“Yo, this be Dr. Agolo Nubigali, requesting the wooshing of the decontamino doors.”
“Yo yourself!” a voice crackled on the end of the receiver of the middle-aged lemur’s auditory receptor. “Building a fort in there? Your biggo degree don’t come between me and a brewski when the sun be descendin’ overhead! It still be macho-scorching out there!”
The doctor sighed as his two technicians joined him at his side. They, like him, were lemurs and were members of the Shango Defensive Mission, a sort of covert project aimed at keeping the state secure and at peace. While many nations simply acted in the inevitable “shlong-wavin’ contest” of building up arms, as President Ankyola Bikongi put it, they were aimed at other options. Bikongi admired the way Vekaiyuns, for instance, initially attempted to defend themselves by inventing nerve agents and turning their state from a cuddly fox to that of a quill-laden animal, with endless spikes that collectively told the world not to touch. But the nation abandoned such prospects, at least on the surface, per a directive from the naive Ikrisia Levinile. Where the Vekaiyuns stopped would be where the Shangoese began, but instead of the dangerous nerve agents, their focus was more on actual living specimens, as living specimens could be killed while nerve agents had no enemy. Microbes, viruses, and bacteria were the flavors of choice, and the state had a certain childlike interest in such projects. So, on the outskirts of the bustling capital of Wombo Lombo was placed a well-guarded facility to study and develop said defenses. Mum was the word here, however, and all who worked at the facility were given excellent cover stories as far as the Shango government was concerned.
Still, establishing quills was no easy prospect - it was downright daunting (but the pay was amazing!). The doctor and his cohorts wore protective suits with sterile oxygenated utility purification supplies - SOUPS, as they were called. Such units fit neatly on the backs of each worker and had scrubbers specifically designed to eradicate any biological agent. Such novel inventions were much more useful than the typical SCBA (self-contained breathing apparatus) units familiar when Vekaiyun scientists urged them to follow their directives. What did they know? SCBA’s limited work for only a few hours. SOUPS could last an entire work day, and the exhaustive testing and feasibility studies proved these units superior. All one had to do was make absolutely sure they had been fully covered by the decontamination shower. Considering how trivial such a task was, SOUPS were practically a no-brainer.
The doors closed behind them and made the familiar ‘woosh’ noise all workers were accustomed to.
“The backo doors be sealeded!” Nubigali observed. “Commence with the wooshing of the fronto doors! And make it pronto - my breezy systems be on the fritz!” He groaned. The cooling unit to his suit was in dire need of repair. Despite the discomfort, he managed to work through it, put in his nine-to-five, and maintain his focus for that after-work beer the door operator at the other end of the comlink spoke so fondly about. All in a day’s work when it came to protecting the nation he loved, nestled squarely on the equator.
“Yo,” one of his techs spoke. “Anyone else feelin’ a bit of the achy-breaky’s?”
Agolo Nubigali arched an eyebrow and turned to his left as the woman dropped dead. His eyes widened in the comfort of his bubble viewer, realizing her SOUPS had been cooked and compromised - malfunctioning, presumably, as the unit was clearly off. Even worse, the decontamination shower apparently didn’t do its job if she had dropped. Why did those units make so much noise? Why was everything all blotto in his helmet? “Make stopping of the wooshing! Kill the wooshing!” He banged on the walls. “Stop your sky-braining! Listen to me! Yooo!” He repeated the commands in Codexian, then Bikongan to ensure his words could be properly communicated.
He winced when the doors were flung open, contaminating everything within sight. He immediately pressed the button to his left, signaling lockdown - a directive that would immediately notify the president herself.
“What be the business of this?” the operator questioned.
The doctor watched as two of the gate commanders dropped dead, killed, presumably, by Shango’s deadliest microbe, SVK-4. “How securitimested is the grounds?” He paused. “Yo! Reporto!” He paused again. “Yo?”