The news channels tried to cover it up, but the people were clamouring for news, and what the media would not cover, gossip would take care of. Yolanda was surrounded by it: the mad scientist. The murderer, hoist by his own petard.
The mystery formula that could make war impossible, if only…
The potential scientific benefits of Dr. Fidelli’s formula, if only…
The ways it could be modified to make a better execution drug, if only the formula hadn’t vanished.
He had to have written it down. He had to have kept it somewhere.
Yolanda tried not to flinch, tried not to smile, tried not to shout. She spent a lot of time hiding in her favorite bar, thinking about anything but biological systems and acidic toxins.
“Yolanda Giana.” A well-dressed man — far too well-dressed for this bar — sat down next to her, his body shielding her from the rest of the barflies. “I have a proposition for you.”
all funds now going to repair or replace the tablet I use to write on the bus: just broke the glass today
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