Eleven.

The computer beeped again. It was now pinging six times per minute. Whoever was sending these messages was getting impatient. I either could respond back or try making out of this lab alive.

And the choice had never been easier.

The running joke at the lab was that, even at these sub-zero temperatures, the coldest thing around here was my heart. Of course, they had no idea I knew of any of this – they would never say it to my face – but as Director, it was my job to know every single thing that went on in my premises. The tales of my cunning ruthlessness were etched onto the consciousness of every single person here.

And to me, there was no bigger compliment.

Beep-beep-beep.

Fresh from the academy, working here as a lowly lab technician, it wasn’t easy for me to make it big here. But what I lacked in talent or contacts, I made up for in my abilities to deceive and cheat, to gain someone’s implicit trust and to shatter it for my own benefit.

Beep-beep-beep.

And so began my ascent, from lab tech to operations manager, chief scientist to Program Director; a meteoric rise marked only by a trail of knives sticking out of backs. This was common knowledge, of course: there were only so many executives who could have unfortunate accidents before people put two and two together. Bear attacks on golf courses were rare, but if I wanted your seat, you best believe the odds weren’t in your favour.

Beep-beep-beep.

The torrent of incoming messages did not deter me from suiting up to leave. As the Director, I had access to certain privileges – as I very well should – and these messages were almost certainly people clamouring for help after the unexplained explosions earlier.

Me? Help them? I had found no reason to form any attachment to the people here, and neither did they. But now I had something they wanted: this raw power I had at my disposal, accrued over so many years with no support, no influence, only through my own efforts.

It was a man-eat-man world, and I was finally on top of the food chain. I owed no one but myself. I intended to help no one but myself.

Beep-beep-beep.

I zipped up my thermal jacket and took one last look at my office – a mausoleum to every life I had wrecked on my way to inhabiting it – as I took my private elevator to the helipad, where a helicopter was waiting to whisk me out of there.

As an uncharacteristic draught of hot air hit my face, any semblances of guilt left with me slowly faded away.

If a warm wind in the Arctic wasn’t proof of the Gods’ blessing, what else could it be?

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EMERGENCY BROADCAST (78) – MELTDOWN IN REACTOR. LETHAL RADIATION LEVELS.  ABOVE GROUND VENTURE FATAL. RETREAT TO BUNKER.