suddenly, the lights go off. there’s a crackling sound, and a flash above them. sparks fall from the ceiling, and there’s the sound of glass shattering. red emergency lights activate. there’s some panic, and exclaiming voices. the confusion compounds. a tall woman is the first to react, moving swiftly to the entrance door. it won’t budge.
Utopia’s voice glares from the speakers: “Unauthorised access detected. Security recalibrating. The process will take approximately five minutes. Please remain where you are.”
murmuring voices are heard. “Has Utopia been hacked?” someone says louder than the murmurs. {{name}} looks around for {{friend}}. they can’t see them where they were. they turn around. {{friend}} is at the canister. they’ve climbed the platform where the display was kept, and they’re holding it in their hand. the protective glass covering lies shattered. whatever sparked above them, fell right on top of the main display.
“{{friend}}! stop!” {{name}} screams, and walks towards them. they didn’t have a chance to read the description — they don’t know that that’s a dangerous object.
but it’s too late. {{friend}} has opened the canister. it’s roughly the size of a cucumber, and its top unscrews. something slithers out. {{friend}} drops it, in fright, and the contents spill out. it’s an icky, gooey black liquid, and it splatters out onto the floor. the smell {{name}} experienced earlier, now overpowers everyone in the room. it makes everyone’s eyes water. {{name}} feels themselves go numb, the pungent odour rushing into their head. it smells like camphor, like burning oil, like blood.
how do they know what blood smells like? that’s when they remember.