My gaze darts briefly towards the cages that line the laboratory walls, calculating the combat viability and precise lethality of each specimen currently in residence. Not for the first time, I find myself grateful for the contingencies I've put in place - containment protocols, remote release overrides, strategically positioned armaments should the need for more aggressive defensive measures arise. A taser in my front pocket. I'm no eel but I do what I can.

Zenith follows my line of sight, her smile taking on a bemused edge as she correctly interprets the subtle shift in my body language. "There's no need for concern, Doctor. We're not here as aggressors, but rather as ambassadors extending an olive branch."

"An olive branch," I echo flatly. "From whom, precisely?"

"Our employer," Bomb supplies with a tight grimace. "The individual who first took notice of your... unconventional talents and saw their potential value to our organization. He feels you could prove a most useful addition to our ranks, given the recent loss of one of our more prolific associates."

Zenith's expression sours for a brief instant before smoothing over once more. "The late unpleasantness surrounding Mr. Xerox has created something of a void within our inner circle," she explains, her tone measured. "One your unique abilities could help fill quite neatly, I'm afraid."

I arch an eyebrow at her words, curiosity momentarily overriding my wariness. "This 'Mr. Xerox', I take it he was one of your associates? Someone with abilities similar to my own?"

A muscle tightens in Bomb's jaw, the only outward sign of discomfort he allows to show. "Not quite. It's one of our dear leaders' few eccentricities that simply require working around. Abilities, yes, similar, no."

There's a subtle undercurrent of disdain in his words, one that piques my curiosity despite myself. Just what unseemly predilections could this 'Mr. Xerox' have exhibited to earn such obvious contempt? The runt of the litter? A colony leper?

Before I can pursue that line of inquiry further, however, Zenith clears her throat delicately. "But we're getting ahead of ourselves, I think. The finer details can wait until you've had a chance to ruminate on our proposal."

Reaching into the folds of her coat, she withdraws a glossy black business card and extends it towards me. "Why don't you take some time to consider your options, Doctor? This is a unique opportunity, one that could open doors currently closed to you and your research."

I regard the proffered card warily, making no move to accept it. "And if I demure? If I have no interest in trading my current freedoms for fealty to your shadowy cabal?"

A ghost of a smirk tugs at the corner of Zenith's full lips. "Then we'll take our leave and chalk this up as a memorable, if ultimately fruitless endeavor." Her gaze drifts meaningfully towards the heavily reinforced door, the pristine metal surface now bearing the unmistakable pockmarks and scorch patterns of individual tiny explosions. "Though I suspect your associates might take issue with our methods of ingress next time around," she adds lightly.

Beside her, Bomb's shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly, though his expression remains studiously neutral. For a brief instant, I catch a flicker of what might be genuine trepidation flickering in those dark, impassive eyes. It's subtle, barely perceptible, but unmistakable all the same - a hairline fracture in his carefully cultivated facade of stoicism, like a gazelle deciding whether to run or attempt to kick something to death.

Zenith exchanges a glance with Bomb, the two of them seeming to communicate silently. "We represent an organization known as the Kingdom of Keys," she begins, her tone measured and professional. "We perform all manners of business from the legal to the less-than-legal, in service of insane monetary gain."

Squaring my jaw, I snatch the glossy business card from Zenith's outstretched hand, more as an assertion of dominance than anything else. "I'll consider your proposal," I say flatly, averting my gaze to examine the embossed lettering and sigil engraved upon the matte black surface. "You'll have my decision in due time."

Zenith offers me a conspiratorial smile, seemingly unfazed by my brusque manner. "We look forward to it, Doctor. But don't daydream overlong - opportunities like this one have a nasty habit of evaporating without notice."

Executing a crisp about-face, she sweeps towards the exit, Bomb falling into step beside her with a curt nod in my direction. As they reach the threshold, the tall woman pauses, tossing a final glance over her shoulder.

"What if I refuse?" I ask, raising my voice ever-so-slightly. "What if I report you two to the police?" I ask, testing the waters. "You just told me you do illegal things. What if I was the sort of person who took umbrage at that?"

Bomb chuckles, and then breaks into laughter. "I don't think that would be very wise, Dr. Trinh-Norwood."

"If we thought you would, we wouldn't have offered," Zenith continues.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Then, the two of them vanish into the darkness of the corridor. With the oddness of that meeting behind me, my packing is a little more frantic, putting all my materials and notes into my backpack while Scylla paces and rotates protectively around me. It's only as I'm finishing logging off of my machine do I notice a small cigarette left on my keyboard, and squint my eyes to read the text so meticulously transcribed on the wrapper, before putting it under my microscope. I watch as it unravels, further and further, revealing not a cigarette at all, but a tightly bound piece of paper.

"The device shall become armed and primed upon physical contact by Dr. Lena Trinh-Norwood, henceforth known as 'the Bearer'. Once primed, the device must remain on the Bearer's person continuously.

If the device is separated from the Bearer by a distance greater than 6 inches for a cumulative duration exceeding 15 seconds, or if the device is damaged, or if the bearer attempts to destroy the device, detonation will occur. The 15 second grace period is consecutive, not per instance of separation.

Detonation will also occur if the Bearer verbally discloses knowledge of the identities and/or affiliations of the individuals known as Mr. Bomb, Mrs. Zenith, or the organization referred to as the Kingdom of Keys to any party besides the aforementioned individuals. This includes direct statements, references, allusions, or any other indication of familiarity with said persons and entities, regardless of intent.

The device will only be disarmed and deactivated upon returning to the possession of the individual designated as Mr. Bomb. At this point, the device will revert to an inert state.

These conditions are unconditional and cannot be circumvented by any means magical, technological, or otherwise. Any attempt to remove, disable or destroy the device by the Bearer or other parties will result in immediate detonation."

Mother fucker.

----------------------------------------

The snow is falling in thick, fluffy flakes as I make my way down the dimly lit street, my breath misting in the frigid air. Scylla pads silently at my side, her paws leaving neatly spaced impressions in the rapidly accumulating powder. I glance down at her periodically, reassured by her unwavering presence - a comforting reminder that I am not alone in venturing out into the bleak, barren night.

My fingers clench reflexively around the crumpled business card in my pocket as I hurry along, the cryptic message etched upon the innocuous-seeming 'cigratte' still weighing heavily on my mind. A ticking time bomb, as it were, one that I've taken to obsessively checking with every free moment, half-convinced that the mere act of removing it from my person will trigger some catastrophic event.

Even now, I can feel the phantom weight of the thing, a constant, nagging presence that has utterly disrupted my carefully curated routine. Scylla, bless her, has been a godsend in that regard, her steadfast vigilance allowing me the freedom to bathe, eat, and even change clothes without the ever-present fear of some unseen explosion reducing me to so much pulverized meat and bone.

I scowl, the memory of that particular indignity still fresh in my mind. Honestly, having to carry around that infernal contraption, constantly worrying that the slightest jostling might set it off - it's been an exercise in pure, unadulterated frustration. My poor Scylla has been a veritable saint, patiently standing guard as I've gone about my daily chores, always vigilant for any sign of trouble.

As I round the corner, a dimly lit storefront comes into view, its flickering neon sign casting an eerie glow over the otherwise deserted street. This must be the place, I think, my fingers tightening reflexively around the business card once more. Steeling my nerves, I stride up to the door, giving it a firm push. It swings inwards with a groan, admitting me into the warmth of the darkened interior.

Scanning the room, I spot Zenith and Bomb seated in a secluded booth at the back, nursing what appear to be highball glasses. They wave me over eagerly, twin expressions of contrasting emotions - Zenith's welcoming, Bomb's vaguely constipated, like a cat that just ate grass.

"Doctor Trinh-Norwood!" Zenith calls out, her rich alto cutting through the ambient chatter. "We were beginning to worry you'd gotten lost. Come, have a seat."

Sliding into the booth across from them, I regard the pair coolly, my eyes narrowing as they settle on the familiar ebony case resting beside Bomb's elbow. "Forgive my tardiness. I was delayed in... securing your parting gift."

Zenith's full lips curl into an amused grin, while Bomb has the decency to at least look mildly chagrined. Reaching into my coat pocket, I produce the tightly folded envelope containing that damnable explosive device, tossing it onto the table with a huff. He reaches out and touches it, and I breathe a sigh of pained relief.

"Next time you decide to booby-trap me, I'd appreciate a bit more warning. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to maintain proper hygiene and conduct my research while constantly worrying about accidental detonation?" I bark, loud enough to draw more than a couple of glances and scattered chuckles from the other customers. I thump my chest twice to get out phlegm. "I take it from the fact that nothing has detonated means that the clientele of this location is familiar with your kind of stunts?"

Bomb offers a contrite nod, his gaze downcast as he gathers up the envelope, tucking it safely away. "Apologies, Doctor. It was a necessary precaution, given the sensitive nature of the information we imparted. And yes. We own this bar in a very literal sense."

"It's primed to explode only if a police officer shows up," the bartender shouts, although I have a hard time telling if he's joking or not. It only makes my heartrate spike harder. I feel veins pulsating in my forehead.

"Aw, c'mon now, Mr. Bomb," Zenith drawls, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she regards me. "You gotta cut the good doctor some slack. I'm sure having a fucking bomb strapped to her chest ain't been a picnic."

Bomb's brow furrows in a faint scowl, though the effect is more reminiscent of an angry pug than any true menace. "I hardly find the situation amusing, Mrs. Zenith. The safety and secrecy of our operations are of the utmost importance."

Rolling my eyes, I can't quite stifle the exasperated huff that escapes me. "Yes, well, forgive me for not sharing your enthusiasm for bureaucratic minutiae. If you're quite finished with the theatrics, perhaps we could get down to the matter at hand?"

Zenith chuckles, her gaze flicking briefly towards Scylla, who has settled onto the floor beside me with a contented sigh. "Straight to business, huh? I like that in a gal." Leaning back in her seat, she props one elbow on the table, her expression turning thoughtful. "Alright then, Doc. What's it gonna take to get you on board with our little enterprise?"