Casimiro shifted in the leather seat of his mid-sized midnight blue sedan, trying to work the circulation back into his lower half. He’d been parked here in stakeout mode for hours, waiting for Dr. Karen Strathmore to finish her workday, hoping she might have more valuable information for him tonight than she did last night
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When you have a bio-weapon for every segment of the population, it begins to seem as if you'll be auctioning off the future to the highest bidder.
And will probably eventually be in one of the targeted groups yourself, even if it seems unlikely at the present. That is because iron is a bitch...
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