Tom Baldwin rubbed the spot on his neck where Jordan Collier's goons had injected him. It was still sore and, probably would be for a couple of days. Leaning back, he rested his neck on the ridge his office chair. He still couldn't believe that Kyle was Promicin positive; and, beyond that, a willing accomplice in Collier's cult. Things had definitely gotten out of control, as if the 4400 were not a large enough crisis to manage.
The advent of Promicin, in his mind, tainted the original 4400. If they were abducted from across time, and returned to the present, there had to be a reason; a specific purpose for each individual and their particular ability. Promicin muddied those waters by introducing random, unstable elements into the equation. Forget that the drug was killing people by the thousands. N-TAC could not attack the epidemic by saying that it offered false hope. It offered new life…or death. A choice he would never make.
He rubbed his neck again, thankful that his test had come back negative. He wondered what Carl Morrissey would have thought of Promicin and what it had wrought.