It’d started with a cough; nothing major, just a tickle at the back of Sly’s throat. He’d popped some pills, assumed it was allergies or the sniffles, and carried on with his day; those reports wouldn’t run themselves, after all.
By mid-day, he was hacking away almost uncontrollably. Worried glances started turning his way and he had to excuse himself multiple times to try and get it under control, and Sly had grown more and more concerned when he’d steadily escalated from coughing up phlegm to globlets of blood.
In the end, Sly had excused himself, much to the relief of his co-workers, he headed home. It was a half-hour drive, one made all the more difficult by his constant coughing, the raging fever that burned through his veins, and the maddening itching at the back of his neck.
Sly was so desperate to get home to bed and a bowl of steaming hot chicken soup that he didn’t notice the army vehicles troubling past him, the cars pulled over at the side of the road, their occupants heaving blood-filled bile onto the grass verge…
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