SOMETHING, SOMETHING?

Rourke sat alone in a murky bar, nursing his drink. He bore a scar across his forehead and a worn-down expression.

Behind him, a woman in a black dress walked in, carrying a briefcase.

She looked around cautiously and then approached Rourke.

“I heard you can find things,” she said quietly.

“For the right money,” Rourke replied.

The woman put her briefcase on the table and opened it.

“I’m Maya,” she explained, “I want you to retrieve something from a lab for me.”

“I need more info than that,” Rourke insisted.

Leaning in close, Maya whispered nervously; “It's a virus. It spreads a hundred times faster than normal.”

Alarm flashed across Rourke’s face. “Who has it?”

“My boss,” Maya replied. “He's a powerful man, but dangerous.”

Rourke thought for a moment, as he stared at the cash lining Maya’s briefcase.

“I’ll do it,” is all he could reply.

* * *

Rourke broke into the lab under the cover of night. Inside, he found the virus, stored in a transparent tube.

As Rourke went to leave, he heard a loud whirring coming from behind a door.

He entered the room to find a group of emaciated women hooked up to machines.

He then saw an unconscious Maya, also connected to one of the devices.

Before Rourke could do anything, armed guards surrounded him.

“Are you the welcoming committee?” Rourke muttered, as the guards marched him to another room.

Waiting for him was Maya’s boss.

“I see you found my latest test subjects,” the man taunted. “I’m afraid Maya won’t be able to tell you herself that I’m the one that sent her out with the briefcase.”

“And why would you do that?” Rourke questioned.

“Because,” Maya’s boss began. “I needed a washed-up old has-been who’d be blinded by the flash of some cash.”

He pointed at a screen, displaying footage of Rourke breaking into the lab.

“I’ve got all the evidence I need to make your life hell with the cops,” he declared. “So, don’t think about going to them after we’ve finished with you.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?!” Rourke demanded, becoming irate.

“You’ll see…” the man teased, as he signalled his guards.

The guards closed in and pinned a struggling Rourke to the ground.

“Do you ever play the stock market?” Maya’s boss asked, as he injected the virus into Rourke. “I’d invest that money we gave you into some medical supply companies ASAP.”

* * *

A few hours later, a van skidded to a stop on a crowded street. Its side door opened, and Rourke was shoved outside.

Sweat trickled down his face and a hacking cough escaped his lungs.

As the van sped away, an old woman approached Rourke.

“You alright?” she asked.

Rourke’s eyes grew wide as the reality of the situation dawned on him.

“Stay back!” he shouted. “Get the fuck away from me!”

He tried to run, but his legs gave way. He dropped to his knees and began coughing uncontrollably again.

* * *

Maya’s boss sat smugly in his office, flanked by his guards. A screen showed Rourke being loaded into the back of an ambulance, onlookers surrounding him.

“And that, my friends,” Maya’s boss announced. “Is how you start a very profitable pandemic.”

At that moment, a cough materialised behind them. They all turned around and saw a sickly Maya standing in the doorway.

Her boss looked at her with a smirk.

“Come to get your revenge, Maya?” he mocked. “I hate to break it to you, but we’ve all been vaccinated. It’s gonna take more than a little cough to infect us.”

Maya smiled a knowing smile and, to everyone's surprise, she ran straight at them.

Taken aback, the guards didn’t have time to react.

Maya managed to grab her boss by the collar and then projectile vomited all over him. Her boss screamed so much that Maya even managed to puke in his mouth.

Her boss freaked out, shoving Maya to the ground.

“Shoot her!” he screamed.

The guards unholstered their guns and unloaded their ammo into Maya. She died instantly, blood oozing out of her body.

Her boss grabbed a nearby towel and started wiping the regurgitation off.

“Get some extra doses of the vaccine, now!” he demanded.

However, when he turned around, his guards were just staring at him, already wearing face masks.

“What the hell are you doing?!” their boss barked.

One of the guards stepped forward. “You’ll have to forgive us,” he began. “But we can’t afford to take any chances.”

The guards raised their guns in unison and fired a cascade of bullets at their boss.

Their boss slumped to the ground, crimson pouring from his wounds.

“This reminds me of that John Steinbeck line…” he lamented, as his life ebbed away. “The best laid plans of… something… something…?”