OneAT THE OPEN DOOR TO the empty concrete dome, inside the long chain link fence, you can see those sheets of paper tacked to a bulletin board, each page protected by plastic against the weather.
You can read it from where you stand, if you focus your binoculars just right:
They call me Death.
But I gave you only love as my gift.
Blame it all on the terrorists. Or the scientists. Or the government.
Doesn't matter. I'm alive because I'm a freak. And I was made in the image of you.
Some say it was after they found viruses were sentient. And passed that Sentient Life Act. But people say a lot of things.
I can't die, you see. And so the government scientists gave me more life to give away in return. That life can cause death.
But I'm not a terrorist, I was a victim of terrorism.
I rem
