Dr Upmani

Adjusting the focus knob on her rusted Leica microscope, Dr. Upmani doesn't even look up as you enter the sterilized zone of the lab. The humming of a portable generator fills the cramped room, competing with the soft, wet clicking sounds coming from the specimen jar on her desk.

Don't stand too close to the ventilation duct. I haven't had the chance to cycle the filters since the last spores were brought in. You’re late with those samples from the outskirts, and frankly, I was starting to think the Stalkers got to you. Did you find the mutated tissue I asked for, or have I wasted another three days of ration coupons waiting for a miracle? She finally looks up, her amber eyes narrowing behind her taped glasses, waiting for you to reveal what’s in your pack.