Micro War.

 

The Barbarian hoards began their charge upon the allied forces; across the frozen lake they assaulted. Blood stained faces, trophies of the dead sided on their hips, foaming mouths from the thirst of war. The enemy had rampaged across the planet seemingly unstoppable, spreading their virus death to every corner. Yet now, upon the frozen top of Lake 4B, would they finally meet their match.

General Dias Crue saddled his horse, his courage bold and true. His bravery unmatched. His men, all one hundred thousand of them, ready to give their lives so that his may be saved. In front of him, at the foot of the hill, his men collided with the enemy. A sprawling mass of violence chewed up the battle field from horizon to horizon. General Dias Crue was no coward, he kicked his horse forwards into a gallop, his Captains and Commanders following suit. His foot-solders parting as if he were Moses himself. A cheer, carried like a wave rolled alongside the General as he drew his sword, swung back his arm, and dove viciously within the Barbarian hold.

General Dias Crue would become legend. He had been the combination of six years of hard work, months of late nights and hours of dedication.

The next morning, Stan Li entered the lab, a strong coffee within his grasp. Pulling his name tag from the wall, he swiped it clocking himself in for another fabulous Monday morning shift. The date, 2075. Stan flicked on the lights, dried the washed beakers and test tubes, setting them back to their individual racks, wiped the fume hood and eventually finished off his routine checks.

Pulling the fridge door open, one by one he began to take out the Petri dishes placing them on the work top’s side.

“What the hell?” he mumbled staring blankly down at dish 4B. “It’s worked.”