That night Bruce was relaxing with his dog at his feet, trying to stay cool, when a chime sounded from his laptop. It meant Mr. Blue was contacting him over the encrypted channel. Bruce hopped out of bed and hurried to the table.

B: Good news. Preliminary blood tests show significant gamma reduction.

Hardly daring to believe it, Bruce typed:

G: Will it cure me?

B: Yes.

B: But ... I need more data.

"Oh, come on," Bruce said. Mr. Blue was still typing.

B: Exposure levels, gamma concentration, cell saturation ...

G: Impossible. Data is not here.

B: Where is it?

G: HOME.

Frustrated, Bruce closed the laptop and just sat for a long while, looking at the picture of Betty. Again, just when it looked like he might be making some progress, it was cut off. He'd almost allowed himself to hope that he'd be able to find the cure himself, and then he'd be able to go home. Maybe he and Betty could have picked up where they'd left off before the accident ...

But no. Now it didn't look like that would be possible at all. vWAa9Cdq60ie49+sWZmYuBoxI6X2PgmNBuQWl6uH6fIdqGCz6KG5ljjiFR9gIMoD