The Hive: a subterranean genetic research facility owned and operated by Umbrella, an immensely powerful corporation with interests in everything from human longevity to biowarfare. With computerized defenses and heavily armed human backup, the Hive is impregnable and invulnerable. Or so Umbrella believes.
But something has gone fatally wrong. The Hive has lost containment of its most lethal and horrific creation: a virus that kills and reanimates human life, reducing the entire facility staff of five hundred men and women to mindless creatures with a single driving force -- hunger. And the key to stopping them rests with one young woman who cannot even remember who she is.
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July 31, 2004
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Excerpt from Genesis by Keith R. A. DeCandido
He took a sip of Chianti before speaking. "You know, Matthew, I did warn you when I recruited you that this was an endeavor that might claim your sanity. I must confess, however, that I did not expect the fall to happen so soon." He set the wine glass down on one of the few clear spots on his massive oak desk. The Tuscan vintage went down a bit too smoothly. Aaron preferred the harsher red wines from northern Italy ' the type of wine you need to punch a hole through the wall to get down.
In the guest chair, Matthew Addison sat staring down at the desk. An overburdened wire-frame inbox took up one corner, Aaron's flatscreen monitor and keyboard, both products of the Umbrella Corporation, another. The irony of his equipment being of Umbrella manufacture was not lost on Aaron, given that a goodly portion of the machine's computing power was given over to trying to expose that corporation's illegal activities.
The rest of the desk's wooden surface was laden with random assortments of books, CDs, Zip disks, floppy disks, Post-its, printouts, spiral-bound reports, envelopes, folders, and quite possibly the corpse of Jimmy Hoffa. Aaron had been meaning to clean the desk in his office since the Carter administration.
Once you got past the desk, the office ' located in the western corner of Aaron's large suburban home ' was quite orderly. Bookshelves lined one wall, contents arranged neatly. A wet bar ' from whence he had taken the Chianti ' and several landscape paintings adorned the opposite wall, and behind him was the picture window looking out on his acres of property. A cleaning service came in twice a week to vacuum, dust, and make sure everything was in order, but the cleaners were not allowed to touch Aaron's desk. Any attempt to disturb his chaotic jumble would, he was sure, destroy the consulting business that paid for the house and the cleaning service. The sloppiness worked for him.
Matt finally looked up at Aaron and stared at him. "It's the only way this'll work."
"It's insane. Matthew, we cannot involve a civilian in this."