"Last count was thirty-two," Mohinder said out loud with his eyes focused through microscope lenses and his mind on what he knows of retroviruses and ways to distinguish them from the rest. Shanti looked so much like the flu, worked so much like the flu, but deep down, in it's molecules, it was something so much more deadly. Viruses weren't exactly alive, not like bacteria, but they were still able to think in a way. Adapt. That was what this looked like-- Something capable of being autonomous. No wonder it had been shelved and hidden away. The people that created this strain were playing God. And they won.

Mohinder looked up from the last sample he'd been working through before Matt came in with Molly and took the glasses from his face to pinch the bridge of his nose.

If this is like Odessa, by tomorrow half of the people in this hospital will be dead. In three days, ninety-six percent will be dead.

And what would they do then?

"Is anyone thinking about what happened? How this one started? We were all cleared, Matt, we--" He was blaming himself. Hadn't they been to Coney Island last weekend, until Molly threw up on the Tilt-A-Whirl?