“I want 200,000 up front,” He said. “Another 200 when this is over. Oh, and B.O.Ws? Those are extra. An additional grand, each.”

This wasn’t the response you were expecting. You stared at him, dumbfounded by his requests. He was probably the only key to saving the world – yet hard, cold cash is the only thing on his mind. “I’m not here to hire you,” you said, which is quickly met by his confusion. He ripped his gaze away from the barred window, down to you, and you shake away the feeling of his fierce eyes.

“What?” he said, his voice deep. “Why are you here?”

“Your blood,” You quickly responded. A puff of cold air followed with each breath. He stared at you for a moment, huffing a breath of amusement, before turning the other way. You wouldn’t have expected this man to be the one blessed with immunity. “What are you, the red cross or something?” He jokes, though it’s hard to determine whether he’s being serious with his replies.

“No, listen those… things that attacked us, they were all exposed a new virus called the C-virus,” you explained, but all he returned was indifference. He shifts, looking at everything in the room but your eyes. You continued, taking a step closer. “It was the same strain that you just took a dose of.” Finally, he glanced at you, his hand coming to touch the base of his neck – the site where he had previously injected himself with the C-virus. “It didn’t affect you because you’ve got the antibodies. Right now, we're racing against a global bioterrorist attack, and we needed a vaccine yesterday." You paused. Then, your voice softer, "We need you, Jake. We need your blood."

He was silent for a moment, and he leaned against the barred window, deep in thought – though you weren't sure if he was thinking about saving the world or even more cash. "50 million dollars," he says, almost so casually, and you sigh in disbelief. "Cash, non-negotiable," he continues. "That'll get you..." he thinks, "...one pint."