CEO O’Brien stood at the skyscraper windows, his hands lightly touching the glass. The tech and cultural efforts that he had assigned his workers showed the profitability of an economy that was booming. Unfortunately, other transnational corporations had gotten a scent of the profits and were busily horning in on O’Brien’s market share.

O’Brien was kicked out of his pose by a buzzing sound in the boardroom that was a blast from the past — a signal that he had to get to work. Therefore, although there were a number of vice-presidents in the corporation working on the issue, in many ways, the dangers of the project, the cost overrun potential, and the at-risk reputation were all factors by which the CEO was called to duty.

Dressed in an Armani suit, CEO O’Brien was as superficially polished as a model on a Milan runway. Spinning around with great dexterity, and marching to the doorway — the light glinted off his cufflinks — the CEO opened the door to admit a shy, timid engineer named Billy Thrumb.

In contrast to the CEO, whose demeanor was casual and relaxed, Billy was nervous, appalled, and fidgety. Despite the small number of levels in the corporate hierarchy, Billy was as far from O’Brien as a scuttling beach crab is from a great white shark. That made it imperative that Billy have some good news. Unfortunately, he did not.

“Uh, sir… There’s been an accident.”

With eyebrows arched imperiously and a wetted tongue touching his upper lip, O’Brien barked, “Where?”

“In Ottawa, by the Rideau Canal,” Billy Thrumb gulped. “The biohazard containment perimeter was breached. Three researchers are dead.”

Pushing past Billy and shoving his way rudely into the hall, CEO O’Brien stalked toward his communications nexus on the 50th floor of the building. Crammed into nooks in the hallway were various pieces of sculpture commissioned by the corporation, most of which had cost $50,000 or more. As O’Brien hurried past the artworks, his suit jacket fluttering behind him, he dimly heard the messenger of bad news scurrying after him, and was angered. Incompetent fool, he thought bitterly.

O’Brien took the stairs down because of the repairs currently underway on the elevators. To calm himself, he counted backward from 100 in German. The CEO spoke four languages fluently and was a regular fixture on the international circuit.

There was a crash from above. Billy Thrumb had tripped over a step and was falling fast toward O’Brien. Alerted to the catastrophe and triggered to act, O’Brien spun around and opened his arms. Billy flew into his boss’s arms. O’Brien braced himself before colliding with his subordinate. The two of them mingled bodies for a moment, then fell together to the cold concrete floor. There was a stickiness on O’Brien’s lip. Thrumb’s blood. In disgust, O’Brien wiped it away and pushed the useless engineer off his body.

“I’m so sorry!” Billy Thrumb cried. He was bleeding profusely from a superficial wound in his forehead. The blood that came out of his head, his hangdog expression, and his weak body stance all indicated that he fully expected to be whipped. O’Brien was too impatient to indulge him. “Let’s go!” he said.

O’Brien inserted his corporate passcard into a slot on the next floor. With a bing! sound, the door slid open. Once he was inside, he took a moment to survey the room.

The operations center was roomily large, expensively equipped, and full of employees hurrying back and forth. O’Brien was frenzied, as helplessly out of control as a general whose army has deserted him. This state of mind made it difficult for him to talk. When he finally got the words out, all he could say is “How?!”

Now that their CEO was there, the employees visibly calmed down. Responsibility was off their shoulders. The research accident had shown the vulnerability of the corporation to adverse events, and the result was a fine-narrowing of attention from the boss, but the problem was not so easily fixed.

Although CEO O’Brien was well familiar with operations, in a fit of anger, the procedures, contingencies, and emergency protocols were demonstrations of his expert wrath. He began to berate the employees using his knowledge of what they were supposed to do. He began to stride around the vast room, surrounded by stunned knowledge workers, and his footsteps echoed menacingly in the silence. Only the sound of the chattering dot-matrix printers was part of the scenery.

“I want to know,” O’Brien demanded, standing still, “how you’re going to solve this problem.”

Mike Connelly, a senior analyst, stood up from his swivel chair. “We’re working on it” — he gestured toward the computers — “and should have an answer within the hour.”

O’Brien was furious. “Not good enough,” he spat.

Oh shit, Mike thought with a sinking stomach. “If you’ll just allow me to explain –“

“No explanations! I’m going to load up the containment program myself. I’ll be at work on this computer. Don’t disturb me unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

With a deep huff of breath, O’Brien dropped down in front of a computer 4 meters away. The fluorescent lights of the room, staggered in rows overhead, shined bleakly.

His flying fingers summoned up a schematic of the research building. Within seconds, he was building up a profile of the deadly accident. The disaster was so widespread that half the research building had been contaminated. Suddenly, it was apparent to O’Brien that his own job was in jeopardy. The Board would have his nuts in a vise if he didn’t solve this, and fast.

Hidden in the computer’s hard drive was a small emergency program accessible only to VPs or above. Now, O’Brien accessed it. It asked for a password, and O’Brien responded appropriately. Amusingly (he thought grimly), a second password had been installed and was flashing on the screen now. His patience tested, O’Brien tapped in that one too. The screen cleared, and an Excel spreadsheet appeared, showing figures from the accountants’ review of the cost of the building. He was horrified to see that $20 million were at risk from the accident. Gulping, he flicked to the next screen. Images of photos taken under an electron microscope showed a virus in three-dimensional form. O’Brien had no idea what it was. After pausing for a moment to regroup, he was ushered into a secret report.

This moment of revelation came as a complete shock to him. Already the virus was mutating and spreading. Now that the containment was lowered, it should be safe — but it wasn’t. Some damn fool had left a gap in the containment, threatening to spread the virus far and wide. O’Brien thought as fast as he could, desperately searching for answers and finding none.

Pinned down by the situation like a butterfly on a corkboard, the CEO realized belatedly that none of his biohazard amelioration teams could enter the building without special suits. He had to borrow suits from rival corporations as soon as possible. That was the priority. When this realization hit him, he realized he would have to hide the real reason for his request for the suits. If his competitors found out, they would withhold the vital suits and destroy him.

Luckily, he could always pretend to be working on behalf of the government. That might work. He could say that there was a test drill and the Ministry of the Environment wanted to check if the responses were prompt. Yeah. Yeah! Try that.

O’Brien, who had secured a raise in the 2010s, when the corporation was expanding, and whose promotion was contingent upon performance, stood up. Now was the critical moment. His eyes, burning with passion and suppressed fear, settled on a nearby man. The man practically stood to attention as if he were a soldier. “Call Bioscan Canada, Inc. Get their CEO on the line.”

The connection was made and soon O’Brien had a phone in his hand and was talking to his opposite number at Bioscan.

Speaking slowly gave him a chance to calm himself and salvage the situation. When he had finished spinning his web of simple lies, the CEO of Bioscan calmly agreed to lend out ten biohazard white suits immediately, without delay. O’Brien felt colossal relief and then steadied himself on his feet. He made idle chit-chat for a few moments, thanked the other CEO, and handed off the phone call to a troubleshooter to make the detailed arrangements. There was a spider crawling on the wall and O’Brien absently noted that it was huge.

He could stay here and monitor the transfer of equipment. But he didn’t want to. Instead of remaining in the operations room, he left without a word and went to the gym on the 15th floor. Although he was by nature a sedentary man, the exercise machines, free weights and treadmills were alluring traps to make him reconsider his way of life. When he got on the treadmill, he punched in a slow terrain scenario and began walking. Soon he was huffing and out of breath. Reluctantly, he lowered the treadmill difficulty level down two notches. Much better.

In the back of his mind was the thought that the biohazard suits should be on their way right about now. The good thing about corporations was that they were reasonably efficient. That reality reassured O’Brien and was flash-frozen onto his brain. O’Brien walked at a slow pace, the treadmill grinding beneath him, red symbols flashing on the black status dashboard. It calmed him to walk this way, and soon he was imagining a hero’s welcome for himself and his quick actions.

The daily and sporadic emergencies emphasized the importance of the CEO role, he thought. His input was vital to the successful resolution of problems, not stopping at the solution but expending far beyond. He knew that he was a lucky man because of his salary and social status, but he felt he deserved it. Upon his promotion, he had smiled and internally cheered. Now, thinking back on it, it seemed to him he had been destined his whole life for this job.

There was a sudden crash from ahead. Jerking his head up, O’Brien saw a leg press machine overturned on its side. A strange figure in an exoskeleton military suit was standing there, staring at him. O’Brien was blasted out of his complacency by the deadly sight. He jumped off the treadmill, stood there for a moment, and called out for help.

A shot rang out. O’Brien felt a sudden pain in his chest, as if a hundred bricks had landed on him at once. Putting his hands on his chest and feeling the abrupt wetness, he looked down to see many trickles of blood emerging from between his spread hands. The intruder began to march toward him in jerky steps, all of which gave O’Brien a sense of terror.

Cold metal hands seized him and lifted him up. The treadmill, which had been whirring along nicely, was slowing. The force on him was so powerful that it was breaking his bones. He tried screaming, but nothing came out. Blood was pooling on the floor beneath his shoes. Once again, he tried to scream. It was futile. Horrifically, the intruder had intensified his grip and was strangling the life out of him.

Later, the employees discovered a hole in the gym wall and the CEO lying dead on the floor, twisted in a murder victim’s shape as if white chalk had been drawn around him.