be cleaned,” he turned and put his security chip to the reader, opening the inside airlock door, “so does the Final Mother.”

Åžaczuleman glimpsed the flash of red splattered to the walls inside the tiny chamber and turned away. She couldn’t bear look at it.

“I can’t!” she sobbed, “I don’t wanna!”

“Nobody wants to,” Ç¢mvüür said, “I remember when my father died. He died of the NÑ—rcü virus. Do you know what that does?”

Åžaczuleman shook her head, face still buried in her hands.

“It’s called a hemorrhagic disease,” Ç¢mvüür said, “it makes people bleed a lot. Similar to what happened to your daddy. And I had to help clean it up afterwards.”

&ldqu...

Please subscribe to keep reading.