GAJA J. KOS

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Machines beeped away in their gleeful rhythm as I ran on the treadmill, wishing with every step that the screech marking the end of the test would sound through the sweat- and disinfectant-filled space. 

It wasn’t that I minded the additional exercise. Far from it. The burn in my muscles was always a gratifying sensation. 

But after doing the same damn thing for nearly three months, it was getting kind of tiresome.

“Five more minutes, Lotte,” Agnieszka said from behind her station.

I let out an obligatory groan, but the petite brunette didn’t react. She kept staring intently at the monitors, a travel mug filled with blood that prickled my nose in one hand, a pen with Interspecies Crimes and Relations Agency spelled out on the side in the other. She marked something down on her trusty pad, although for the life of me, I couldn’t imagine just what it could have been aside from SAME.

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