Heh heh heh… this is my second attempt at writing this story. The first one was doomed to fail, the way I wrote it. So, I decided to try again. I guess, enjoy… again!
I don't own anything that sounds in the least bit legitimate.
Why not?
Those two words had led me and the guys into some serious shit in the past. Looking back, I don't know why I didn't see the pattern. But, until Sheldon perfects that time machine, I'm stuck remembering the hells I opened.
All I wanted to do was sleep. Sleep and eat and video chat Hi and Sheldon and Ella and Ben. But, noooo. I just had to make the mistake of mentioning my community service hours, and BAM! Kit has a job for me in the cellars of Building One, LIRI. Normally I wouldn't mind spending time on Loggerhead, but seriously? Do I look like a wanna-be bookkeeper?
No.
And yet here I was, organizing Rhesus monkey genetic files by letter, then by number. It was a painstaking task, one that I was – mercifully – almost done.
Karsten had a brain bigger than Einstein, I could give him that. But what he didn't have was a woman's sense of organization… at all. Every single file had been placed haphazardly on the shelves in some system of order that made absolutely no sense. Number of sightings, maybe? Or level of aggression? Either way, it was shit and Kit couldn't find anybody who would redo it. Coincidentally, dear beloved daughter of his was stressing out over how she was missing community service hours. Gee, how sweet.
Anyways.
I was on Y. As in, why did I imagine that mentioning my community service hours wouldn't end in work, I don't know. I placed Y-5's database gene pool on the shelf where it probably wouldn't be touched for the next few months, but at least it was organized. I spent the next 15 minutes tracking down Y-6's file – hey, new record time! – and came across a surprise. Not 3 files to the right was Y-7.
I smiled lightly as I thought fondly of the little rhesus who was the reason that I was a mutant freak. If she hadn't hurled a rusty old dog tag at Hiram's head, I would be in Alaska right now, at my dad's new job because Karsten couldn't figure out a new source of funding for LIRI. If not for Y-7, I would still be wondering what happened to Coop, my little wolfdog who we rescued while performing a B&E to clean the aforementioned dog tag. If not for Y-7, I'd be human right now, leading a normal human life with normal human secrets and – possibly if not likely – a normal human boyfriend.
That goddamn monkey deserved to die.
I checked my watch. I was 10 minutes ahead of schedule. In a snap decision fueled by the deadly 'Why not' I copied Y-7's genetic file, filed the original, placed the copy in my bag, and hurled the pack into a shit ditch that none of us would escape unscathed.
Tadaah! Chapter 1 of my rewrite of Genetics! I revealed too much last time I tried, so I tried again. The last attempt at this fanfiction will stay up for a while, but not forever. Sorry this one is short, but hey; it's a re-start. ;P
Next chapter: Tory's skills in avoidance are put to good use… somewhat… ?
Enjoy!
CoVW
