22:59

06:30

Entering his office, Roger shuddered. He was not yet quite used to seeing himself reflected in the glass wall through which in the mornings the night's haze could be seen. It still hung outside untouched as of yet by the rays of the sun. He loved his office even though it reminded him of a hospital room with its almost indecent whiteness. A white table, a white chair, a white monitor and a white photo frame on the table with a picture of three smiling faces. All of whom were still happy.

Roger walked around the desk, flopped into his chair, booted up his computer and began going through the tasks of the day.

He had been recently transferred from the position of a simple specialist to a managerial post, marking a decade of dedication to his work. And it must be stated that Roger truly believed in what he was doing.

It had all started in his last year at the institute where he had been studying to be a doctor. When he entered he had dreamed, not of treating and healing people, but of engaging in research activities and finding a cure for a disease that showed almost no response to treatment and was considered incurable. The disease was called "the Black Hole" by the common people. It had first been identified, classified and officially listed more than thirty years ago, before Roger had even been born, with the first ten years after its appearance being the most difficult. People were dying every day, and the doctors did not know how to treat them. As it turned out it was only after more than twenty years that the reason for the disease was finally found. Scientists argued long and hard about what started it, and religious fanatics screamed about a second flood and punishment from heaven. What they found was that the Black Hole is a gene mutation that causes the brain to produce substances that destroy human cells if a person experiences strong or prolonged negative emotions. For most, the process began in the stomach area, developing into erosions, ulcers, and corrosion in the body which left holes and charred edges, as if flesh had been burned by fire, all of this until the person died from internal bleeding. There were also those who walked with black sores all over their bodies, and it was considered that they were the lucky ones, for them it had been easier to detect the disease and for the doctors to send the patients for treatment in time. The Black Hole affected the bones, the brain and other organs, but doctors still could not understand how it chose its "food".

In the years when Roger first entered medical school, there had been no medicine capable of helping those who had already fallen ill. Doctors treated the symptoms as if they were patching up holes in an old sack, but from their manipulations the holes only crawled closer to the seams, making the patients suffer, addicting them to powerful painkillers and drugs, and eventually leading to death. The main problem was that the disease's course was a vicious circle: upon getting sick a person began to be even more afraid because it was incurable, they worked themselves up, always looking for more and more new symptoms. As a result they acquired unhealthy habits hoping to distract themselves even if only for an evening, perhaps with a couple of bottles of high-proof liquor or a bag of white powder or some other substance, which all led to even greater problems. The most powerful psychotropic drugs were put into action, but in the end they only destroyed the body, disrupted the hormonal balance and turned a person into a vegetable.

In his third year, Roger learned that a cure had been found, a fact which caused him to abandon the educational process for an entire month and led him to enter the very bar where he drank his first glass of gin and ice.

Fifteen Years Ago

"Bringing you the latest news from the world of healthcare! Scientists from the Medicol Corporation have just announced that a cure for the Black Hole Disease has been found. We recall that this disease was first diagnosed more than 30 years ago and until now no remedy has been found capable of curing it. According to the prof..."

"Shut up!!!" Roger screamed. And the TV went out. Damn smart tech.

Roger slumped down onto the sofa with a groan and closed his eyes. Rage was seething in him with such force that he could not control his breathing. He could feel his body trembling slightly from his rapid heartbeat, and pain was starting to build up in his head. He clenched his fists and screamed out. Feeling that it wasn't helping, Roger jumped to his feet, and his eyes went dark from the sudden change of position. He grabbed his jacket and ran out of the apartment he was renting with his friend at the time.

Run. Run and don't stop until the rage is gone and replaced by sweat. The choice was simple, either he would get rid of it or it would kill him, slowly burning up his insides.

Roger remembered all of the videos he had been shown during lectures, the black holes devouring human flesh, forcing the sick to writhe in horrific agony. He remembered one such incident particularly well. There had been a young guy, almost as young as Roger had been back then. People said that his entire family had been run over and killed by some idiot who lost control of his vehicle because he passed out at the wheel. When they finally managed to get the driver out of the car, he was still alive but he looked more like jelly than a human. Black Hole Disease had eaten away at his bones, and the impact turned what was once a man into a doll made of skin, stuffed with minced meat ground together with bones and filled with five liters of warm blood, which slowly flowed out of those places where fragments of bone pierced through the skin... But all that was not what terrified Roger the most, what scared him was what rage did to the only survivor of that accident. In the video, the young man was twitching as if having a seizure, as if he had become possessed by Satan himself. It was clear by his crazed eyes that he was no longer fully on this Earth, but had not yet crossed to the other side. He was under the control of imaginary demons, monsters that were tearing him to bits, one by one, and never tired for even a second. The poor guy lived for over a year in agony and when an autopsy was finally carried out, it turned out that the Black Hole had melted his brain, turning it into a soupy puree. More than a year in agony, Roger couldn't let that happen, anything but the brain.

He ran and ran, until his muscles felt like they were so clogged with lactic acid that they had turned to stone. His breathing was so hard that it had become more like wheezing and his throat burned from the cold air, air which no longer had enough time to penetrate into his lungs. Sweat poured out of him like hail freezing somewhere near his lower back. A little more and he would simply fall over.

Roger stopped abruptly, as if he had hit an invisible wall. Bending over and almost touching the ground, he fell to his knees, his head nearly smashing into the asphalt. His heart was pounding with a terrible force and his lungs were working so hard they were all but tearing themselves apart. Roger waited.

Ten minutes later, he felt like himself again and that the rage had passed. He had won. He looked for a place where he could sit and rest before heading back home. He saw a bar called "the Black Hole", how appropriately symbolic. With a grimace Roger pushed open the heavy door, walked in, looked around and immediately set his eyes on a table in the farthest corner. His legs were stiff but he reached his goal and plopped himself down in a chair, immediately grabbing his right calf, muscles spasms causing it to cramp up. Roger could sense that he reeked of sweat and dirt, and decided to go to the toilet to wash up a bit but could not get up. He shook his head at the waiter, making it clear that he did not need anything.

"Sorry, but our rules say it is not acceptable to just sit and order nothing. You have to either place an order or leave. Sorry."

It took Roger several seconds to understand what the younger guy with the stone face was saying, his words seemed too long and strung out.

Roger grimaced in displeasure and asked him to leave the menu and give him a minute to think. The waiter carefully put the ordering tablet on the table and slowly returned to the bar.

Roger had never drunk before. There had never been a need, and thus he was afraid. They had a very colorful collection of videos depicting the consequences of alcohol use at their faculty. He pointed at the menu at random and landed on gin and ice.

"Your order sir." With an indifferent look the waiter put a glass filled to the brim with ice cubes and a clear liquid in front of Roger. "May I get you some lemon or lime?"

Roger shook his head. The waiter nodded, turned around and left.