**Auditorium – 3:33 PM**
The auditorium smelled of gardenias and formaldehyde.
Daniel's valedictory medal hung heavy as a scalpel against his sternum, its gold-plated surface still warm from the principal's trembling hands. He adjusted his tie—navy blue, like the veins beneath fragile skin—just as the projector stuttered to life.
His prepared slides dissolved into:
1. **Live Feed: ICU Room 4**
Emeka's ventilator cycled at 12 breaths per minute, the rhythm syncopated by the erratic blip of his EEG.
2. **Chemical Equations**
*Sarin gas: C₄H₁₀FO₂P*
*Vapor density: 4.86 (heavier than air)*
*Lethal dose: 0.01 mg/kg*
3. **Countdown**
*00:04:27*
The numbers bled crimson.
Principal Adeleke took two stumbling steps forward, his commencement speech dissolving into white foam that bloomed at his lips like a grotesque boutonniere. The scent of bitter almonds unfurled through the hall—hydrogen cyanide, delivered via the gold-trimmed confetti now fluttering from the rafters.
Sarah's scream was the second sharpest sound in the room.
The first came from the exit sign above them—the wet crunch of steel parting flesh as a #10 scalpel embedded itself in the wiring. Sparks rained down like falling stars, illuminating the fresh silk sutures on Sarah's wrist where someone had stitched a perfect, glistening *1*.