Wow! Sorry everyone, I didn't realise how much time the HSC chews through... it's a lot.
However, I haven't stopped! The second edition of WWIII is in production, along with the sequel, but obviously you want something to do until then, yes?
Well, if you joined the mailing list you would have received the unreleased prologue to WWIII a few months back.
But for those of you who have too many junk emails (or don;t check them) or haven't signed up (I recommend it!), here it is... and remember this, because I am planning to include it in one of my future books... but not one that starts with Stories Of Earth...
Until next time,
DC out!
P.S. Not long until Christmas, and I like Christmas-do you?
“Alrighty boys, time to clear this place
out,” commanded the chief construction worker.
“Don’t they wanna keep this stuff?” asked one
man.
“They can’t—the technology is too dangerous
or something. Come on, clear it out!”
The men pushed through the Biolocked doors,
and into the sterilised cancer treatment room. Dressed in protective clothing,
and armed with special boxes and bags to transport the material safely, they
began to dismantle the interior.
Despite the government shutting down this
section of the uni once it was discovered what had been happening there,
accusing the employees as assisting with espionage, Tri-Claw was still working.
Even after the truth came out, the operation, in fear of it becoming like the
failed UN project, was forcibly decommissioned, as so the building was being
cleaned out and turned into a new neuroscience and materials technology
building.
“Can I help you?” asked Tri-Claw in his
mechanical voice, “I have been waiting for new commands for some time.”
“What is this?” asked a worker.
“It was the assistant designed to test the
cancer drugs, as it is impervious to disease. However, it too is to be
decommissioned,” explained the chief.
“Decommissioned is not a valid request. Would
you like me to do a web search for it?” asked Tri-Claw
“Someone pull him out,” commanded the chief,
as one of the men followed Tri-Claw various cables to his power supply, and
pulled it out.
Tri-Claw’s lights went out, and his hands
loosened, meaning he dropped a small vial he had been carrying. It smashed to
the ground, splashing its miniscule amount of contents across the floor.
“I thought this place cleared of biohazards!”
cried the chief into his radio.
“Well, we assumed the robot-” replied the
voice at the other end.
“-Assume nothing!” he snapped into the radio,
before returning to his belt, “Everyone, don’t breathe in, and get out of
here—we don’t know what that stuff is!”
The workers quickly filed out of the room,
leaving it empty and without its robot guardian.
Despite best efforts, some of the contents of
the vial made their way onto the boots of one of the men, and as they stepped
outside, the liquid ran into the grass, and slowly seeped into the ecosystem,
spreading through generations of wild animals and plants, until the materials
shortage during the real WWIII lead to the harvesting of a certain Australia
Pine, in which the chemical from the vial had waited hundreds of years,
inactive. But exposure to the air reactivated the virus, and, unbeknownst to any
of the teenagers, or Tri-Claws creators, the virus would eventually evolve into
the largest threat to the human population.
The Peel Skin Disease.
