Not what I wanted to do today, but I had to get something done. A lot of catchup to get to this point, and tomorrow is a time of errands. So it goes.
April 23, 2112
This bunch had really worked out how they were all going to kill themselves.
It wasn’t just that they had prepped the space. Norm knew that most suicide cults could be counted on doing that, putting up whatever crazy ritual crap they thought they’d need to Traverse the Great Beyond or Meet The Amalgamated Masters or whatever. These guys had also prepped themselves. The thirteen corpses were all dressed in clean and luxurious robes, with fresh haircuts and manicures. Not every cultist was wearing makeup, but the ones who did had all applied them with care and skill.
The room smelled sweet, even through the filters on his whole-face mask. That was surprising. In Norm’s experience, suicide sites started stinking right away. “Nita, whatcha got?” he asked the field tech. “It safe to take off the damn masks?”
“Absolutely not, Agent Baker.” That got him paying attention. Juanita Reyes might have been F-SOB, just like him, but the techies were looser about protocol. If she was suddenly going formal, this site wasn’t as kindergarten as it looked.
That oddly made him feel a little better.