The data didn't make sense.
Elias leaned forward, his elbows on the metal desk, as the glow of three separate monitors cast harsh shadows across his face. His fingers tapped the table in quiet rhythm as a row of immunoresponse charts failed to align for the third time.
The results were too clean. Too cooperative.
That wasn't how viruses behaved.
One of the things that had attracted him to biochemical weapons was the fact that nothing went the way you expected it to. If a trial was done on a particular pathogen or virus, you would hope that one out of twenty results corresponded with the desired outcome. Especially in the early stages. For every last result to be exactly what they wanted meant that someone had already planned for every contingency. And that wasn't likely.
