It has become increasingly difficult operating this equipment single handed.
My thoughts have become sporadic and charred by my misfortunes. The small pittance earned from the sale has all but run out completely, pretty much making this whole thing pointless. Sorry for you, Thad, while your mother wiped the hard drive clean, she did not obliterate the cache. The information is retrievable. But, I fear, my deterioration may hinder any chances of me finding the cure. Why have you done this? Why? Were you bored? Did you want attention? What do you think you could have personally gained? I'm curious what you are seriously expecting/hoping for.
As for those of us who worked on the project, we felt we were doing mankind a favor. Our operation was covert from the beginning. We had no idea something as misguided as a falling chunk of space debris would not only take out one of our satellites, but also accelerate one of the many experiments which had not been properly safeguarded. We just didn't know.
The crew has scattered. Some ran away; frightened by what had happened. Many remained, trying to tighten security in the event some unforeseeable occurrence happens in the future. As for the "here and now," clean-up teams have formed to eradicate the errors I have made, both here in NYC and in London. Along with my co-workers (good luck, assholes), that bitch, Sakura, has left me here to die, running off on some idiotic tangent to find Thad. I still don't know who that little shit is, or why he's so hell bent on whatever "mission" he feels he needs to conquer!
I can only wait and see. If he's infected, as he claims to be, ... And, I see by some of the comments posted here, the infection may be spreading despite any efforts by the YMR solutionists. Living flesh is not concrete.
Eventually, concrete erodes and crumbles.