(2014 year, warm evening)

— For what I and other agents fighting bioweapons if the government itself is using this shit? — Leon grumbled, holding a screwdriver in his teeth.

Sitting with your husband in the garage, you listened to him in silence and watched as he cleaned the carburetor of his motorbike.

— Why are bioterrorists creating this? They know that they will always be punished for this..—He said it, narrowing his eyes, still holding the screwdriver in his teeth.