aid so,” murmurs the doctor. “Almost wiped it out back in the twentieth, but the resistant strains are making a comeback. We can try the standard treatment, or…” She flips through a chart. “You might get into this experimental trial…”
“Really?” Sardonic hope flares in the eyes of the man in the paper gown. On others, that gown would look flimsy and degrading–yet on him, it becomes a subtle statement, an inverse cape. Only he knows the syphilis test results were faked. Only he knows his reasons for angling into the drug trial. He is, after all, QUANTUM FOX, AGEN