﻿<strong>Malcolm Mercer<br/>Thursday, 7/18/11 -- 8:07 AM<br/>McLemore's Auto Service<br/>"Looking Forward to Padded Walls"</strong><br/><br/>Malcolm looked around between the soldiers, trying to make sense of what they were telling him. Umbrella Corporation? The pharmaceutical company? "What? What the hell is a medical research company doing with its own private army? And why are you guys here instead of the military? And for that matter, what the hell is going on here anyway? Did "American Idol" get canceled or something?"<br/><br/>He watched as they tossed the helmets aside. Well, they were confident, he couldn't deny that. Mal considered scooping up one of the discarded helms for himself, wanting every piece of protection he could find, but the others were already moving back to the garage and he had no desire to be separated from anyone with a gun. He doubletimed it to keep up with the soldiers as they slipped into the garage and started checking the available cars for suitability, the heavy bag jostling against his shoulder with every step.<br/><br/>Mal froze in mid-step as the butch chick (Elizabeth, he thought her name was) mentioned the bag they'd so casually tossed him contained a bomb, and he suddenly had visions of being blasted to hamburger meat. She may as well have told him the bag was filled with ravenous spiders, so powerful was his sudden urge to be rid of the thing. "A bomb? I woke up twenty minutes ago into an Escher painting, and now you're telling me I'm hauling high explosives?! That's it! Just...get me to this base of yours, so I can enjoy my psychotic break in peace!"<br/><br/>Stomping toward the car his escorts had chosen, Mal jerked the rear door open and gently laid the bomb bag on the back seat, then unceremoniously slammed the door shut. He moved away from the car and strode over to his bike, grabbed his own helmet and turned back to the soldiers. "Lead the way, people. I'll follow on Lucy whenever you're ready," he said, patting the bike's saddle.