Elio slowly pulled his arm out from under someone's head and rolled over to check his device. A dozen messages, none of them the one he was waiting for. He sat up and looked over his shoulder at the stranger in his bed.

She was still fast asleep, her auburn hair cascading beautifully over the pillow, her lips slightly parted. Elio recognized her as a woman he had met at the party the night before. He remembered how her laugh had lit up the room, and how her fingers had trailed flirtatiously along his arm when she whispered her name in his ear.

What name, exactly?

Elio sighed and rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the haze of the night's festivities. In the shower, he ran his hand over his jaw and decided to skip a morning shave. He had just stepped into his spacious adjoining closet when he heard a soft knocking on his apartment door, followed by somebody trying the doorknob. Elio froze, briefly wondering if the woman in his bed had woken up and was trying to sneak out. A quick peek proved she hadn't moved.

Elio pulled on a pair of black slim-fit pants and zipped them as he crept to the door. He cautiously opened it and looked both ways down the empty hallway.

Turning back to his apartment, he noticed a paper on the floor. He picked it up and unfolded it, his eyes scanning the bold handwriting.

"Pickup at noon, same place," it read. He tucked the note into his back pocket, then turned to wake the sleeping beauty in his bed. He smiled as her eyes opened and locked onto his.

"Good morning," he said softly, taking her hand in his own and bringing it to his lips. "If I could write the beauty of your eyes, and in fresh numbers number all your graces, the age to come would say, 'This poet lies; such heavenly touches never touched earthly faces.'"

"Elio."

"Mmm."

"It's too early for all this."

He let his shoulders slump in mock defeat. "My darling, ah... "

"Amanda?"

"Amanda, you wound me. As if I could forget such a beautiful—"

"Alright, alright," she said, smiling and rolling her eyes. "I'm up. Give me ten."

Bianca slid in the booth and placed a sterling coin at the edge of the table. Minutes later, a server replaced it with hot black coffee, green apple slices, and a freshly baked cinnamon bun. Caffeine and sugar might be enough to cut through the malaise; what she really needed was sleep, but she'd gladly settle for a halfway clear head.

Like nearly everything in Philly and the world beyond, the diner was housed in an old, rundown building that threatened to come crashing down at any moment. Even so, it was clear from the few well-dressed Factors and patrons—and the fact that coffee and sugar were on the menu—that you didn't dine there unless you had coin to spare. Screens in every corner broadcast multiple channels with talking heads that yammered on about the same old awful things. She tapped her device and adjusted the volume to a low murmur.

"Area hospitals are..."

Frank plopped down opposite her and swung his legs under the table. He tilted his head toward the closest screen and said, "Weird shit, huh?"

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

She shrugged. "Isn't it always?"

"Ha." He looked to the ceiling theatrically. "Bianca, I need help."

"No news there," she said, gesturing at her breakfast spread. "You want?"

"And squander your commission on baked goods? Yes, please."

Bianca waved at the server, made a circle motion over her breakfast, then pointed to Frank. The server nodded.

"Oh hey," she said. "Did you message him?"

Frank groaned. "You could say that."

"Uh oh. Do I wanna hear this?"

"Ugh, I am pathetic. So, you know I've met him before, right?" he said, making air quotes. "Well, it turns out I also know where he lives. Not because I'm a creepy stalker or anything. Or at least that's not how I know. But anyway, this morning? I slipped a note under his door."

"You did what, now?"

"That was after I tried to break in. Oh, don't look at me like that. I didn't try very hard."

"Frank! Why?"

"Because I'm too pretty to be in jail?"

"What? No, I mean, why did you slip a note under his door like a love-struck teenager? Why didn't you just message him like a normal human being?"

"I told you, I'm pathetic! Look, if you’re ever blessed with the glorious vision of the man in action, you'll be pathetic, too. Okay? He has the note. Let's focus on what's important so I can eat my feelings in peace."

Bianca shook her head and signaled for a coffee refill. She rubbed at her upper arm through her sleeve. It had itched like mad all night, enough to wake her twice. She had forgotten about it, but now it was itchy again. She slipped her hand under her shirt to get a good scratch in, and paused.

"What the fuck?" she whispered. Flinging her shirt over her head, she put her elbow on the table and angled her arm to get a better look.

Frank gasped.

Together, they stared at the pattern of fine blue scales that trickled down her arm from shoulder to elbow.

"What the fuck, Bianca?" He stood and took a step backward as she tried and failed to swipe the scales from her skin.

"Frank?"

His eyes widened. He turned to run, then hesitated. With a panicked expression, he sat down again.

"You have it?" he whispered fiercely.

"Have what? What are you talking about?" She absentmindedly angled her other arm toward him. "Is this one as bad?"

"Put your shirt back on!"

Bianca looked up to see the server pivot away from them and head back through the nearly empty diner with carafe in hand.

Frank leaned forward, pressing his palms to the table. "You have whatever they're talking about," he said, jutting his chin toward the screen. "Do you have a fever?" He started reaching for her forehead, then quickly pulled his hand back.

She shook her head. "I don't think so. A little run down, but not—"

"Don't you watch the news?"

"Stop it, Frank! You're scaring me."

Frank looked around again. This time, Bianca looked, too, and saw for the first time how the few customers were glued to the news broadcasts. She thought about turning up the volume, but she just looked at Frank's face instead, waiting. Whatever she needed to know, she thought she could probably find it there.

Frank just stared at his plate of uneaten food.

So she selected one of a dozen screens and turned up the volume on her chosen reporter, whose holographic image flickered in and out with the sound.

"...new illness is causing concern... widespread... symptoms appear... similar to X... fever, malaise and sensory... followed by scale... rash on the torso and limbs. We are still learning... CDC advises masks… protective gear, reporting symptomatic individuals... seek immediate medical attention."

On the screen, a banner scrolled below the reporter: Commissioner Batista announces increased Strategic Defense patrols, quarantine zones for public safety. Stay vigilant, stay informed, stay safe.

"... citizens, comply with Strategic Defense... stay indoors when possible, report symptoms... follow safety guidelines."

"Holy shit."

"We need to get out of here," Frank said. "Now."