Standing in one of the corner offices, a mug of green tea in her hand, Crimson stared down at the city. But she wasn’t thinking about San Lazaro, or Cynfo Tech, or Ryder or Goddess.

She was thinking about her husband, Troy. When she had last spoken to him all those weeks ago, he’d been on a business trip to Los Diablos. Troy hadn’t been permitted to leave once the virus began to spread, and they’d been apart ever since. Crimson couldn’t even remember what they’d said during their last phone call.