I love Sunday evenings.

They possess a timeless essence, creating a tradition where only the two of us gather to unwind and momentarily forget about the chaotic demands of work.

Standing content and slightly intoxicated in my kitchen, I remain oblivious to the fact that tonight signifies the last memory of her and the conclusion of everything familiar and dear to me. No one warns you when change is about to strike, when everything will be taken away. There are no signals or indications to prepare you for the edge of the precipice. Perhaps that's what renders tragedy truly devastating. It's not just the events themselves but also the way they unfold—a sudden and unexpected blow, catching you off guard without a chance to react or brace yourself. The track lights reflect on the surface of my wine, and the pungent scent of the onion causes my eyes to sting.

In the den, the nostalgic sound of "It Doesn't Mean a Thing" fills the room from the old turntable. The analog recording exudes a captivating richness that I can never seem to get enough of, especially the crackling static between tracks. Stacks upon stacks of rare vinyl albums occupy the space, a task I keep promising myself to tackle and organize someday.

My fiancée, Claire, sits on the kitchen island, swishing her nearly empty wine glass in one hand while clutching her phone in the other. Sensing my gaze, she grins but remains fixated on the screen.

"I know," she admits. "I'm breaking the cardinal rule of Friday nights."

"What's so important?" I inquire.

Her piercing Hispanic eyes meet mine. "Nothing."

Approaching her, I gently take the phone from her hand and place it on the countertop.

"Why don't you start on the pasta?" I suggest.

"I'd rather watch you cook," she replies.

"Oh, really?" I murmur. "Turns you on, huh?"

She chuckles, her breath carrying the sweet aroma of wine. Her smile possesses an enchanting quality that defies logic. It still captivates me even after all we have been through. I finish off my glass.

"We should open another one, don't you think?"

"It would be foolish not to," she agrees, as I uncork a new bottle. She picks up her phone again and shows me the screen.

"I was reading Brooklyn Rail’s review of Maya Grey’s show."

"Were they kind?"

"Yeah, it’s basically a love letter."

"Good for her."

“I always thought…” She lets the sentence die, but I know where it was headed.

Four years ago, before our paths crossed, Claire was an up-and-coming artist in New York's vibrant art scene. She had a studio in Little Italy, showcased her artwork in several galleries, and had just secured her first solo exhibition. Then, tragedy struck.

A car accident resulted in her bike being smashed, causing nine fractures in her left, dominant arm. Following the long and grueling recovery process, she experienced severe depression, derailing most of her aspirations.

And here we are. She currently teaches private art lessons to middle-grade students. While I am working on a secret government project she knows nothing about.

Every time I have to lie to her that I am a simple IT teacher in a middle school, it breaks my heart but there is no other way. They buried me under mountains of NDAs, that I have no way of getting out of without losing my head.

Though it's not really as bad as it sounds. Being one of the leading scientists in AI development has some perks, but I would trade every single one of them for what I have at home.

“If it makes you feel any better, Tyler Young just won the Pavia Prize.”

“What’s that?”

“A multidisciplinary award is given for achievements in the life and physical sciences. The one that he won was for his work in neuroscience.”

“Is it a big deal?”

“Million dollars. Accolades. Opens the floodgates to grant money.”

“Hotter TAs?”

“Obviously that’s the real prize. He invited me to a little informal celebration tonight, but I passed.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s our night.” And I don't want to involve you in this corporate bullshit that my real colleagues enjoy oh so much.

“You should go.”

“I’d really rather not.”

Claire lifts her empty glass.

“So what you’re saying is, we both have good reason to drink a lot of wine tonight.” I kiss her, and then pour generously from the newly opened bottle.

“You could’ve won that prize,” Claire says.

“You could’ve owned this city’s art scene.”

“But we did this.” She gestures at the high-ceilinged expanse of our brownstone.

I bought it pre-Clair after they paid for my silence on the new project that we are still working on. Turns out that keeping your lead developers happy is equally as important as threatening them with death.

"Yeah, I think it's good enough," I say with a sigh, accepting the compromise.

"There's just one more thing to do," I announce a glimmer of excitement in my eyes. I reach out and rub her belly gently.

"Oh, and what would that be?" she asks, her smile filled with feigned innocence.

"A complete family. Two lively boys, maybe even a dog, so at least someone will be happy to see me when I return from work," I say, my voice filled with a mix of longing and joy. Her reaction to the last part makes me laugh, and she playfully punches my arm.

"You're a real jerk, you know that," she teases, leaning her head on my shoulder.

"But I would love to see that. Instead of being outnumbered 3 to 1, I'd like to have at least one baby girl to have my back," she says, laughter dancing in her eyes.

—

The next day, like every usual morning, I woke up at 6 o'clock and kissed my partner goodbye, completely unaware that it would be the last time we would see each other. She grunted, turned around, and promptly went back to sleep. Even with sleepies under her eyes and tousled hair from her slumber, she looked adorable. I couldn't help but smile as I headed downstairs.

In the kitchen, I switch on the coffee machine, savoring the familiar aroma that fills the room. While it brews, I take care of my morning routine in the bathroom. When I return, a steaming cup of freshly brewed coffee awaits me on the counter. I grab a bag of cookies, knowing it's not the healthiest choice, but as a non-morning person, anything more than that feels like it would instantly ruin my day before it even started. I indulge in my lazy breakfast, appreciating this moment of tranquility.

With my tank filled, I'm ready for work.

The Uber arrives, and I step into the backseat. The gentle hum of the engine lulls me, and I let myself drift to sleep.

Minutes pass, and I'm stirred from my drowsiness by the soothing voice of the GPS navigation system guiding the driver through the city's streets. I catch snippets of the familiar landmarks passing by, each a testament to the vibrant life of the metropolis.

Finally, the scenery starts to change. Skyscrapers give way to more modest buildings, and the urban bustle transforms into a quieter suburban rhythm. The car smoothly glides through the winding roads, and I can sense that we're leaving the city behind.

And then, the car slows to a stop. We arrived at my destination.

I step out of the car, my eyes tracing the lines of the building's exterior. Its architecture seems deliberately inconspicuous, blending seamlessly with the neighboring structures. It could easily be mistaken for a storage facility or an abandoned warehouse. But I know better.

I bid the driver farewell, thanking him for the ride and leaving a generous tip. It's a small gesture of appreciation for the people who endure the hassles of commuting every day.

I walk through the entrance, the heavy door creaking open, and I'm greeted by the sight of the clerk behind the desk.

A nod and a quick "hi" pass between us, acknowledging each other's presence without delving into unnecessary conversation.

Making my way to the elevator, I press the button and wait.

The soft hum of the mechanism resonates through the air as the doors slide open, revealing the familiar interior.

Stepping inside, I press the button for my designated floor, the routine etched in my mind from years of repetition.

After descending for a good while the doors open, and I step out into a corridor bathed in fluorescent light.

After a quick walk through the corridor filled with scientists in lab coats, doctors, and programmers I arrived at my office door.

Inside my own lab, the familiar sights and sounds greet me.

Monitors flicker with lines of code, machines whir with a gentle hum, and colleagues engage in hushed exchanges.

Just as I settled in, my friend and colleague, Dr. Michael, approached with a warm smile. "Hey, Jason! Remember that test we ran the other day on the AI algorithm's gene analysis capabilities? The results were astonishing! It's getting smarter and more efficient by the day."

"That's great news, Michael!" I replied, excitement evident in my voice. "It's incredible to see how quickly the AI is adapting and learning. We might be closer than ever to making a real difference in people's lives. It's unfortunate that the first ones to gain the benefits will be the military and the rich but that's how it goes."

As we continued discussing AI's progress, the conversation naturally shifted to a lighter topic. "Hey, speaking of making a difference, how about we go for a walk during lunch? I heard there's a new sandwich place that opened nearby," Michael suggested.

"Sounds like a plan! A little fresh air will do us good," I agreed, appreciating the chance to step away from the complex coding and immerse myself in the real world for a while.

However, before we could finalize our lunch plans, the tranquility of our workspace was shattered by the sudden blaring of alarms. The deafening sound reverberated through the room, sending a jolt of fear and urgency through everyone present.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"What the heck is going on?" Michael exclaimed, his eyes wide with concern.

"I don't know, but we need to find out," I said, quickly springing into action and messaging the security personnel.

The blaring alarms were soon accompanied by an urgent message from the security team, transmitted through the facility's intercom system. The voice instructed everyone to remain calm, stay in their designated areas and emphasized that all doors were locked for security purposes.

Me and Michael exchanged worried glances, the gravity of the situation sinking in. "An attack? Here?" Michael's voice quivered with disbelief.

"I don't know how this could have happened," I said, my mind racing to comprehend the sudden turn of events. "We need to find a way out of here and get to safety."

As the two friends considered our options, we remembered a secret exit that had been mentioned in passing during one of the facility's orientation sessions. It was meant for emergency situations, and only a handful of top personnel knew about its existence.

"This way! Hurry!" I motioned for Michael to follow as we sprinted through the dimly lit corridors, guided by our knowledge of the facility's layout. The blaring alarms echoed through the halls, amplifying our sense of urgency.

Reaching the hidden tunnel entrance, our hearts pounded with a mix of hope and fear. "We might be able to escape through here," I said, my voice tinged with relief.

But as we approached the tunnel's entrance, our hopes were shattered as the ground beneath us trembled violently. A deafening roar echoed through the tunnel, and we could only watch in horror as the tunnel collapsed before our eyes, blocking our escape route.

"No, no, this can't be happening!" Michael exclaimed, his face pale with shock.

I tried to compose myself, my mind racing for an alternative plan. "We have to find another way out. There must be another exit or a way to contact the security team."

With the tunnel rendered impassable, our options were limited, and the sense of urgency weighed heavily upon us. The once-controlled environment of our secret facility now felt like a trap, with danger lurking around every corner.

As we turned to go back, we were joined by the other five top researchers and executives who played critical roles in the top-secret government project. Each of them brought unique expertise and skills to the table, making them an indispensable team of innovators.

First, there was Dr. Emma Harris, a brilliant geneticist whose research had paved the way for the project's success. With her deep understanding of gene manipulation and her unwavering dedication to improving humanity, she was a force to be reckoned with.

Next was Dr. Alexander Cole, a renowned neuroscientist and AI specialist. His insights into the intricacies of the human brain had been instrumental in shaping the AI's ability to analyze and restructure human genes effectively.

Dr. Evelyn Ramirez, a seasoned molecular biologist, had brought her expertise in DNA sequencing and gene editing techniques to the project, further bolstering the team's capabilities.

Dr. Daniel Kim, a physicist with a passion for quantum computing, had been responsible for designing the AI's advanced processing system, enabling it to handle vast amounts of genetic data with incredible speed and accuracy.

And finally, there was Laura Collins, the head of security for the project. With her military background and a keen eye for detecting potential threats, she had been tasked with ensuring the project's confidentiality and safeguarding the team.

As the researchers and executives gathered around James and Michael, their expressions were a mix of concern and determination. "What's going on?" Dr. Harris asked, her eyes searching for answers.

"We tried to use the secret exit, but it collapsed. There's no way out," I replied, my voice tinged with frustration. "There must be a mole who leaked the information about the exit to someone."

Laura stepped forward, her jaw set firmly. "We need to find out who's responsible and how they got to know about the exit," she said, her mind already racing to investigate the security breach.

Dr. Cole chimed in, "We should also try to reestablish communication with the security team outside. They must be trying to contain the situation and help us, but whenever I try to contact them they don't respond."

“In the worst-case scenario, there might be a possibility that they all got killed, so we are all on our own now,” I interjected and the whole room fell silent.

We have all been thinking it but none of us dared say it out loud as if that would make it real, all except for me.

The silence was cut like a knife when the gunshots rang out on the stairs, which was also the only other way out, not counting the certainly compromised elevator.

“Oh my god! Oh my god, we are all going to die!” Evelyn screamed while we all flinched at the unexpected sound.

“Calm down Evelyn! We just need to hide and it will all pass. The rescue is already on its way, I can guarantee you that.” Said Laura as calmly and firmly as she could, while tightly gripping Evelyn by her shoulders. And not letting her fall freak out any further as that would not help us in the slightest in our current situation.

“All right then. What do you suppose we do now? Do we try to wipe the discs? Or is that too much of an extremist decision?” I said the last part was nearly a whisper. I knew how dangerous this situation we found ourselves in was.

I also knew that it would be much better to just destroy the research than hand it over. In that case, we would at least still hold some value to the attackers and they might try and kidnap us instead of just wiping us all off to cover up their tracks.

“Extremist? Do you even realize that people are dying right now while we are discussing nonsense? We have to act NOW, or there won't be another chance.” Emma nearly screamed back at me. It was evident that the situation was getting to her more than she showed.

“I agree, we need to go now if we want to have any chance of survival.” Laura agreed while leading the way toward the server room.

As we rushed to the server room, our hearts were still pounding from the blaring alarms and distant gunshots coming closer and closer. The urgency in our steps matched the gravity of the situation we were facing. However, our focus was interrupted by the faint sound of approaching footsteps echoing through the corridor.

With a sense of foreboding, I instinctively pulled Dr. Michael back, taking cover behind a nearby corner. The others also took cover as fast as they could. Moments later, a team of two assailants burst through the door leading to the server room. Clad in tactical gear, they were armed to the teeth with high-powered rifles and wore masks that concealed their identities.

The attackers moved with precision, their movements calculated and coordinated. Their equipment included sci-fi-looking masks, bulletproof vests, and combat boots, all suggesting military training and a dangerous level of expertise.

As the assailants spotted Emma's exposed leg, they wasted no time in opening fire. The deafening sound of gunshots filled the air, and chaos erupted in the confined space. Bullets ricocheted off the metal walls, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.

Laura, seeing the danger her colleague was in, quickly opened fire with her pistol and downed one, while the other returned fire.

In the midst of the chaos, one of the attackers aimed a well-aimed shot at Emma, who was fortunate enough to not get any good cover in front of her, leaving her half exposed. The bullet found its mark, hitting her in the pelvis, causing her to cry out in pain and collapse to the ground. There was a scream and I saw Cole running towards Emma's collapsed figure.

Fear and adrenaline surged through me as I assessed the situation. I knew we were outgunned, and soon to be outnumbered, so there was little time to think. I had to act quickly to protect my friends and find a way to escape this life-threatening situation.

Without hesitation, I returned fire, seeking cover while trying to coordinate a plan with Dr. Michael. Our training and instincts kicked in as we attempted to outmaneuver our assailants, using their knowledge of the facility to our advantage.

So I flanked the bastard and took the shot. The bullet hit him in the shoulder, not really what I was aiming for but that was enough as he flinched from pain and exposed his head from cover. Laura the combat master as she is quickly took advantage of that and shot him in the head ending the fight.

After the firefight stopped, we all ran to see Emma's condition, knowing that time was of the essence. The bullet landed into debatably the most painful place you can imagine - the pelvis.

Me being a nerd and working with these geniuses in the biology field for many years immediately remembered how bad her situation really is.

The pelvic plexus nerve bundle governs visceral tissues for your eliminative and reproductive functions, and other nerves like the hypogastric nerves, splanchnic nerves, pudendal nerves, and sacral nerves which were now most likely obliterated - think absurd pain in your genitals, stomach, back, and butt.

It is also the singular site in the autonomic nervous system where sympathetic and parasympathetic neurons occur in the same ganglia. For the layman, assume sympathetic means "things you can control" and parasympathetic means "things your body controls without you having to consciously do it".

Long story short - she FELT this gunshot, as it is basically an immediate explosion to your nervous system. Not only is she in an incredible amount of pain, if she hasn't fainted yet, but she also started to urinate and have a bowel movement - both of which are now going to completely disrupt any sterility of her pelvic cavity.

A gunshot wound can also (depending on exit wound probability) have destroyed her sacral vertebrae, possibly severing the spinal cord, either resulting in death, paralysis, or a long physical therapy recovery process.

It will also probably completely ruin her eliminative / waste management, genitals, and reproductive organs, meaning IF she survives, recovery is going to be a long and painful process.

She won't be able to expel waste normally because the bullet probably ruined her colon, rectum, urinary bladder, urethra, and ureters. She’ll end up with a permanent bowel resection and a colostomy bag, as well as a catheter to urinate.

Never mind the fact that she won't be using her vagina for a while - after this, she won't be thinking about sex anytime soon. Worse, she may never be able to have kids again because her ovarian arteries were potentially destroyed.

If by some miracle we survive and she gets medical attention asap, she will need multiple surgeries, from multiple specialized surgeons to get this area even close to pre-gunshot status, and even then, it will never be the same.

While I was blacking out and going into nerd mode to cope with the situation Cole was going mad with fury and loss.

“How dare they. HOW DARE THEY DO THAT TO EMMA!” Cole screamed, a mad look spread across his face. His hair was disheveled, his eyes bloodshot, and tears streaming down his face. He was holding onto Emma's corpse and staring at nothing.

“I will kill them. ALL OF THEM! And you can't stop me.” As he finished speaking he gently laid her down on the floor, accepting his lover's fate, and picked up the assailant's gun, pointing it threateningly at us.

The message was clear. If we decide to interfere he will see us as his enemies and will do everything to destroy us.

“Cole! I'm sorry for your loss, I really am, but sacrificing yourself like that isn’t going to bring her back.” Michael said while putting his hands in the air in a placating gesture, trying to calm him down.

“No! You don't get it. She was pregnant, we were just waiting for the right moment to mention it to you guys, and then this happened.” There was insurmountable conviction held in his haze so none of us wanted to stop him anymore.

We all sympathized with his plight. I honestly don't know what I would do in his situation if Claire died in the same manner, so instead of hypocritically trying to dissuade him, I just gave him a resolute nod and watched him leave.

“Fuck,” I sighed and went to work, quickly typing protocols that will destroy all of our work and potential hope to further the humanities evolution by hundreds of thousands of years.

Laura and Michael were the ones guarding the doors and surveying the corridor for other possible assailants while I worked.

“Aaaaand… Done. It's all getting wiped, reformatted, and rewritten with nonsense as we speak. The process might take a few minutes but once it’s done even God won't have a way to reverse it.”

“Good job. I know it was hard to do, especially for someone who has put so much time and effort into it, but it had to be done. Otherwise, we will hold absolutely zero leverage over them and the same fate will befall us.” Laura said while looking at Emma's dead body.

Hearing her speak I realized that she will pretend to take over her role and position if it came to it to survive, but I said nothing. After all, we were in this shit together and like it or not the more the merrier, especially if that someone is a trained special ops veteran.

I could see Michael and Daniel off to the side discussing something in hushed voices, but judging by their expressions it could not be anything good. If the two of them came up with some useful ideas we would already have heard them but we were so incredibly out of our depths here that no theorizing will save us.

“Yeah, it didn't feel good watching your whole magnum opus go up in flames but it had to be done,” Evelyn added. “The question now is what do we do now? Any ideas on how to get over this without getting shot before we even have a chance to speak?” She inquired, her fists tightly clenched with a puddle of stomach acids laying there by her feet. Looks like stress is getting to her and that always sharp mind is taking a beating, I guess I can't blame her either.

If it was not for the dire situation where we don’t really have any time to process how fucked up everything that just happened is, I too would have probably had a mental breakdown, crying and screaming my lungs out until I would be too exhausted to continue and just fall asleep.

“Ok, we came up with a plan. It isn't much but it's better than nothing.” Daniel said.

“Well, beggars can't be choosers. Let's hear it boys.” Laura said while taking another peek at the corridor, which was strangely quiet all of a sudden.

The foreboding sense of doom overcame us all at that moment, like how birds and insects feel the incoming storm. We too felt some sort of pulse as a precursor to the real cataclysmic event.

“No. They didn’t!” I said, hearing my voice tremble.

“They couldn't have. They don't have the clearance to even get close to it.” Laura confirmed, but with every word she sounded less and less optimistic.

“Is it possible that Cole was the one behind it?” Evelyn contemplated out loud.

We all shared a look and I sat down on the hard metal floor, resigned to my fate. There was nothing we could do now. No way to stop the reactor from going off and taking a few kilometers of our planet with it. No one can outrun a natural disaster of human make, not on this never seen before scale at least.

And then it happened. Our little group huddled together in a desperate circle, each of us clutching the hands of the person beside us. The deafening sounds of chaos and destruction surrounded us as the reactor’s ominous hum grew louder, signaling the impending doom that awaited.

Time seemed to slow as the gravity of the situation sank in. The once bustling lab, filled with the promise of saving lives, now transformed into a chamber of impending death. In that moment, the weight of our shared experiences and camaraderie felt palpable, and we found solace in the strength we drew from one another.

As I held the hands of my friends, my thoughts turned to her. Memories of laughter, love, and shared dreams flooded my mind. The thought of never seeing her again pierced my heart like a thousand knives. I wanted to tell her one last time how much she meant to me, to reassure her that she was always in my heart, to let her know that she was the light that had guided me through even the darkest of times and made the brightest of moments even more blinding. Express all the things unsaid and hold her close just one more time.

But it was not meant to be. The world around us erupted into blinding light. The explosion engulfed everything in its vicinity, erasing everything it touched, our presence, our hopes and dreams, our work and ambitions were gone just like that. It was poetic really, the very technology we worked so hard to create was our undoing.

Maybe there was a philosophical message that I was missing, but I ran out of time to think, to breathe, to exist. I was no more.