Dany knows that she is deep underground, knows that her cell is a large version of the kind of BSL-4 laboratory box that her Wistar rats once lived in.
In here, Dany has nothing but time. She doesn’t even have herself anymore. Because the moment that stolen quarter was dropped into the slot, Dany wasn’t Dany.
She was a collection of cells.
Something to be collected, taken, harvested. To be drawn up in a needle bit by bit.
Only, it’s not just a few of her cells. No, they want Dany whole, like she’s some kind of hairless macaque. An oversize Wistar rat.
Because they don’t want a bit of finite tissue.
They want the source.
