Search For A Cure

I let out a long breath into the empty room. Hopefully the information on Paris’ data chips will give me some kind of lead to a cure. I sit down at the terminal and set it to holo mode, pull on the 3d headset and glasses--it's going to be hard to get used to this with my implant gone. When the Interweb flares up around me, the countdown timer for TRUScape reads 7:04:32. I start plugging in data chips one by one and scanning for information.

There’s a lot of research data on the nano-plague, but it’s mostly crap. One thing I do notice is that the nanobot plants that accidentally created the plague are owned by CyberCorp. Doesn’t mean anything—CyberCorp owns half of the corporate world, but right now I’m willing to suspect them of anything.

Wait—what’s that. I scroll through an old backlog correspondence between Paris and some guy named Chris Fellsworth. They mention the virus and are talking about something they refer to as The Project. Jared’s being a dick as usual, and right at the end of his last message he’s written: “Sorry Chris—CyberCorp beat you to it. Your cure costs twice as much to produce as their new chips are selling for with market monopolization. Tough luck.”

Bingo. I check the timer. 4:45:02. Damn. The guy lives on the other side of town, and who knows how long taking the cure will take. This could be my last chance to hit CyberCorp.

A cough racks my body like an earthquake; I spit chunks. I’d better decide.

      It’s now or never--time to go straight to CyberCorp.

      I need to cure myself first. I floor it for Fellsworth’s place.

I couldn't take it anymore. I called it off.