Amanita: Poison Shot

Chapter 6: Gone

Despite his arrogance, I couldn't take that handsome biker out of my mind. I spent the entire time on the bus to work daydreaming.

I was in desperate need to rewrite my blacklist of most hated people and stuff – and write my hormones at the top.

My first repaired motorbike pro bono just because I had fallen in love with that beast made of steel, with the bonus of being praised for my work... by such a hunk.

The way his emerald eyes had been constantly staring at me. The way he had combed his light brown hair backwards with his hand when it had bothered him. The way he displayed his sculpted biceps and triceps. The way his charming smile had boosted my ego for fixing his bike. Damn.

I know I said no boyfriend or husband, but that dude was making my resolve weak.

I was working on the sixth floor of Replica Ltd., a sleek, fancy, modern glass building in the centre of the capital. I was cleaning stuff that I had already cleaned a few minutes ago with a stupid smile on my face.

Because I had totally spaced out.

I had never done such a thing in my entire life! I hated myself. I chuckled while staring at myself in the mirror wondering what the hell was wrong with me. A light blush coloured my cheeks.

"Damn it," I whisper-shouted at myself.

Fact one: he was an idiot. And fact two: I would never see him again. I told myself that over and over.

To detox my mood and my stupid hormones, I combed my hair into a ponytail and washed my face with cold water.

Then, I turned on the radio to listen to some music, but there was none at all on my favourite station. In fact, there wouldn't be any for the next few hours.

A bomb had exploded in the BioBank a few minutes before, the DNA bank and temple-like facility where clone babies were created, where their traits were carefully selected by their parents, and where the best scientists in the world worked under the strict supervision of Apollo, the Living God.

I was thunderstruck. A hysterical female clone journalist was broadcasting the news from ground zero.

"I'm t-taking s-shelter on the other s-side of Victoria Square, with a good view of the partly d-destroyed b-building," she said speaking fast but stammering. I guessed it was due to fear and her bad cough. "Despite the huge c-cloud of smoke, I c-can see that the BioBank's façade has been p-partially d-destroyed."

Not many details were given. I assumed that the confusion and fear were too great.

"The only s-survivors who c-can still walk are fleeing the area in panic. Dark c-clouds of d-dust make it almost impossible to b-breathe." She tried to go on, but it was hard. She coughed a lot more. "The police and the emergency services have just arrived. They are starting to deal with the issue as I speak."

I got paler while trying to imagine that catastrophe. I had left open a faucet to fill a bucket with water to mop the floor, but I was so engrossed that I left it open – like my mouth as I was listening to the dramatic news. The water spilt on the floor.

I accidentally stained my white cleaning coat with it and with some disinfectant. Nothing to worry about, but I did worry about something else.

The bike guy!

Fuck, he had asked me whether we were near the Statue of Victoria, the statue that presided the square with the same name, precisely where the bombing had taken place.

But maybe he wasn't going exactly there. He probably just needed a point of reference so that he could go elsewhere from there. I hoped that was the case.