#entrsam

Time truly goes by when you're enjoying what you do. In Sam's case, he had been stuck in the ship's lab for several hours now, studying the modified strain, bending over tablets and a few books and the cool microscope that happened to be near the spot he chose to take over despite this one Dr. Ramirez's complaints. At one point he realized that he was alone, Carol must have gotten either scared off with his excited ramblings or annoyed with his incessant flirting. The latter seemed more like it. Not like he could help it. Still, there were several crew members around, so her absence wasn't something which had him stopping to glance around; something to make him stop his investigation. Neither was the itch in his throat, which had become more and more irking with each passing minute, which in turn also made it harder to breathe. Fuck that, like he was going to let a small cold prevent him from getting anything done. The same had happened when he had been in the academy, and it had only taken seven shots of the purest alcohol smuggled by his roommate to make the symptoms go away. Unfortunately, there was no alcohol around except the one that would be very bad to drink, so all he did was snatch a surgical mask from a drawer and kept going. The mutation could indeed be transferred to humans, so there had to be a way to get it out, right? Right. Sam wrote down his findings, and with the other hand, rubbed (useless thing to do, but he was busy) at his throat. Then he sniffled, and rolled his eyes before rubbing them because "does anyone know if we have any tissues around here?" what a treacherous body he had. Stupid cold. Who the hell had been careless enough to not go to sickbay and instead spread some shit around? Jesus.