Bio-Hazing

Things haven’t been going well.

It’s been about nine days since I got transferred to Black Project #9, and a) I’ve barely had a chance to talk to Doc Hotness, b) I’ve been in the bunker the entire time, and c) being the sole janitor down here is work.

Here’s the problem: because I’m the only clean-up guy, I get called in for everything. And either this team is the clumsiest bunch of eggheads around, or the stuff they’re doing is more accident-prone, because I am getting called constantly. Working above ground might have been boring, but at least it wasn’t physically exhausting.

The first week here, I was busy for at least 18 hours a day. Disinfecting the new lab equipment, making sure the anti-radiation chamber was working properly, getting the incinerator and waste recycler on-line.

On top of that, I had the usual labcoat messes to deal with. Professor Plankton might be an okay guy, but he’s messier than Oscar the Grouch after a bad break-up. Soda cans, half-eaten sandwiches, office supplies – the dude doesn’t know how to pick up anything.

And as the icing on the cake, everyone on BP9 has basically been treating me like a sentient mop. I know labcoats and worker bees aren’t supposed to mix, but a little politeness would be nice. Maybe a “how’s it going, Joe?” or a “I heard it’s 105 on the surface” before you tell me to clean up the piss you sprayed all over the toilet seat.

But the shit didn’t really hit the coolant condenser until last night. I’d finally gotten all my projects under control, and was just settling in to watch a movie. (Upside to working for a top-secret government facility: the video on demand selection is choice.)

Right as Will Smith’s starting to kick alien ass in Independence Day, the sanitation alarm beeped. I checked my computer to see – God dammit – there’s been a dark energy leak in the control room.

Let me tell you something about dark energy. Nobody really knows what it is or how it works, even though it makes up 73% of the universe. But does that stop the military geniuses from fiddling around with it? Does a B-21 Bomber corner like a cement truck?

I’m not up on the specifics, but suffice it to say the nerds figured out how to use dark energy as a power source. An extremely volatile, toxic, unpredictable power source. If the shit comes in contact with regular matter, you basically get annihilation from a sub-atomic level on up. It’s so Darth Vader-scary, most projects at Groom Lake don’t even bother hassling with it. Except, natch, the black projects.

Even though I still have no clue exactly what everyone is doing on BP9 (I’m one of those on a “need to know” basis), I found out the first day that we had the biggest supply of dark energy in the entirety of Paradise Ranch. Which means if there’s a spill, I have that much more chance of having my sub-atomic ass handed to me.

So when I saw the words “dark energy” on my screen, I went into four-alarm overdrive. I pulled on every last bit of my protective gear, filled a push-cart with decontamination devices, and hauled ass through the maze of corridors.

The door of the control room was closed, but I knew that was standard procedure during a leak. I didn’t even bother to try the thumbprint scanner, I just ripped off the scanning plate and used the manual release to open the doors.

I busted inside, finding the entire team sitting calmly at their computers. Thinking they must not know about the leak, I started spraying everyone in reach with sterilizing foam and screaming like a crackhead who’s just broken his only pipe.

I had foamed down one or two underlings before General Hard-Ass took me down with a knee to the kidneys.

“What is your major malfunction, fuckwit?” He yelled, ripping the foam sprayer out of my hands. “We were just about to start our first project test!”

“But … there’s was a dark energy spill,” I stammered. Some of the labcoats started to titter, the soldiers were struggling to hold back smiles, and even Hotness had to cover her mouth.

“You moron,” he spat. “The only dark stuff in here is the shit sliding inside your brains. The DM supply’s behind three feet of steel on the other side of the facility!”

Looking toward the back of the room, I saw Phildo the Dildo smirking triumphantly. Everything fell into place – he must have posted a fake alarm to my computer, purely to get me to make an ass of myself in front of everyone.

“Sorry, sir,” I muttered. “It won’t happen again.”

“That’s right. Because if it does, I’ll pink slip your ass and get some other mop jockey to take over. Now how ‘bout you go scrub some toilets so we can do our work?”

I slunk back to my room, unable to even finish watching the movie because I was so depressed. I avoided the cafeteria for breakfast and lunch today, but sooner or later I’m going to have to see Hotness and explain myself.

I’d love to get out of here for a couple days, but I can’t leave the complex for the next two months unless it’s a medical emergency. It might be worth cutting off a finger just to avoid the embarrassment. Or maybe I could drink bleach and put myself in a coma.

I’ll have to think about it and let you know.