CHAPTER TWO: The Discovery

HE could feel his breathing quicken as his heart struck the inside of his chest. He was excited-excited with fear.

One of the greatest discoveries of the century had just been made and he was right to be afraid as he was the one who had unearthed that discovery.

Seated on a swivel chair, his white lab coat hung over the arm rests after he had rushed over to it; his fingers furiously punching down the keys of his computer.

He had on a black cotton sweater over which a white laminated plastic card hung over suspended by a blue ribbon and on it were the inscriptions Dr. Minajri, Akshay - Geneticist, WHO.

A fine wet patch of perspiration covered his forehead as he went on to type.

He could feel the entirety of the weight of what he was doing strain his arms, down to his fingers that danced atop the keyboard.

For a slight moment, a new feeling had flooded his mind. He was going to suffer the consequences for this endearing act for sure. Then it passed.

Yes, I will. But if it means that she gets to live out her life in a safe world devoid of a dangerous contagion, then so be it.

He was doing it for the world. For her.

His office had been dark, with the computer monitor providing the only source of light. This had then suddenly changed when the entire place lit up with multiple fluorescent tubes coming to life.

He paused and his fingers ceased typing but only for a second after he caught the sound of the shuffling of feet.

He resumed typing. The footsteps grew louder.

Almost done.

A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek and splashed silently against the 'number 2' button on the numerical side of the keyboard.

The footsteps were less than six feet away now.

Five. . .four. . .three. . .two. . .

He heard the cracking sound of wood breaking and hinges whining as the door behind him was bashed inside by a powerful strike of the foot and the man behind the computer was no longer alone.

Perhaps it was the janitor or night guard coming in to ward him off for the day as it was really late, he thought momentarily after shifting his eyes to the bottom right corner of the HP monitor - 1:07 am.

That thought was immediately lost in the depths of his mind when a distinctive clicking sound emanated from behind him, followed by a hard substance nuzzling the back of his head.

"Not another move," spoke a voice from behind with an absolute chilling overtone and a sort of darkness to it.

It was muffled, as if the person was speaking through some kind of mask or speech altering technology but he could easily get the soullessness in it.

In any other similar situation, one would have expected a man caught in such a predicament to cower and start pleading for their life. This was not the case for him.

He had accomplished his mission after having tapped at the Enter button to finalize the digital process and it was done.

"You're too late," he spoke and a smile almost escaped him.

The person behind him turned to the monitor just in time to catch a pop-up notification showing:

File Transfer process complete√

The person then instinctively turned to the flash drive sticking out from the desktop system unit, giving the man behind the computer a first look at the intruder.

Judging by the lengthy stooping and arching of the back to attain eye-level position with the monitor, the man behind the computer could tell that this person was tall. The clothes were dark and glossy, probably leather, that were worn fittingly, indicating they had a lithe body and perhaps feminine? The footwear was darkened in the monitor-lit room, making it impossible for the man behind the computer to confirm whether this person was wearing heeled leather boots-that and a cyberpunk-esque ski-mask.

"What did you do?" the voice came out dark and muffled through the mask, again with that icy edge still detectable.

The man behind the computer just stared back into the sleek black holes that served as the intruder's viewing points. This was not just any intruder however, now that it had been clearly established that they had come to prevent whatever it is he had already done. He had known they would come for him which was why he had lied about working late that night and stayed behind until everyone had left the building. And that is why he knew they would send someone. . .

The now-established assassin checked the computer, going through the drive and found it to be empty then went on to tap into a communication's device and say, "He's wiped out everything. How should I proceed?"

There was a brief moment of silence then. . .a sharp drowned banging noise.

He had felt the pressure of the hard substance on the back of his head increase as he shut his eyes, forcing them to look back into his mind, to the one person that mattered in the world at that very moment and only hope that she would get whatever remnant of his life he had managed to salvage before the wrong people got to it first.

He had to believe that she would understand why this had to happen.Why only she could help save the world from-BLAM!

The banging noise drowned out just as fast as it had sprung out, followed by a bullet rupturing through his skull, plunging into his brain and ruining his final memory of her and then exploding out of his forehead from the other side and got lodged into the computer screen which silently hissed and crackled.

He slumped forward, his head hitting against the keyboard where blood began to flood the set of keys, making them gleam and dance in the dim light almost as if they were mourning the loss of the man they had worked so closely with.

The assassin restored the murder weapon back to its holster with the casualness of an artist putting back a sketching pen together with the rest of her tools after designing a masterpiece then tapping at one side of the ski-mask where a beeping sound emanated.

"It is done," the assassin said and had vanished into the night faster than surgical spirit takes to vaporize on skin.