resurface. Dr. Doyle Grimaldi squinted at the computer screen, not because it was too bright, but in the hopes this change in expression might help focus his scattershot thoughts.

“Come on, Doyle… a few minutes more…,” Grimaldi practically hissed as he struggled to complete the chemical analysis from the blood sample he’d taken minutes before in an effort to synthesize some kind of antidote for whatever Maria and her pack of strays had pumped into him. On the bright side, his fingers seemed to be completely healed of the damage Van Nostrand had inflicted upon them back at his mansion. The surgeon’s valuable digits danced across the blood-stained keyboard in the hopes he could finish his calculations before his more primal instincts took control once more.

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