Page 28 of Crocodile Tears
“That’s because Calvin has excellent taste in women.”
“That’s because Calvin isn’t threatened by competent females.”I turn back to my computer, feeling oddly grateful for the comparison.“Suddenly, I’m much more excited about tomorrow night’s date.”
“Even if he spends the evening watching for imaginary surveillance?”
“Even if he spends the evening watching for imaginary surveillance.”I grin at Margo.“At least he won’t spend it trying to convince me I’m too successful for my own good.”
She nods approvingly.“That’s what I call progress.”
Theafternoonfliesbyas I dive into finalizing research protocols.Something’s deeply satisfying about organizing complex experimental procedures, especially when they represent years of theoretical work finally moving toward practical application.My phase two trials could genuinely revolutionize trauma medicine, and the prospect of helping people recover from injuries that currently result in permanent disability fills me with the kind of professional excitement that makes long hours feel like minutes.
I’m so absorbed in updating genetic sequencing parameters that I don’t notice Margo packing up her things until she appears beside my desk with her jacket and purse.“Dr.L, I’m heading out.You should probably think about doing the same soon.”
I glance at the clock and discover it’s already six-thirty.“Just a few more minutes.I want to finish these trial modifications.”
“Famous last words.”She grins.“Don’t stay too late.You have a date tomorrow night to prepare for, so you’ll want time to obsess over what you’re going to wear.Best to start early.”
“It’s dinner, not a state function.How much preparation could it require?”
“With Agent Scales?Who knows what kind of security protocols might be involved.”She wiggles her eyebrows and chuckles.
After she leaves, the lab settles into the peaceful quiet that comes with having the building mostly to myself.The soft hum of equipment maintaining optimal conditions for various experiments creates a background soundtrack that I find deeply comforting.This is my element—the intersection of cutting-edge science and practical application, where theoretical knowledge transforms into real-world solutions.
By 7 p.m., I’ve completed more work than I originally planned, but my stomach is staging a rebellion against my coffee-and-granola-bar diet.The vending machine in the basement isn’t exactly fine dining, but it dispenses reasonably edible cheese crackers and has never given me food poisoning, which makes it superior to most campus dining options.I’ll grab something more substantial on the way home, like a raw steak from the grocer since the butcher is closed already, but I need something to take the edge off.
I save my work and head for the elevator with the peculiar satisfaction that comes from a day of genuine scientific progress.Tomorrow, I’ll start implementing the expanded trials that could revolutionize trauma medicine.Tonight, I’ll celebrate with artificially flavored cheese products and maybe even a decent night’s sleep if I don’t get too excited about my forthcoming second date.
The elevator descends to the basement level with the mechanical precision of equipment that’s been maintained by people who understand the importance of reliable infrastructure.The hallway lights flicker on automatically as I approach the vending machine, casting everything in the harsh fluorescent glow that makes even the most mundane activities feel vaguely institutional.
I’m debating between cheese crackers and peanut butter cookies when I remember Calvin’s warnings about varying my routine and being aware of my surroundings.The advice seemed paranoid last night, but standing alone in a basement hallway, I can appreciate the wisdom of basic safety awareness.
I select the cheese crackers and head back toward the elevator, automatically noting the locations of emergency exits and the positions of security cameras.Calvin’s influence, probably.Or maybe just common sense that I’ve been too absorbed in my work to practice consistently.
The elevator carries me back to the main floor, where the lobby is empty except for the security guard, who waves from behind his desk.I wave back, appreciating the human presence in what’s become a mostly empty building.Most researchers keep normal hours, unlike certain workaholic geneticists, who lose track of time when they’re excited about cellular regeneration protocols.
The walk to my car takes me through the main entrance and across the plaza to the parking garage.I’ve taken this route hundreds of times, usually while preoccupied with research problems or planning the next day’s experiments.Tonight, I actually pay attention to my surroundings, noting the lighting, the sight lines, and the positions of other vehicles.
That’s when I notice the black van parked near my car.
It’s probably nothing.University campuses are full of maintenance vehicles, delivery trucks, and the various service vehicles that keep academic institutions functioning.A black van parked in a parking garage could belong to anyone—IT services, facilities management, or some contractor working on building systems.
But I remember Calvin’s description of professional surveillance, and the van’s positioning gives it clear sight lines to the main entrance of the garage and my car.The windows are tinted dark enough to obscure the occupants, and something about the vehicle’s placement seems too deliberate for coincidence.
I shake my head, annoyed with myself for even considering this and thinking Calvin’s paranoia might be contagious.One evening with a hypervigilant ex-soldier, and I’m suspicious of random work vehicles.This is exactly the kind of thinking that leads to seeing conspiracies in perfectly normal situations.
The parking garage is well-lit and secure, with cameras covering all the entrances and regular security patrols.I’ve never felt unsafe here, even during late evening departures.Tonight feels no different, except for the nagging awareness that I’m actually paying attention to potential risks instead of automatically assuming everything is fine.
Irritated with myself, I cross the remaining distance to my car.I’m fishing my keys out of my purse and mentally composing tomorrow’s experiment schedule when six men in tactical gear step out from behind the concrete pillars and surround me.
For a moment, my brain refuses to process what I’m seeing.Men in black tactical gear don’t appear in university parking garages.They don’t surround research scientists who’ve spent the evening updating trial protocols.This has to be some kind of mistake—maybe campus security conducting training exercises or, possibly, a very elaborate prank that someone will explain shortly.
Then one of them raises a weapon that definitely isn’t standard campus security equipment, and my survival instincts override my confusion.
The shift begins before I consciously trigger it as a response to an immediate threat that bypasses rational thought and activates genetic programming designed for situations exactly like this.My jaw begins to elongate, and my teeth sharpen as adrenaline and predatory focus floods my nervous system.
Scales erupt across my skin in the distinctive green-black pattern that marks me as a crocodile shifter.My hands extend into clawed appendages capable of significant damage, and my newly enhanced jaw structure could easily crush bone.
I manage to lunge at the nearest attacker, my shifted teeth finding the gap between his body armor and helmet.The taste of his blood fills my mouth as my bite force exceeds the protective capacity of his equipment.He screams and staggers backward, but before I can press my advantage, I feel the sharp sting of two prongs penetrating the still-human skin on my neck.
