Phadia
Tomato Goddess
“A spooky writing contest, huh?”
Weary eyes scanned the screen in front of him, momentarily hovering over each word.
It looked as though his online writing group was having a competition. Usually, he would be among the first to sign up. Being a published author gave him an edge, and he certainly had plenty of stories to tell.
Besides, it was a good distraction. A good escape from…
He closed the laptop lid with a shaky sigh.
Not today.
The man rose from the leather office chair, his joints popping in protest. With a grunt, he hauled himself across the room and passed through a darkened doorway.
The door creaked closed behind him, as his hand slapped against the cool drywall.
Missed.
He met his target the second time, and the room was bathed in a cool blue light.
A man stood before him. Or rather, the shell of a man.
He was slender, borderline emaciated, with pale gray looking skin that pulled tight across his moderate frame. Puffy rings of darkened skin framed two faded blue eyes. A crumpled red tie hung loosely in front of sweat stained white dress shirt.
Dave Caldwell.
The gold-plated name badge still held a place over his heart.
He brought a wrinkled hand to his face, gingerly running a finger through the ragged carpet of facial hair that had cropped up seemingly overnight.
His eyes remained fixated on his reflection as he muttered to himself.
“I need a drink.”
Then a dry laugh.
“Or a smoke.”
The pipes shuddered as he cranked the water on, filling the sink with clean warm water. He watched as his reflection gradually disappeared in the growing cloud of steam.
Then he laughed again.
“Or both.”
As he brought the razor blade to the tangled mat of hair that clung to his face, he was hit with a sudden pang of sadness.
It’s funny, he thought. A year ago, I could have truthfully said I’d never touched a bottle. Never smoked, either.
He’d had it all. A well-paying job, a high-end car, a drop-dead gorgeous wife, a lively little girl…
He set the razor down with a hollow clatter, exchanging it for a stale smelling towel. As he wiped the fibrous cloth back and forth, he tried to wipe away not only the water, but the memories as well.
There’s no point in dwelling on it, he told himself firmly.
As the mirror slowly cleared, his reflection came back into focus, blue eyes narrowed angrily.
“There’s no point!”
In an instant, the mirror had fractured and cracked, shards of glass spraying outwards across the tile.
The pain in his hand told him he’d thrown the punch before he’d even registered it.
Cursing, Dave shifted the musty towel from his face to his injured hand.
He was reaching for the medicine cabinet, when a quiet chime diverted his attention.
“Oh, for-“
Grumbling, he ripped open the bathroom door and headed downstairs.
Ding dong!
The doorbell rang again.
Who could it possibly be at this hour?!
With an angry snarl, Dave grabbed the knob with his uninjured hand and opened the door.
“Trick or treat!”
A chorus of tiny voices permeated the gloom.
For several moments, the man stood dumbfounded, staring at the swarm of kids.
It’s Halloween…?
Dave’s tired brain thought back to his laptop clock, reaching for the last date he’d registered.
No, surely it must be November by now.
A mixture of confusion and relief clouded his expression.
“Trick or treat…?”
One of the kids had stepped forward, repeating the words. Though, it sounded more like a question at this point.
“I don’t have any!”
Dave answered, his voice cracking.
“I don’t have any candy. My porch light wasn’t even on! Go away!”
He spoke more firmly this time, taking a few steps back into the house.
Candy was the last thing on his mind. Though, he couldn’t help but feel mildly relieved at the fact that it was, indeed, All Hallows Eve.
I have more time, he thought, the slightest trace of a smile working its way onto his face.
I can do this!
“Trick or treat!”
A little girl’s voice followed by another familiar set of ringing notes wiped the smile from Dave’s face.
The door hadn’t even fully latched yet, before he was tearing it open again.
“I told you, kids. I don’t have any candy! Get los-”
A bright blue eye stared back at him, twinkling playfully. Framed by the rosy pink skin, the chubby round face matched the youthful eye like butter to bread.
The mouth was lined with tiny pearly whites, all except for the front upper two.
Blond glossy curls wrapped around the face, hugging the skin tenderly.
The little girl was smiling angelically at him, her face radiating with health and happiness.
All except for the gaping hole in her skull.
It was as though someone had skillfully opened a window into her head. The entire upper right side of her face resembled a massive gaping mouth, complete with a set of teeth as the fragments of her skull clung limply to knotted masses of flesh.
Thick reddish-brown liquid oozed from within the hole, along with a sickly gray, mushy, vein riddled goop.
An off-white sphere hung from a bloodied cord of crimson, the familiar blue iris twinkling at the end.
Dave’s mouth dropped open in a wordless scream as he tried to process what he was seeing.
Maggie! Maggie!
His little girl was standing in front of him.
Her left arm gripped tightly onto a vibrant orange plastic pumpkin.
Her right was twisted at an impossible angle, the once rosy skin, now tinged with various shades of blue, purple, and black.
Large chunks of the flesh had melted away, revealing swaths of bleached white bone, framed only by a viscous sallow fluid.
This can’t be happening!
Dave closed his eyes, taking a step away from the door, his thoughts swirling.
Maggie’s dead!
He took another step backwards.
Maggie died. One year ago, today. In the accident…
He rubbed his aching neck. He could feel it starting to swell again. Never had healed right….
She’s dead! She’s not here!
Yet he couldn’t deny the sight in front of him. Or the smell.
Bile splashed the back of his throat, and he clutched his stomach, willing the contents of his last meal to stay down.
Warmth seeped into his shirt, and he took a shaky breath, prying open his eyes.
He looked down at his body. His once white shirt was dyed red. Drops of blood had splattered the carpet. The towel lay in a soggy heap on the threshold.
“Mister?”
A little girl’s concerned voice came from beyond the half open door.
“Do you need a bandage?”
Trembling, Dave took a few tentative steps back towards the door, fighting back the desperate urge to run away.
His eyes locked with the girl’s, and he let out a shaky breath.
Two healthy brown eyes stared back. The little girl was wearing a neon green frog costume. Some video game character, no doubt.
Dave shook his head, trying to purge his daughter’s face from his mind.
“No,” he replied, the calmness in his voice taking him by surprise. “Thank you.”
Taking another unsteady breath, he bent down to the girl’s level.
“I don’t have any candy for you. I’m sorry.”
An older woman was standing a few yards away. She was shaking her head.
“Then turn off your porch light, idiot!”
He didn’t appreciate being called names, yet he simply nodded numbly and rose from the porch. The little girl gave him one last disappointed glance, before running back to who Dave presumed to be her mother.
“Wasn’t he the father of…?”
Another woman was talking now, standing close to the first.
He closed the door, not wanting to hear the rest of the conversation.
Taking yet another deep breath, he flipped the switch for the porch light, though he could swear he had never turned it on, and dragged his weary body into the kitchen.
The cuts on his hand had finally stopped bleeding, yet he headed for the sink and cleaned up the wound anyway.
“Not like it matters,” he murmured to himself, watching as the blood swirled down the drain.
“None of it matters.”
He wrapped his hand in a bandage from the first aid kit he kept under the sink, then trudged over to the pantry.
“I need a drink,” he announced for the second time that evening.
The image of Maggie’s face was still clear in his mind, but a bottle of Vodka would help blur the edges a bit.
He let out a string of profanities as his hand met the empty air where the bottle should be.
“Great!” he bellowed, balling his hand into a fist.
“Just great!”
His cuts screamed in protest as the skin tightened over his knuckles. He planned to punch the wall, but the pounding in his neck stopped him.
For a split second, he could be certain he heard a faint laugh.
“I must be tired,” he decided, letting his hand go limp.
With another exasperated sigh, he decided on a pot of coffee.
He would need the energy for tonight, after all.
A day doesn’t make much difference, he thought, the bitter smell of the coffee grounds, matching his mood, as he emptied the scoop into the filter.
Even though he’d initially had a little under a month, several setbacks had eaten up almost half of his time.
Now, with a little less than two weeks left, the deadline was weighing heavily on Dave.
This isn’t just a project, he thought as he filled his favorite mug with the steaming deep umber liquid. As he headed back to his room, he was filled with a sense of urgency that he hadn’t felt in a long time.
No. This is a race against time.
Maggie’s face flashed into his mind once more, making him visibly grimace.
True, this was a project that had been put upon him by his supervisor, but he couldn’t help but feel a personal connection to it.
He entered his bedroom with a renewed sense of purpose. Taking a sip of coffee, he walked over to his desk, opened the laptop, pulled up the chair, and took a seat.
The writing contest page stared back at him, but only for a moment.
Dave quickly closed the webpage, instead moving his mouse to his file explorer. He went first to his pictures folder, opening several of the files there.
Image after image flashed onto the screen. All of them seemed to be scans of newspaper articles.
All were dated the year prior.
Pictures of a totalled vehicle, pictures of an unkempt face, pictures of a little girl…
Dave’s eyes lingered over the pictures of his daughter, before moving to the scruffy man, his gaze filled with nothing but pure hatred.
“Son a of…”
Eyes blazing, Dave shifted his attention to another application.
A black window superseded the click of the mouse.
Several lines of code had already been input into it, but with a few hours of furious clicking, he was able to double it in length.
The code.
He leaned back in his chair, sweat sopping into his back.
“Says is was an ‘accident’. Could barely finish the word, his speech was so slurred.”
Dave’s gaze rested on the picture of the man again, then he smirked, looking back at the code.
It had been a technological breakthrough.
He’d developed a serum that would bind with the cells in the brain, allowing the brain to be linked to a computer. Much like a virtual reality headset, except there was no ‘off’ switch. It was hardwired right to the brain.
Of course, the serum had many practical applications.
Pain management, assisted living, palliative care, education, just to name a few.
Dave Caldwell, being a member of the police force, had decided to repurpose it, however. It had taken an entire eight months just to get the new software linked to the serum.
During that time, he’d had multiple… setbacks.
His new car had been stolen right out of the garage.
He storage unit had burnt to the ground, taking with it the precious few mementos he had left of Maggie.
He’d had numerous health issues…. Hallucinations. The doctors kept repeating the word ‘trauma’ over and over again. He was tired of hearing it.
Worst of all, his wife, Sarah, had left him during this time. Claimed he was ‘obsessing’ over this.
Obsessing?!
“He killed our daughter!” Dave hissed, as if repeating the conversation all over again.
“Don’t tell me you don’t want revenge! Don’t tell me you’ve just forgiven him?!”
He could feel the blood trickling through his bandage as he unconsciously clenched his fist again. He was vaguely aware of some laughter in the background as he reread the code once more, scanning for any inconsistencies.
“With this new code… with the serum, I can make his life a living hell. I can make him regret the day he chose to drink and drive! The day he killed our Maggie!”
“Daddy!”
A shrill scream tore his attention away from the monitor.
A familiar scream.
He felt a cool object in his hand as he jumped up. The serum.
He realized he was holding a syringe now, though he didn’t recall grabbing it.
Oh well.
It didn’t matter.
Dread rising like acid in is stomach, Dave hurtled down the stairs, syringe in hand.
“Daddy! Help me!”
Maggie’s voice.
He could hear the little girl, loud and clear, shrieking from beyond the door.
In the back of his mind, he was vaguely aware of a nagging sensation. Something telling him this was just a hallucination, some sort of primal instinct.
Maybe this is what it’s like.
Though he never heard a snap, Dave was pretty sure he was his own witness, watching the last of his sanity ebbing away.
He tore open the front door, squinting as the bright light stabbed at his retinas.
“Daddy!”
Maggie was standing a few yards away, blue eyes boring pleadingly into his.
Before he could even take a step, he heard the roar of an engine.
Then a deafening crash.
Screaming.
So much screaming…
Was he screaming?
He wasn’t sure, but he was sure of one thing. He was moving. Lunging at the sloppy looking man climbing from the ruined vehicle. Clawing at his neck.
The serum.
Then he was aware of a pair of arms, pulling him back.
The house had dissolved behind him, replaced by his own car. His wife was crouched on the pavement nearby, a tiny figure cradled in her arms.
Everything was red.
Why was it so red?!
Dave was certainly screaming now. Searching for the syringe.
Where was it?!
He was going to do it. He was going to make the man pay! He was going to-
He was vaguely aware of a voice behind him.
A doctor…?
Followed by a stabbing sensation in his neck.
He could feel a bitter cold radiating through his neck, up into his head, wrapping around his brain like a vice grip.
Shaking like a leaf, Dave reached up to his neck, his fingers wrapping around a cool cylindrical object.
As he pulled the object away, he could see dark tendrils creeping along the edges of his vision. Numbers, letters, symbols…
Code.
As his vision began to fade, he looked down at the object in his hand.
Familiar.
Terrifying.
The serum.
Weary eyes scanned the screen in front of him, momentarily hovering over each word.
It looked as though his online writing group was having a competition. Usually, he would be among the first to sign up. Being a published author gave him an edge, and he certainly had plenty of stories to tell.
Besides, it was a good distraction. A good escape from…
He closed the laptop lid with a shaky sigh.
Not today.
The man rose from the leather office chair, his joints popping in protest. With a grunt, he hauled himself across the room and passed through a darkened doorway.
The door creaked closed behind him, as his hand slapped against the cool drywall.
Missed.
He met his target the second time, and the room was bathed in a cool blue light.
A man stood before him. Or rather, the shell of a man.
He was slender, borderline emaciated, with pale gray looking skin that pulled tight across his moderate frame. Puffy rings of darkened skin framed two faded blue eyes. A crumpled red tie hung loosely in front of sweat stained white dress shirt.
Dave Caldwell.
The gold-plated name badge still held a place over his heart.
He brought a wrinkled hand to his face, gingerly running a finger through the ragged carpet of facial hair that had cropped up seemingly overnight.
His eyes remained fixated on his reflection as he muttered to himself.
“I need a drink.”
Then a dry laugh.
“Or a smoke.”
The pipes shuddered as he cranked the water on, filling the sink with clean warm water. He watched as his reflection gradually disappeared in the growing cloud of steam.
Then he laughed again.
“Or both.”
As he brought the razor blade to the tangled mat of hair that clung to his face, he was hit with a sudden pang of sadness.
It’s funny, he thought. A year ago, I could have truthfully said I’d never touched a bottle. Never smoked, either.
He’d had it all. A well-paying job, a high-end car, a drop-dead gorgeous wife, a lively little girl…
He set the razor down with a hollow clatter, exchanging it for a stale smelling towel. As he wiped the fibrous cloth back and forth, he tried to wipe away not only the water, but the memories as well.
There’s no point in dwelling on it, he told himself firmly.
As the mirror slowly cleared, his reflection came back into focus, blue eyes narrowed angrily.
“There’s no point!”
In an instant, the mirror had fractured and cracked, shards of glass spraying outwards across the tile.
The pain in his hand told him he’d thrown the punch before he’d even registered it.
Cursing, Dave shifted the musty towel from his face to his injured hand.
He was reaching for the medicine cabinet, when a quiet chime diverted his attention.
“Oh, for-“
Grumbling, he ripped open the bathroom door and headed downstairs.
Ding dong!
The doorbell rang again.
Who could it possibly be at this hour?!
With an angry snarl, Dave grabbed the knob with his uninjured hand and opened the door.
“Trick or treat!”
A chorus of tiny voices permeated the gloom.
For several moments, the man stood dumbfounded, staring at the swarm of kids.
It’s Halloween…?
Dave’s tired brain thought back to his laptop clock, reaching for the last date he’d registered.
No, surely it must be November by now.
A mixture of confusion and relief clouded his expression.
“Trick or treat…?”
One of the kids had stepped forward, repeating the words. Though, it sounded more like a question at this point.
“I don’t have any!”
Dave answered, his voice cracking.
“I don’t have any candy. My porch light wasn’t even on! Go away!”
He spoke more firmly this time, taking a few steps back into the house.
Candy was the last thing on his mind. Though, he couldn’t help but feel mildly relieved at the fact that it was, indeed, All Hallows Eve.
I have more time, he thought, the slightest trace of a smile working its way onto his face.
I can do this!
“Trick or treat!”
A little girl’s voice followed by another familiar set of ringing notes wiped the smile from Dave’s face.
The door hadn’t even fully latched yet, before he was tearing it open again.
“I told you, kids. I don’t have any candy! Get los-”
A bright blue eye stared back at him, twinkling playfully. Framed by the rosy pink skin, the chubby round face matched the youthful eye like butter to bread.
The mouth was lined with tiny pearly whites, all except for the front upper two.
Blond glossy curls wrapped around the face, hugging the skin tenderly.
The little girl was smiling angelically at him, her face radiating with health and happiness.
All except for the gaping hole in her skull.
It was as though someone had skillfully opened a window into her head. The entire upper right side of her face resembled a massive gaping mouth, complete with a set of teeth as the fragments of her skull clung limply to knotted masses of flesh.
Thick reddish-brown liquid oozed from within the hole, along with a sickly gray, mushy, vein riddled goop.
An off-white sphere hung from a bloodied cord of crimson, the familiar blue iris twinkling at the end.
Dave’s mouth dropped open in a wordless scream as he tried to process what he was seeing.
Maggie! Maggie!
His little girl was standing in front of him.
Her left arm gripped tightly onto a vibrant orange plastic pumpkin.
Her right was twisted at an impossible angle, the once rosy skin, now tinged with various shades of blue, purple, and black.
Large chunks of the flesh had melted away, revealing swaths of bleached white bone, framed only by a viscous sallow fluid.
This can’t be happening!
Dave closed his eyes, taking a step away from the door, his thoughts swirling.
Maggie’s dead!
He took another step backwards.
Maggie died. One year ago, today. In the accident…
He rubbed his aching neck. He could feel it starting to swell again. Never had healed right….
She’s dead! She’s not here!
Yet he couldn’t deny the sight in front of him. Or the smell.
Bile splashed the back of his throat, and he clutched his stomach, willing the contents of his last meal to stay down.
Warmth seeped into his shirt, and he took a shaky breath, prying open his eyes.
He looked down at his body. His once white shirt was dyed red. Drops of blood had splattered the carpet. The towel lay in a soggy heap on the threshold.
“Mister?”
A little girl’s concerned voice came from beyond the half open door.
“Do you need a bandage?”
Trembling, Dave took a few tentative steps back towards the door, fighting back the desperate urge to run away.
His eyes locked with the girl’s, and he let out a shaky breath.
Two healthy brown eyes stared back. The little girl was wearing a neon green frog costume. Some video game character, no doubt.
Dave shook his head, trying to purge his daughter’s face from his mind.
“No,” he replied, the calmness in his voice taking him by surprise. “Thank you.”
Taking another unsteady breath, he bent down to the girl’s level.
“I don’t have any candy for you. I’m sorry.”
An older woman was standing a few yards away. She was shaking her head.
“Then turn off your porch light, idiot!”
He didn’t appreciate being called names, yet he simply nodded numbly and rose from the porch. The little girl gave him one last disappointed glance, before running back to who Dave presumed to be her mother.
“Wasn’t he the father of…?”
Another woman was talking now, standing close to the first.
He closed the door, not wanting to hear the rest of the conversation.
Taking yet another deep breath, he flipped the switch for the porch light, though he could swear he had never turned it on, and dragged his weary body into the kitchen.
The cuts on his hand had finally stopped bleeding, yet he headed for the sink and cleaned up the wound anyway.
“Not like it matters,” he murmured to himself, watching as the blood swirled down the drain.
“None of it matters.”
He wrapped his hand in a bandage from the first aid kit he kept under the sink, then trudged over to the pantry.
“I need a drink,” he announced for the second time that evening.
The image of Maggie’s face was still clear in his mind, but a bottle of Vodka would help blur the edges a bit.
He let out a string of profanities as his hand met the empty air where the bottle should be.
“Great!” he bellowed, balling his hand into a fist.
“Just great!”
His cuts screamed in protest as the skin tightened over his knuckles. He planned to punch the wall, but the pounding in his neck stopped him.
For a split second, he could be certain he heard a faint laugh.
“I must be tired,” he decided, letting his hand go limp.
With another exasperated sigh, he decided on a pot of coffee.
He would need the energy for tonight, after all.
A day doesn’t make much difference, he thought, the bitter smell of the coffee grounds, matching his mood, as he emptied the scoop into the filter.
Even though he’d initially had a little under a month, several setbacks had eaten up almost half of his time.
Now, with a little less than two weeks left, the deadline was weighing heavily on Dave.
This isn’t just a project, he thought as he filled his favorite mug with the steaming deep umber liquid. As he headed back to his room, he was filled with a sense of urgency that he hadn’t felt in a long time.
No. This is a race against time.
Maggie’s face flashed into his mind once more, making him visibly grimace.
True, this was a project that had been put upon him by his supervisor, but he couldn’t help but feel a personal connection to it.
He entered his bedroom with a renewed sense of purpose. Taking a sip of coffee, he walked over to his desk, opened the laptop, pulled up the chair, and took a seat.
The writing contest page stared back at him, but only for a moment.
Dave quickly closed the webpage, instead moving his mouse to his file explorer. He went first to his pictures folder, opening several of the files there.
Image after image flashed onto the screen. All of them seemed to be scans of newspaper articles.
All were dated the year prior.
Pictures of a totalled vehicle, pictures of an unkempt face, pictures of a little girl…
Dave’s eyes lingered over the pictures of his daughter, before moving to the scruffy man, his gaze filled with nothing but pure hatred.
“Son a of…”
Eyes blazing, Dave shifted his attention to another application.
A black window superseded the click of the mouse.
Several lines of code had already been input into it, but with a few hours of furious clicking, he was able to double it in length.
The code.
He leaned back in his chair, sweat sopping into his back.
“Says is was an ‘accident’. Could barely finish the word, his speech was so slurred.”
Dave’s gaze rested on the picture of the man again, then he smirked, looking back at the code.
It had been a technological breakthrough.
He’d developed a serum that would bind with the cells in the brain, allowing the brain to be linked to a computer. Much like a virtual reality headset, except there was no ‘off’ switch. It was hardwired right to the brain.
Of course, the serum had many practical applications.
Pain management, assisted living, palliative care, education, just to name a few.
Dave Caldwell, being a member of the police force, had decided to repurpose it, however. It had taken an entire eight months just to get the new software linked to the serum.
During that time, he’d had multiple… setbacks.
His new car had been stolen right out of the garage.
He storage unit had burnt to the ground, taking with it the precious few mementos he had left of Maggie.
He’d had numerous health issues…. Hallucinations. The doctors kept repeating the word ‘trauma’ over and over again. He was tired of hearing it.
Worst of all, his wife, Sarah, had left him during this time. Claimed he was ‘obsessing’ over this.
Obsessing?!
“He killed our daughter!” Dave hissed, as if repeating the conversation all over again.
“Don’t tell me you don’t want revenge! Don’t tell me you’ve just forgiven him?!”
He could feel the blood trickling through his bandage as he unconsciously clenched his fist again. He was vaguely aware of some laughter in the background as he reread the code once more, scanning for any inconsistencies.
“With this new code… with the serum, I can make his life a living hell. I can make him regret the day he chose to drink and drive! The day he killed our Maggie!”
“Daddy!”
A shrill scream tore his attention away from the monitor.
A familiar scream.
He felt a cool object in his hand as he jumped up. The serum.
He realized he was holding a syringe now, though he didn’t recall grabbing it.
Oh well.
It didn’t matter.
Dread rising like acid in is stomach, Dave hurtled down the stairs, syringe in hand.
“Daddy! Help me!”
Maggie’s voice.
He could hear the little girl, loud and clear, shrieking from beyond the door.
In the back of his mind, he was vaguely aware of a nagging sensation. Something telling him this was just a hallucination, some sort of primal instinct.
Maybe this is what it’s like.
Though he never heard a snap, Dave was pretty sure he was his own witness, watching the last of his sanity ebbing away.
He tore open the front door, squinting as the bright light stabbed at his retinas.
“Daddy!”
Maggie was standing a few yards away, blue eyes boring pleadingly into his.
Before he could even take a step, he heard the roar of an engine.
Then a deafening crash.
Screaming.
So much screaming…
Was he screaming?
He wasn’t sure, but he was sure of one thing. He was moving. Lunging at the sloppy looking man climbing from the ruined vehicle. Clawing at his neck.
The serum.
Then he was aware of a pair of arms, pulling him back.
The house had dissolved behind him, replaced by his own car. His wife was crouched on the pavement nearby, a tiny figure cradled in her arms.
Everything was red.
Why was it so red?!
Dave was certainly screaming now. Searching for the syringe.
Where was it?!
He was going to do it. He was going to make the man pay! He was going to-
He was vaguely aware of a voice behind him.
A doctor…?
Followed by a stabbing sensation in his neck.
He could feel a bitter cold radiating through his neck, up into his head, wrapping around his brain like a vice grip.
Shaking like a leaf, Dave reached up to his neck, his fingers wrapping around a cool cylindrical object.
As he pulled the object away, he could see dark tendrils creeping along the edges of his vision. Numbers, letters, symbols…
Code.
As his vision began to fade, he looked down at the object in his hand.
Familiar.
Terrifying.
The serum.