Malcolm
Malcolm Trent walked swiftly down the hallway, his shiny black shoes echoing like gunshots in the empty passage. He tugged on the sleeves of his suit, pulling out nonexistent wrinkles, then did the same to the hem of his jacket. He smoothed his hair. He despised this place. Despised the white walls, despised the glaring lights, and despised the smell of bleach that always hung thickly in the air. It gave him a headache.
The hallway ended at a metal door. Malcolm slid his hand into the black identifier attached to the wall next to the door. He waited for the familiar prick as it drew blood for analyzation. After series of beeps and blurts a green light shone, confirming his DNA for identification purposes and that he was currently disease and virus free. The lock clicked and groaned. Malcolm pulled the door open and entered the quarantine room. The bacteria killing vapor enveloped him. Worthless. A waist of money. Nothing he carried on his clothes could harm her.
His heart beat fast at the thought of her, and a nervous sweat sprung up on his skin. Soon, he thought. Soon, she would realize why she belonged with him.
Soon.
I love your descriptions. They paint a fantastic picture, but it doesn't go on too long.
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