibly expect me to work well, or even give my best, given that I'm currently treated like a prisoner. I can't work while I fear for my life or my family. No one can. What you ask of me is huge—"

The General turned and listened then. Whether with interest or disdain, she couldn't tell, nor did she care. She figured she was as good as dead the moment they kidnapped her. There was no way these men would let her back into society and expect her not to whistle-blow. No. She was dead meat. It was only a matter of time. So what harm could a bit of risk-taking do on her part?

"—You're essentially forcing me to do something I never agreed to in the first place. You need me. I don't agree with your method or your madness, cause that's what this is. Planning genocide on this scale is madness, no matter how desperate the times are. So the least you can do is make me comfortable, make my family comfortable, because that's all I have to bargain with. My brain and my family. You've asked me to sell you my soul, but are you willing to pay a fair price in return? If not, what's the point? I'm sure you know that stress and fear are the two emotions that impact productivity or dedication."

The General scoffed then, making Ezra want to punch his face. "You have demands?"

"I do." Ezra tried her best to look just as stern.

His brows rose. "Let's hear it then."

Quick, come up with something. Ezra eyed her shoes. She hadn't really thought he'd ever listen, so she really hadn't planned her demands. Nothing other than, 'My family is safe from all this, ever!'

"Well?" The General sounded impatient.

Ezra said the first things that came to mind. "You can't possibly expect me to think clearly right now, General Watergate? I've been terrorised, tranquilised, locked up, and traumatised. I couldn't regurgitate the first things about microbes, even if you wanted me to right now, and you want me to decide what I want in exchange for my life?"

"So what you're saying is—" The General stood, unmoved.

"I need a shower, food, and sleep. Then we can talk." Ezra locked eyes with him, suddenly feeling a lot braver than she had minutes ago. No more goosebumps. If this was the bed she made, she was going to lie in it, but on her terms. "And not in a concrete box with a metal cot. I want a room. A comfortable room that's mine, for me to get in and out of on my terms. Where I can work without people hovering." She made a point of staring at the men behind her. "I need room to do what I need to do. Once I'm sure that I'm safe and not hounded, I'll give you my official price for the job."

It was a long moment before the General spoke. Ezra almost thought he was debating whether he should listen to her petty demands, or whether he should shoot her right then. His hand was resting awful close to the holster at his hips.

"Very well, Dr Mayur. I'll pay your price, whatever it may be." The General smiled, a smile that gave her the creeps. "If you can deliver what you promise."

Ezra didn't miss the threatening look or the iciness that skimmed his voice. It seemed to say, 'Or else .'

Or else what? What else could Waterford do? She wasn't sure she was entirely ready to find out.