The Riverside Village school, a sturdy structure of sun-dried bricks formed from the magic of the Outbreak System, no longer smelled of the pungent aroma of new earth and newness. It now smelled of dozens of concentrated children and the pale white dust of chalk that covered Professor Reuben Stone's sleeves as he wrote one word on the slate board: HYGIENE.
He'd begun innocently enough, singing the traditional song to assist the children in timing their hand-washing, riling them up as they soaped away imaginary germs. But the System, that omnipresent, voiceless companion of his mind, had whispered softly, a questioning remark, the first time he'd done so. No fresh DP, no skipped outbreak alert. Simply a subtle, data-rich message: [Behavioral Uptick: Proactive Health Practice Detected. Sour
