As another bout of hacking cough rattles my lungs and burn my throat, I quickly cover my mouth with my palm. I have had this nagging cough for quite sometime now. May be an allergic reaction to something? The cough was dry when it first appeared but as time passed, it became productive. Even though I'm not a doctor, I know my fair share of biology. It is not allergy. Perhaps just a case of bad cold?

I know the other possibility... the one which is more probable. I don't want to think about it, not right now.

I settle down on my seat and look outside. I see a familiar face on the glass window. I wonder how many times I have seen that face... on the mirror, in pictures, on people. I silently recount how many times I've had to cross out my own face in my research notes with a red marker. I briefly wonder if I'm any more real than the reflection facing me. How much worth are the 3.2 billion base pairs that code my molecular existence? Do they matter any more than the virtual image in front of me?

I glance at my palm and suck in a startled breath. The sputum on my palm looks pinkish. Could it be blood? Is it just a matter of time before I started coughing up frank blood like Katja? As I wipe my hands clean with a piece of tissue paper, I idly wonder if I'm dying.

Death is inevitable. All of us die, right? Every organism dies. I'll probably die earlier than the rest. Does it matter? I'm a lab rat anyway, as Alison had rightly put it once. I have seen countless guinea pigs die in my own experiments. I have "monitored" my experimental subjects a thousand of times. I have felt bad for them but I've watched them die without interfering the process. I have always argued with myself that it's all for the greater good.

I wonder what my monitor thinks, if she feels anything at all.

I quickly scrunch my eyes closed. Don't go there, Niehaus.

For the first time in my life, I am not interested about the passenger beside me. I don't care to watch my fellow travelers today. I can't help but delve into my memories as the day when all of this first started, when the unraveling of my identity first started, play on my mind.

(...)

I was savoring the first hit of pot in my lungs when the phone first rang. I was startled when the shrill ring of my phone cut through the silence of my room. It was from an anonymous number. I cursed under my breath and picked up the call.

"Hello?"

"Hello, am I speaking to Ms. Cosima Niehaus?"

I furrowed my brow. The voice sounded somewhat familiar but not quite. Besides, she spoke in a different accent. Canadian, I guessed.

"Yes?" It came out as a question. I took another puff from the roll of joint burning between my fingers.

"Ms. Niehaus, there is something I want to talk to you about."

I tried to recall if I had heard that accent somewhere, if this caller was somehow known to me. I came up empty. "Who's this?"

"I'm... never mind. We can't talk like this, not over phone."

"Why did you call me then?" On hindsight, that probably sounded rude but I was on my way of getting high and this lady, whoever she was, had just called me to inform we couldn't talk over phone... about something.

"Uh, I was wondering if we could meet?" There was a slight hesitation in her voice.

I should have probably hung up then. That would be the smartest thing to do. But my curiosity got the better of me.

"Alright, where do you wanna meet?"

There was a slight pause before she answered. "You're in Minneapolis... University of Minnesota, right?"

I was intrigued. Whoever called me knew not only my name but my location as well. I briefly debated if I should deny and disconnect. Looked like I had a stalker, a female stalker with a somewhat familiar voice that I couldn't quite place and a foreign accent (if Canada could be called foreign?). It sounded dangerous and may be, that piqued my interest.

"Who is this?" I asked again, dumbly.

"Miss Niehaus, we really need to talk, in person. It's urgent." Indeed I could hear the urgency in her voice. A chill ran down my spine. It excited me.

"Okay, where do you wanna meet?" I tried to sound as cool as possible. Perhaps it was possible because of the marijuana clouding my lungs and streaming through my blood.

"I'm landing in Minneapolis tomorrow at 6 in the evening. Do you have any place in mind?"

How considerate of my stalker, I chuckled silently to myself. "Okay, there is a cafeteria at the Uni..."

She cut me off before I could finish. "Trust me, you don't want to meet me at your University."

My patience was now withering. "Why not?" I couldn't help but huff out in annoyance.

"You'll know when we meet." How cryptic of her.

"Okay..." I drew out, trying to think of another place in this new town. "I know a bar near the airport. We could meet there." I had gone to the bar once and befriended the bouncer. It should be relatively safer.

"Okay, give me the address."

Over the next minute I gave her the address. She promised to meet me at 7 the following evening.

"Please, it is very important that you turn up. I don't want to alarm you but... but there could be lives depending on this meeting." Before I could respond, she hung up.

I shrugged in irritation and confusion and took a long puff and inhaled deeply. Suddenly it hit me why her voice had sounded so familiar. She sounded a bit like me. As soon as I thought that, I was also struck by the absurdity of the situation. I furrowed my brow as I tried to focus on the joint as it burned to almost a stub.

Wow, I should really cut down on my pot.