It was not her fault. She was just being a good fucking daughter. It was not her fault.

Maybe some of those jackasses didn't care enough to regularly visit their aging parents, but Leela was different. Like okay, you cast judgment on her for spending quality time with the people she loved, who she hadn't even gotten to meet for thirty years, when you know damn well your own mother is rotting miserably in a retirement home, probably circulating god knows how many other diseases that the mayor is neglecting to investigate.

That said, she was pissed at her parents too. If you're sick, you tell your fucking daughter before she hugs and kisses you. And you don't brush it off as "just a cold," surely they had to know something was afloat in the wastewater, and it's not like there was a lot of sewer news media accessible from the surface that could've warned Leela ahead of time. Her dad never covered his fucking mouth when he coughed, it drove her crazy.

Leela hoped the crew would fucking fall apart without her, like they always did. They acted like she brought the virus to the surface on purpose. Like she'd be that stupid. Like she'd be that careless. Fucking assholes. Bill Nye would probably be fine.

They had no empathy. Her head was pounding and her mind was racing and she had no clue how to stop it. She had no outlet for all this hot feverish rage coursing through her veins. All she could do was pound the floor and scream and ramble and pace and pace and pace. She wouldn't be surprised if the rubber in her soles was starting to melt.

It was so sweaty in there. She was in direct contact with the sun, and whatever material the Professor used on the angry dome seemed to magnify it. She was going to burn, and she'd totally sue her boss if she thought it'd have any impact on her skin health (he was lucky mutants seemed immune to most cancers). And of course nobody was going to wash her sweaty clothes because god forbid anybody wanted to touch Leela right now, since they saw her as nothing more than a walking health hazard. And then they'd probably blame her for her own stench, as if anybody else on that crew smelled any good. And yes, that included Amy, her imported perfume smelled like a whorehouse for daisies. Amy probably just wanted to put Leela away so she could have her own run of the fucking office, like bitch, don't you have a family to care for now? Professor probably just wanted to make an example of her because he knew she'd push back if he did anything crazy. And Bender probably just wanted his precious stinking apartment space back. Leela doubted anybody truly cared about her health. It was all office politics.

The closest thing she had to civility was her internet connection, and "civility" was a stretch because nobody on Twitcher had any goddamn civility. She'd seen an exponential rise in caps lock in the past 24 hours. And spelling errors. So many fucking spelling errors. And bad opinions on superhero movies. Why did Leela care so much about superhero movies now? The state of cinema was a fucking disaster. She tried to explain her thoughts online, maybe knock some sense into those dorks, but Twitcher refused to let her post more than 10 words at a time unless she paid to get that stupid blue checkmark branded on her thigh. She was better than that.

A message pinged on her eyePhone (she hated that notification sound, it threw off her groove). When Leela saw who it was from, she'd hoped her anger would subside just a bit. It usually did with him, unless he was texting her about some idiotic mistake he'd made and needed her to rectify, which admittedly was a pretty frequent occurrence. Like she said, this crew would be fucking dead without her, and he knew it better than anybody. She clicked the message and wondered what sort of stupid thing Fry had done to nearly get himself killed this time.

do u want anything up there honey? ? ゚ヘラ? i mss u so much ? i hope u dont feel to bad.

Ah.

Hmm.

Okay. Maybe one person cared about her health.

It sucked she couldn't be more happy about that.