Roger was a dangerous guy to be around. The last agent on the case, with only one Ph.D. in physics, and none in materials science, had vanished and was presumed dead. Agent Dick knew he had a better chance, but he wished the assignment had gone to someone else. Despite Chief Guzman’s denial of the reports of melting walls and soupy concrete, Dick was still wary. The job tore at his conscience, too.
Dick’s wiped his sticky hands, and blotted a drop of sweat that trickled down his neck. At the Fair Trade Cafe on 9th Street, he was listening to his earpod read poetry. It relaxed him. The espresso here was the best available in a town with a reputation for otherwise crappy coffee, but he had another reason for being at this place, at this time. A distant siren’s warble brought a twinge of foreboding as it echoed down the canyon of ancient skyscrapers. Bad news travels fast--as fast as the speed of sound. An eerie rumbling, like a rogue garbage truck, vibrated the sidewalk. Professor Roger was coming this way.
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