Galina Chilinovic always had her hair tightly pulled back,because it was practical. Everything had to be practical. Utilitarianism can be so dull,but it is efficient. She was stuck. What was she even doing here,serving second banana in the laboratory of  that odious oaf,  W. Scopes  PhD?  That  flatulent ,alcoholic,dragging his liver-filled belly around here and yammering his orders. Great greetings, he was finally gone on some obscure vacation or bender.

This was her chance to find out what he was really up to. He had been bringing in packets of crushed plants and demanding that she perform hugely laborious DNA chops and sequencing. He was flying into rages over ludicrous things, rambling about his divorce. He was up to something rotten. Illegality,theft,fraud. Guaranteed that antisocial personality disorder was polluted in more ways than one.

Again she thought;what was she still doing here?  Well,maybe, balancing the scales. But,who said it's necessary to suffer to be successful? Nietzsche. He was insane. His brain was rotted with syphilis. That was the bugs talking. No grand insights ever came from the nattering of bugs,human or otherwise.

Today,there was just her and a lab technician in the lab. She would take the opportunity ,when the tech went to lunch to do a bit of investigation.

There was a closet in Scope's office. It was always locked. Maybe a little inspection,carefully done of course, was in order.

                                    Go to Chapiter 4