October 9th

PROLOGUE

Hadley was five years old when the explosion occurred. Her bright eyes reflected the thundering blast that savagely ripped a hole in the western side of the tower and blew a shower of fire and splintered glass a hundred and fifty feet into the air. The devastation soared majestically, light as a feather on a gentle breeze, and then rained steadily onto the busy streets below. The concussion from the blast instantly shattered the mirrored windows of a neighboring office building and shook the marble floor of her parents' elegant upscale apartment a few blocks away. Her mother, Cynthia, was standing at the edge of the kitchen sink washing a dinner plate when the cupboards rattled and the crystal chandelier swayed gently.

Young as she was, Hadley remembered the panicked videos splayed across every form of known media: the immense bluish fireball blowing out the side of the tower, the unwilling men who were simultaneously flung out with it, the black smoke billowing from the open wound, the people running below like frightened animals before a storm. If she concentrated hard enough, she could sometimes recall walking hurriedly along the streets on that clear autumn day, her feet scarcely able to keep up, gripping her mother's hand tightly with her tiny woolen glove for fear that if she let go, she would be left behind. She could still see the office paperwork falling from the sky like giant burning confetti and feel the strong wind upon her cheek that blew it as far as two states away. On rare occasion a scent would remind her of how the air smelled back then, rancid and unbecoming, like a slow, meaningless death.

The horror of the event was more than enough for any one person to stomach, and certainly enough for the lifetime of a naive little girl. The vivid images of incalculable destruction burned themselves neatly onto the minds of the observers that day. And yet not one of these incredibly keen observers would have ever dared to guess that it was only the very beginning, that something even more sinister was bubbling out of control just beneath the surface. Hadley was an unwilling member of the generation who witnessed it and was now thoroughly defined by it.

Initially it was assumed that the explosion was merely an accident; there was little to suggest otherwise. Others at the time, and sometimes even now, said that it was a clear and blatant act of terrorism. Perhaps it was someone from the Middle East, they would surmise, maybe a religious zealot or perhaps a Jew. Yes, it must be a Jew. But these naive judgments were uniformly based on centuries of generational bias, gross misunderstandings, cultural distrust and the same old, tired racial divisions. To them it was the same suspects it had always been and ever will be until the end of time, with no manner of evidence ever being quite sufficient enough to change their simple minds otherwise. However, it just didn't seem like an accident, and when everyone began to put the mysterious pieces together they found that the pieces didn't quite fit right. Likewise the evidence for terrorism never amounted to a probable scenario and so the people were left stranded in an awkward gray expanse of palpable confusion, with nowhere to turn for satisfactory answers of any kind.

Hadley's mother, along with most of the general population, always believed adamantly that the reason for the explosion was because of something unimaginably worse. They couldn’t explain why, it just felt worse. Although neither she nor they could ever say exactly what they thought It was. If you tried to chase down It, you would invariably find yourself running down several rabbit trails only to turn around and realize that you are hopelessly lost. Chalk It up to one of those quirks in culture that begins as a flippant rumor on the Internet and over time manifests itself into an absolute truth. The newly born absolute truth then develops a strange set of laws and bylaws with unbecoming consequences for those that dare to oppose it. To leave It unexplained was unthinkable, to leave It alone was inconceivable, to forget It was impossible. Furthermore, It was thought of as a particular type of evil that had never been imagined before, or maybe it had been a very long time ago and was later buried deep in the closets of humanity, along with the other skeletons. It’s a curious thing that no matter how far humans progress in culture and intellect, there always remains a seed, rather a bacterium of select humans with ill-equipped intelligence who retain beast-like tendencies full of remorseless hatred. There is never a satisfactory explanation for them or their actions because they can't be explained. This is what the It felt like, like the incarnate of remorseless, bacterial humanity, like a thorn in the side of the world that will never be taken away, and no manner of reason or truth could explain it away, for it was above reason and fact.

Even today, all these years later, her mother could never articulate the It but made no mistake in continually professing and upholding its uncompromising existence. Hadley had long ago given up the fruitless struggle to ever understand the explosion. In her teenage years however, it blossomed into an unhealthy and terrifying obsession. Back then she felt it a duty to avenge her father, whom was killed in the explosion, and began to act out radically in ways that few would indulge to discuss then or now.

In fact, discussing It became a social taboo and later a serious crime, and those who had no direct relation to anyone in the tower just wanted to forget, not to understand, never to understand. Over time Hadley relented that it simply did not matter what had happened because, in the end, there was never a way to uniformly distinguish truth from fiction. Today was today and there was no point in trying to disprove the past for a better tomorrow, at least that's what she always ended up telling herself.

Firemen responded first to the scene in a desperate attempt to remove the estimated 700 building employees that were still inside. It was treated as a rescue mission, as there was virtually nothing they could do about the inferno raging high above. Extinguishing the torrential fire from the ground or from within the building was simply impossible. Helicopters came in straight at the wound, each carrying a large, collapsible bucket filled with water and tethered to a rope. A short distance from the building the helicopter would swoop up and release the water, which then cascaded through the air like a waterfall. That day the breeze grew stronger as the fire raged on and most of the water was simply blown clear of the building, leaving little to battle the fierce flames. All the water seemed to do was anger the fire.

The people gathered in front of the tower muttered short prayers under their breath for the firemen as they stormed past. Most feared that they stood little chance of making it out before the building collapsed in upon itself. To be clear, twenty-three people died in the actual explosion, 14 men and 9 women, although that number is far from certain and probably incorrect. It can only be said with any amount of confidence that two men perished in the explosion; the two poor souls that were blow clean out the side of the building and into a fiery oblivion.

Hadley's mother had all but dragged her by her tiny hand through a fiery rain of office paper to the brink of this chaos. She never even considered how the horrific sights would affect the delicate mind of a young child. For her part though, Hadley never complained, and instead focused on the two things that she could control: keeping her feet from tripping and not letting go of her mother. From underneath her orange knit hat that was far too large for her head, she saw the brave firemen laden with heavy gear trudging past in tight formation. Hadley looked at their eyes, determined and fearless, brave and unbending. They barreled through the foyer doors of the tower with tremendous speed, fully conscious of the impending dangers- the wrong dangers, as it would later turn out. Hadley asked her mother why there were no building employees running out.

Don't they want to come out Mommy?

But she was roundly ignored time and time again. Cynthia's eyes were trained to the doors, searching and hoping her husband would find his way back home, whispering words of encouragement. Hopefuls just like her began to flock to the barricades.

The wound in the side of the building was spewing putrid black smoke that swirled as it hit the wind that was gusting in all directions. And then, quite suddenly, the savage fire was extinguished and the smoke tapered to a dark gray, then a light gray and then- nothing. The crowd stared at these events in utter astonishment, calculating it quite impossible that the firemen had reached the fire in such a short amount of time. Even if they had reached it, the rapidness of the extinguishment was physically impossible, as if the hands of God Himself had reached down through the clouds and clapped it out of existence.

This astounding event was followed by a collective wave of relief that swept over the crowd. A cautious smile broke across Cynthia's face. It's over, she thought to herself. But she did not and would not say it aloud until she was in the arms of her husband. Hadley continued badgering her mother like a restless puppy, bouncing about, tugging on her coat sleeve and patting her gently on the leg. Her mother however continued to ignore her child's pestering line of questioning that sounded like a whining drone spinning tightly in the back of her mind. She maintained a vice-like grip upon Hadley's hand, as she suddenly grew impatient and moved forward, pushing her way through the crowds towards the barricades.

Hadley could see nothing. She was struggling to push her large hat above her eyes with one hand while being pulled along by the other through a sea of people. Her eyes were full of the backs of jackets and arms and hands. The sounds were voices shouting and wailing sirens in the distance.

Nearer to the barricades the emotion and capability of the crowd was palpable, whipped into an unstoppable frenzy. It was in part a joyous tone, but becoming increasingly impatient. The fire was out, where the hell was everyone? In a short time the crowd had grown from a few dozen to hundreds with no signs of slowing down. All the while Hadley stood in silence near her mother's leg, being occasionally pushed about by the crowd who had ceased all rules of societal politeness and decency. People were yelling at the police officers guarding the barriers, spiraling further and further into the abyss of mad, animal-like behavior amidst their increasing impatience. All the police officers could manage was to remind the people that the firemen were inside to rescue their loved ones and to remain calm for their sake.

The police, much to their chagrin, admittedly knew as much as anyone in the crowd did and you could see it plainly on their faces when they spoke to one another. Despite everything, smiles began to appear and disappear across the crowd as discussions of the fire filtered though the tight maze of bodies. The fire, the most eminent danger, had been vanquished, by the hand of God or the firemen no one could say. And again, the real question on the forefront of their minds was: why is it taking so long for the workers to exit the building?

Two anguishing hours later the doors of the Zill Tower burst open. The anxious crowd craned their necks to see who would come out. The expectation of hundreds pouring forth from the entrance was quickly quelled. Instead of a weary crowd of loved ones, eight firemen of the thirteen who had initially gone in suddenly came running out of the building without most of their gear. There was shouting and the building was locked down immediately after a frantic conversation between one of them and the chief of police. They appeared to be slightly hysterical, even to Hadley who was close enough to hear one repeating over and over, I don't know what they were! They killed them! They killed them! I don't know what they were. I don't know what they were. We can't wait! She stared at his eyes, which had been so powerful, honest, and determined before they entered the building, were now stripped of confidence and utterly frightened. Terrified.

The police officials orchestrating the botched emergency mission looked at each other with outright astonishment and confusion as one of the firemen relayed the events of their short mission. Cynthia tried desperately to hear the two men talking, seeing their mouths moving in rapid discussion, but the crowd was too loud. She attempted to quiet them,

Please! Please! Quiet! Let's hear what they have to say!

But it was no use- not even close.

Hadley felt her mother's hand begin to crush hers. The tiny bones in her fingers felt as if they would snap and Hadley had to ask several times and then finally yell for her to release. Cynthia looked down at her little girl with a terrified look and released her grip. The words of the fireman were repeating in her head and then whispered gently through the crowd.

"I don't know what they were. I don't know what they were."

"Don't know what who were?"

Where are the other firemen?

Who put out the fire?

Hadley pushed her hat up upon her head and asked her mother innocently, Did the fireman rescue Daddy yet?

Her mother could not respond. Cynthia again looked slowly down upon her innocent daughter with a nebulous reality that she had never considered, not even in her darkest dreams. There was a real possibility that her husband would never come home, and an imagined life alone seemed to her utterly impossible. She had never been alone. She had never worked a day in her life. Her husband had always done everything he could to let her pursue a life as a mother. Cynthia wanted it no other way. There was nothing else if he were to perish. But surely the workers would find their way out. It was absolute madness for them not to! The fire was extinguished and the building was saved. What of the firemen? Why was the building closed up? He was still alive- she could feel it. He had to be. He had to be.

Vans scooped up the traumatized firemen and their words were never repeated again in any form by the government or media, as if they had never even occurred. After that, nobody went into the building and nobody came out. The doors were heavily guarded by riot police who were looking for an excuse to ignite violence. In light of this, bystanders were straining behind police blockades to catch a glimpse of a husband's face, a wife's face, a friend's face that would come bounding from the bottom-floor entrance. It was still assumed that it would occur at any possible moment. They would unabashedly hug and kiss and celebrate the near-death experience and hurriedly race from the scene. But no one did any such thing, and as the minutes and then the hours began to tick away, the crowd became more and more anxious, lamenting having been so close to this ordeal being put far behind them.

The tower itself was a modern 64-story glass skyscraper that did homage to the past in its unique design. The first three floors were paneled in beautiful gray marble, after which the remaining 61 stories were paneled in reflective mirrored glass that seamlessly matched the stone. The building tapered almost to a point, like the tip of a chisel, and then flattened at the top. On the front of the tower, above the entrance, there was a circular four-story ornate glass window. From inside the tower the space resembled a train station from long ago when the morning light shone in.

The explosion and subsequent inferno had occurred on the 37th floor and it left a gaping hole in the side that extended three floors down. The blackened edges of the hole contrasted starkly with the gleaming mirrored windows of the tower that made it shine like chrome in the sunlight. Wounded, it sat upon the city appealing for help, but nothing was capable of responding.

For three agonizing days the building sat under lockdown and neither the five firemen, nor any of the building workers ever came out. No explanation was given, no plan was announced, no officials spoke. During the day figures often appeared in a few openings where windows had been blown out. You couldn't discern the individual faces from the ground, however many said that they saw who they were looking for and professed with glee that it would soon be over. The building inhabitants began to hang signs from the openings and from the edge of the roof reading: Help us, Hundreds still inside, and Need food. One day, a private helicopter tried to land on the roof with the intention of rescuing those trapped, but was called off by the military. Confusion reigned over the crowd. When would they open the doors? Why was it taking so long? What happened? Why were the people inside not able to call their friends and family?

At night the tower was still alit on all floors except for the black spot around the grievous wound. If one didn't know any better, it appeared as if everything was quite normal. On the ground hopefuls sat day and night and formed a camp of sorts. There were tents, sleeping bags, bright blue tarps, people trading food and stories. A ring of candles and pictures of those inside were placed just across the police barricades, as if to remind authorities that there were still people inside, people who had lives. The crowd did not shrink, rather it grew in size and brought in those from all over the country who came to support the helpless victims. From the very start it had captured the world's attention and even more so by the third day.

The company who owned the building exclusively and allowed no other leases on any of its floors was the Zill Corporation, who dealt in all manner of incredible and outstanding technological advances. It therefore came as no large surprise when the news agencies surmised that the lockdown was actually more of a quarantine to ensure no hazardous material had been compromised. Anyone outside of the company was never really sure that there was indeed hazardous material in the tower, that's just what the media reported. It didn't really make much sense, but then again, nothing Zill did was easily understood. Zill kept its technology close, allowing no secrets to permeate into the general public. But even to the very ignorant, something felt very wrong- the It. Contaminant or not, why was it taking days to resolve? Why would there even be a contaminant in a skyscraper? And how would the news agencies know anyway? The crowd began to have these discussions at night, in small circles. The crowd began demanding answers. The crowd began to consider rash violence. The crowd was becoming unhinged.

At the end of the third day, heavy concrete barricades were laid across the brilliant green grass of the grounds that surrounded the building in place of the flimsy plastic police barricades. It was as if they were preparing for an all out war of some type. Vehicles and crowds were pushed back forcibly to the outer extents of the Zill Corp property. By this time Cynthia had grown quite numb. Her clothes clung to her sticky, unwashed body and her hunger had been replaced by desperate fear. It was no small wonder that Hadley was still with her and had not wandered off, as her attention had a singular focus on the tower doors. Cynthia was not tired, she was not hungry, she was not angry, every part of her body was functioning in harmonious machine-like unison towards the goal of her husband coming back to her and her family being complete.

On the fourth day a storm crept in early and cast a dark shroud upon the city, enveloping the top half of the tower in thick clouds like an ominous spirit. Rain fell hard across the stark gray landscape and beat against the pavement with an impressive force, but did little, if anything to deter the defiant crowd that now numbered in the thousands. Cynthia stared wearily, her posture wavering every now and again under great exhaustion and distress. She had not slept in three days. Her long blond hair was matted against her head, dark purple rings had formed under her eyes, and she had not changed clothes since the start. It was as though she had aged a few years over the course of a few days. She reached into the breast pocket of her flannel and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Cynthia hadn't smoked in years, but the little annoying voice inside her head that told her to preserve her health was gone. She sparked a Zippo and lit one of the cigarettes. Hadley watched with wonderment as her mother broke one of the rules she had drilled into her little girl's head: Don't smoke. Smart girls don't smoke. It was one of many rules that would be broken in the months and years to come.

Cynthia took a quick drag and blew the smoke up and away from Hadley. Her thin blue flannel was soaked to the bone and she held no umbrella or plastic to ward off the cold rain. Hadley stood silently by her mother, bundled tightly in sweaters and mittens and woolen hat, wearing a bright yellow raincoat and clutching a small, stuffed teddy-bear that her father had brought home after a business trip the year before. She had dressed herself today and she was very proud of the way she looked. Nobody noticed of course, not even her mother. Hadley even thought about bringing her favorite book, an old Life book about the Utah desert that her father had sitting on his desk at home, but she couldn't figure out how to keep it dry.

The rain intensified and people began to stir, trying to protect themselves. Cynthia didn't react to the rain. She simply took two more large pulls on her cigarette and then dropped it to the ground, crushing it with her red Chuck that was now black with mud. Hadley could hardly stand the boredom any longer and after watching her breath upon the cold air for some time, began to concentrate on the sound of the raindrops pelting against her coat. The rhythm of the drops gave her a warming comfort amidst the bleak chaos surrounding her. There was no place to sit and her legs were tired. The ground beneath her feet was wet with rain and mud, the grass having been torn up and battered by the crowd. She saw her mother's feet sunk halfway into the blackened earth with water collecting over the top of them. There was a small patch of red on her shoes that Hadley stared at for a while. It was all very confusing. She couldn’t figure out what the big fuss was and why her dad hadn’t come home. The last time she saw him was the morning of the explosion. He had been running late for work, she recalled.

David woke up late, which was something that he almost never did. He picked up his phone and stared at the time, as if unable to comprehend why it was 45 minutes past the time that the alarm usually went off.

Why is my alarm off? Did you turn it off for some reason?

Cynthia stirred awake. Hmm? No, why would I turn it off?

David slumped back into his pillow and sighed. Even though he would already be late for work, he paused while Cynthia threw back the covers and got out of bed. He watched her in the dim city light while she removed her nightgown and began to put underwear on. She smiled seductively when she noticed him staring.

You better get up too, you know.

Just taking the time to enjoy the sights. Want to fool around real quick?

A perplexed look came across Cynthia’s face and the smile dimmed. I don’t think you have time mister and besides, Hadley is already up. Now get moving, she said picking up a pillow and throwing it at him.

David groaned in protest and threw the pillow back at her as she was walking towards the door into the hallway. Cynthia glanced back at his captivated eyes. He’s acting strange, she thought. He’s been acting strange for the past few weeks. Probably stress.

When she left the room, David got out of bed and dressed quickly. He skipped shaving and brushed his hair haphazardly with his hand. When he turned to leave the bathroom, Hadley was standing in the doorway.

Whoa! I almost ran you over! Squish! he joked, grabbing her sides and squeezing.

Hadley giggled and batted his hands away. Do you have to go to work today?

Yes and I’m already late. Say…did you turn off my alarm last night Had? he said squinting with his hands on his hips.

No! she replied smiling.

Must have been mice then I guess.

There aren’t mice in here Daddy!

Well you keep an eye out, he said walking into the hallway.

Do you want me to practice reading a book to you before you go?

David was struggling to put an arm through the sleeve of his trench coat. Sorry Hadley, Daddy has to go to work. How about when I get home tonight?

Mkay.

Cynthia heard them in the other room and smiled at their pleasant conversation. David would be all right. Just stress. Maybe this weekend she could talk him into getting out of the city.

He walked into the kitchen and kissed Cynthia on the cheek as she continued to cook Hadley’s breakfast.

Have a good day, she said.

Good-bye kiddo, he said blowing a kiss to Hadley as he opened the door.

Bye! she replied, blowing him a kiss back.

And then the door shut.

Suddenly heavy trucks began to rumble in from the street and the noise startled the weary crowd. Each truck was carrying various construction equipment and several loads of large steel plates that were then quickly stacked in groups around the building. The steel panels appeared to be approximately a six-foot square. The crowd thought that all of this must have something to do with a rescue attempt, but they could not possibly guess how. Next, both small and very large cranes came in, along with working crews in hardhats. With a sense of urgency, they began to affix the steel panels to the walls of the first floor, over the doors, over the hard marble, over the few windows, and over every possible opening or entrance. First the panels were drilled into to the building and then the cracks in-between the panels were welded to form a single, cohesive piece. All of this was done very rushed and haphazardly as if something were trying to get out.

By the time the first floor doors were meticulously sealed in a metal patchwork- panic ensued. It was suddenly realized that there was no opening for people inside to get out of the building.

Had they forgotten?

Was there another way out?

What was wrong with the first floor?

What was wrong with the entrance?

Was something in the way?

When the workers began to affix steel to the second floor, covering the lower portion of the large circular window, panic turned to pandemonium and when still no answers were given, pandemonium morphed into an eruption of brutish violence. The crowd had correctly supposed that the officials had thought otherwise of a rescue. Men and women began a quick descent into insanity, without care for their own well being. Hadley watched a man rush the barricades yelling for his wife. One of the guards struck him directly in the face with the bunt of his rifle. The man reeled back as a stream of crimson spread through the air from his mouth and then diluted with the mud and rainwater on the ground.

Hadley turned at the violence and hid within her mother's coat. Cynthia was speechless at the turn of events and then began to chant in unison with the crowd, caught up in the frenzy of defiance, out of their minds now with rage.

SET THEM FREE! SET THEM FREE! SET THEM FREE!

The police chief in charge sensed the tides turning and quickly reassembled his men to prevent the crowd from approaching the workers as they continued to weld. The crowd shifted and he knew there was no stopping it.

Shit, he muttered and spit into the puddled water.

Suddenly Hadley felt herself being pushed from behind. Her teddy bear fell from her hands and was trampled in the mud. The crowd was now forcing itself upon the barricades, pushing those in front helplessly into the soldiers. There was nothing anyone could do to stop the movement. Hadley felt her mother quickly snatch her up and try to create a path to the edge where they could get away, but her efforts were useless. Cynthia desperately informed those around that she had a child, but the crowd was unyielding and wholly unsympathetic. The chanting and march towards the barricades continued in one massive, organic, unstoppable motion, hell-bent on violence. Not soon afterwards, the officers began hitting men, women and children alike who broke the barrier lines. The shouting increased, angry, psychotic yelling. The people had completely lost their minds and were feeding off one another's despair. All the while no official came forward to discuss any plan of rescue nor any explanation at all for the steel plates and what purpose they could possibly serve.

Some men in the crowd managed to pull down a police officer and beat him mercilessly. Another officer came to his aid and was immediately attacked as well. A shot was fired in the din and a man stumbled backwards from the officer with blood running down the center of his chest. The crowd hushed momentarily at the sight and then began to encircle the officer as the wounded man collapsed into the muddy water and fell asleep. After days of no answers, no communications and no solutions, everyone had had quite enough. The crowd was prepared to die for their loved ones trapped inside, and everyone on earth knows that no amount of reasoning can deter a force of nature like that.

Of course those in the building became aware of the activity below. They began knocking out large panes of glass to witness the violence and strange steel panels being attached to the building below. It was also assumed that a jammer was blocking their cell phones, making it impossible for anyone on the outside to know for certain exactly what was happening. It could be concluded that outside of the building, only the firemen had any notion of what was really going on. In the months following the explosion they would deny any memory of the incident, claiming that doctors told them that it was a side effect of a viral experiment that they were allegedly exposed to in the research and development area inside the building. Research and Development was on floors 31-41.

Still, there were those who could never forget what they heard: I don't know what they were. Those words gnawed and tormented the soul at night because they don't point to something trivial; they hold real power over the imagination. Who were? What were? Why was it so important? Why did some firemen disappear over what they were? But over time, as the myriad of questions continued to go unanswered and theories abounded, memories soon became so deluded that eventually people questioned what they had actually heard or seen in the days following the explosion. Questioning what they had heard was followed by questioning who exactly they heard it from, and finally if they had heard it at all. Soon the questions regarding the firemen were dropped, and the matter was reduced to conspiracy theory.

As the crews below methodically sealed the second floor of the building amidst the raging crowd around them, the building inhabitants started pushing chairs, desks, tables, stacks of paper, printers- whatever they could from the building floors down onto the cranes and workers below. The falling debris hit several men and the workers had to suspend their activity for a short time.

Amidst the drab, raining sky above, a hollow jet-engine sound echoed across the buildings. Sleek metallic drones swept in as burning paperwork and more furniture was pouring from the building. The drones were military equipment and normally used to infiltrate areas of war to survey or take out precise targets, therefore they were quite large. The drones hovered in a straight line facing the gaping hole on the 37th floor where a large group of office workers had gathered. The people began mocking the machines and throwing items at them, but the drones could easily swerve to avoid collision. In that moment in time, those watching from lower vantage points would recall the situation turning from a rescue mission to a military operation. The sight of the drones lining in perfect formation in front of the desperate people still wearing white buttoned shirts, ties loosened about their necks, dresses whipping in the wind, weaponless and confused, was a juxtaposition of what had happened and what they would be told happened. Hadley, despite all her might, could never recall this exact scene and in some respects glad she couldn't. Perhaps her mind had hidden away this encounter somewhere deep within her for fear it would irreversibly break something. What she did remember was her mother's horrifying scream and the sour smell of the crowd being pressed hard upon them.

Protestors poured into the streets from every building. Nobody knew exactly what was going on, however the media quickly resolved that. They began spinning a tale that the Zill Corporation had created a terrifying virus and that virus was now free. Later they also added that the information concerning the virus was from a credible source, which was always conveniently hinted at being one of the firemen whom had made it out of the building, although they refused to give the source. To be clear, the virus theory was never substantiated. The 10-9 Virus, as it was later named, was highly aggressive and highly contagious, perhaps the most deadly virus ever known to mankind. It was rumored to cause death within 72 hours and there was allegedly no cure. Oddly nobody at the time questioned the fact that there had been people in the building who were