The siren of an alarm pierced through Suzanne’s head. Her eyes popped open, instantly reading the time: six-fifteen. “Shit!” she shouted, jumping out of bed and dashing into the bathroom.

Eight o’clock, she reminded herself, she told her team to be at the compound by eight o’clock. Usually, her alarm going off at six-fifteen would allow her enough time to take a daily jog of a few miles, return home for a quick shower, and still make it to work by nine. That was her error today, she realized, as she forgot to adjust her alarm to make up for the earlier starting hour at work. And God forbid she show up at the compound even one second late after demanding her team be there punctually. Any chance they had to criticize her they’d jump upon, so she’d have to sacrifice her running. Hopefully, the break in her exercise routine wouldn’t have that drastic an effect on her physique.

In the shower, she quickly shaved her legs, cursing each time she nicked herself with her razor. Finding something to wear was a hassle. Most of her clothes were in the dirty laundry hamper, which had filled up and overflowed during the previous two weeks due to the countless hours spent at work on the project. She settled for an ankle-length floral skirt—yellow with light purple flowers—and a lavender sweater. Though she wasn’t thrilled with the ensemble, at least it was color coordinated.

A glance at her gold wristwatch told her that it was now seven o’clock. On a good day, her commute, though usually an hour later, was about thirty-five minutes, but she had a terrible feeling that this was not going to be a good day.

Sure enough, traffic was heavier than usual due to an accident, so she turned off the highway and wove her way through surface roads like a white lab mouse navigating a maze. Driving into HarTech’s underground parking garage with only five minutes to spare, she sprinted for the stairwell instead of the elevator so as not to receive any further delays. Rather than run up the stairs in heels, she took them off and dashed up the two flights in her nylons. As soon as she was inside the foyer, she paused to put the shoes back on—she had to present herself professionally—and continued down the hallways until reaching her sector of the compound and the finish line of her race. Maybe this little run would make up for her forsaken morning exercise, she rationalized.

The first place to make her presence known was the control room where the main computer terminal running the project was located. Darren was the one who most vehemently opposed their eight o’clock starting time; naturally, he had to be the first person upon which she checked.

He wasn’t there, nor was anyone else. She scrutinized her watch, and sure enough, it was two minutes past eight. “Wait until I find him,” she grumbled under her breath as she marched out of the room.

She listed the other members of the team in her head. Keith was most likely still finishing the circuitry overhaul. Jessica was probably in the bio-lab with the plants. Prone to wandering the halls, Niels could be anywhere ranting to himself about quantum theory. If Michelle were even in that sector of the compound, she’d be in the break room pouring herself a cup of black coffee.

When Suzanne entered the room, she was surprised to find not only Michelle there, but also the majority of the project team with her. Jessica was seated at the table, sipping her coffee and reading the newspaper; Niels was pacing the room, mumbling to himself while holding a cup of tea; Keith was lying on the sofa, fast asleep and snoring softly; Darren was the only one missing.

“What the hell is this?” Suzanne’s hands were on her hips, and her foot was tapping on the linoleum floor. “It’s past eight o’clock? Why aren’t any of you working?”

They all froze and stared at her in confusion. Even Keith, who was instantly awakened by her shrill voice, appeared somewhat flustered.

Before anyone could answer, Darren entered the room with a box of doughnuts. “Breakfast is here,” he said, stopping in his tracks as soon as he caught a glimpse of Suzanne. “Want one?” he asked meekly, his words garbled by globs of pastry inside his mouth.

“Will someone please explain to me why we’re all here instead of doing what we’re supposed to be doing?”

The five of them looked at each other with some unspoken method to determine who’d answer. Jessica won—or perhaps lost—the contest. “You don’t know?” she asked. “Suzanne, we all arrived on time and received your memo.”

“My memo? What do you mean my memo?”

Flipping through her clipboard, Michelle opted to continue the explanation. “This one.” She handed Suzanne a formal document: the alleged memo.

Snatching it out of Michelle’s hand, Suzanne skimmed it. Sure enough, it was a memo from her explaining how Dr. Hargrove had to reschedule his visit from noon until one o’clock, so the test wouldn’t occur until that time. Then, at the bottom of the paper was a reasonable facsimile of Suzanne’s signature.

She knew she didn’t write the memo. She had no idea Hargrove was going to reschedule; this was the first she had heard of it. She wanted to have the test at noon as planned so they would finish debriefing early enough for her to leave on time. Even if the test results were favorable, she was not planning on staying late into the night. But now she had no choice in the matter because, after all, Dr. Hargrove was the boss, so they all had to respond to his every whim. Usually he wasn’t this flighty though, often giving the common courtesy of at least a telephone call.

“I work better on a full stomach.” Darren removed his jacket to reveal a different superhero T-shirt. “I figured you wouldn’t mind if we took a quick breakfast.”

“I gave the boy permission to go.” Niels hobbled over to the table and took a jelly doughnut from the box.

Yawning, Keith stood and stretched his arms. “No big deal, Suzanne. We’ll get everything done long before the test.”

Suzanne was too incensed with Hargrove to lash out at Keith or any of the others, so she sternly gave her final words: “Ten more minutes, and then back to work. I want the specimen set by noon.”

She marched through the hallways towards her office, brandishing the memo she had taken from Michelle. “Audrey!” she called. “What’s the meaning of this?”

Anticipating this reaction, Audrey jumped up and met Suzanne halfway down the hall. “I found this on my desk, like, when I got here at seven-thirty.” She handed Suzanne a manila envelope emblazoned with the words “Interdepartmental Mail” and a single pre-printed label with Suzanne’s name on it. Inside was a typed memo with Dr. Hargrove’s initials notifying her of the schedule change. “I tried to give you a call on your cell, but—”

“I did not get a call on my cell.”

“Yes you did, but you left it in your office last night. I heard it ringing in there when I called you. I had to take matters into my own hands.”

“So you wrote a memo from me and forged my signature?”

“Yeah.” Audrey eagerly nodded her head and smiled. “Pretty good job, don’t you think? I even got how you, like, run the two n’s in Suzanne together—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever.” Suzanne handed the envelope back to her secretary but kept both memos. “Get Dr. Hargrove on the line. I want to know why he’s postponing me.”

Audrey ran back to the desk and picked up her telephone receiver as Suzanne went into the office. Moments later, Suzanne’s office phone rang. It was Audrey informing her that Dr. Hargrove’s secretary said that he wouldn’t be in the office all morning, but he would be back in time for the test. The day was off to a terrible start, thought Suzanne, hoping it wouldn’t continue to get worse.

By eleven-thirty, Suzanne was in the bio-lab asking, “Has Michelle already taken the plant to the chamber?”

“No,” replied Jessica, sitting at a counter where there were a microscope and other related supplies. “Haven’t seen her.”

Frustrated, Suzanne muttered to herself, “If you want something done, gotta do it yourself.” Then she addressed Jessica, “Which one is it today?”

Appearing too busy with her part of the project, Jessica didn’t answer. She simply pointed at a fern on the edge of the counter.

“Did you already take a cutting?”

“Yes. I’m preparing a slide now.” Jessica continued about her business. “I’m sure it will look like plant cells.”

“Would you expect anything else before the test?” Suzanne cradled the plant under one arm, and some soil spilled over the rim of the flowerpot and stained her lab coat.

“No,” sighed Jessica. In reality, the answer was yes. She expected a heck of a lot more out of this job than just looking at plant cells—she was doing that back in high school. “Just bring this one back this time. Bigger, smaller, I don’t care, just as long as I don’t have to spend the afternoon cleaning it off the walls of the chamber.”

Suzanne was going to comment, but Jessica had already pushed her glasses onto the top of her head so she could examine the plant under the microscope. At least she was doing her job, thought Suzanne as she left the room

Moments later, Suzanne, with plant in hand, was standing outside the reduction chamber. Michelle was approaching from the far end of the hallway. “Where were you?” asked Suzanne. “You were supposed to get the fern from the—”

“Audrey had me held up signing some paperwork.” Michelle removed a pen from atop her ear and then held it to her clipboard, ready to start her interrogation. “Are you bringing any live animals or animal tissue in there with you?”

Suzanne groaned, “No.”

“What’s in your pockets?”

“My pockets?” Suzanne was clearly growing frustrated. “Why do you want to see what’s in my pockets?”

“Lab mice can fit in your pockets. I’m not taking any chances, not after the last few tests.”

“Michelle, I assure you that the only organic matter entering that chamber is this plant.” She held the fern in front of Michelle’s face. “And of course, myself.”

“You’re going to empty your pockets, or I will file a report to Dr. Hargrove. And several animal rights organizations will get a copy too.”

“If you’re going to be like this, why didn’t you get to the bio-lab on time to put the plant inside yourself?”

Michelle glared at Suzanne and tapped her pen on the clipboard. “It’s my job to observe and report, not to participate. I think we’ve forgotten that in recent tests. Now empty your pockets, please.”

Suzanne groaned and placed the fern down on the floor. “Just take my frigging lab coat!” snapped Suzanne as she removed the garment and flung it towards Michelle. “My skirt has no pockets. Does that satisfy you, or do you need to frisk me?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Michelle cocked an eyebrow while scribbling something on her paper. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?” Suzanne was growing more impatient.

“A radiation suit.” Michelle gestured to a set of hooks on the wall where four yellow full-body suits with head gear and small oxygen tanks hung.

Suzanne pressed a button on a control panel by the door to the chamber. “I’m not putting one on for this. I’ll be in and out.”

“Refusing a precautionary measure,” mumbled Michelle, jotting more notes on the paper on her clipboard. Without looking up, she added, “I hope the test is everything you want it to be.”

A windowless door in the wall slowly slid open, and Suzanne passed through into a small antechamber: the radiation lock. Doors were located at opposite ends of the rectangular room, one leading into the chamber and one leading back to the hallway. Similar to an airlock, only one door could be open at a time. The doors, especially the inner one, were made of lead several inches thick and were strong enough to shield even the supercharged radioactivity that Niels said was necessary for organic miniaturization. Inside the radiation lock was a safety shower and fire extinguisher for decontamination purposes, neither of which had been used during Suzanne’s tenure there—an accident-free record she could boast about.

The outer door closed silently, followed by a fifteen second delay and finally, the opening of the inner door. An influx of disinfected air wafted into Suzanne’s nostrils. Cautiously, she stepped inside and then looked around the room. She was both awestruck and intimidated by the capabilities of the chamber, if it ever correctly did what it was intended to do. Here, in this cylindrical room, twelve feet in diameter and fifteen feet tall, the planet’s notions of matter were going to be forever changed, and it filled her with pride just knowing that she was the head of such a groundbreaking project. As she placed the fern on a white pedestal in the center of the room, she looked up at the high ceiling, feeling somewhat tiny in comparison to the chamber.

She turned to leave, but was annoyed to discover the door had slid shut. If not for her acute sense of direction, she wouldn’t even be able to find the location of the door, since it matched with the faint silver reflective coating of all the other walls. Approaching a control panel hidden beside the door, she wondered why the doors had to be so quiet.

A red light told her that the outer door of the radiation lock was ajar, thus preventing the inner door from opening. A simple pressing of some buttons would alleviate the situation. Suzanne waited a minute, but nothing happened. She knew there was a delay between the opening of the doors, but not one that long.

Another minute passed, and she grew frustrated. “This isn’t funny,” she called over her shoulder. “Let me out of here.”

After another minute, her frustration became anger. The red light stayed on. She pounded on the door, one bang between each of her words. “Let…me…out…now!”

She backed away from the door and growled at the ceiling. “All right, I don’t know which one of you is behind this, but I want out of here.”

A microphone and video camera had been placed near the top of the room so they could watch and listen on a video monitor in the control room. Unfortunately for Suzanne, the control room was empty because Darren, Keith, and Niels were all at lunch.

While pacing, she glanced at her watch, which read almost ten minutes to twelve. Though it seemed like hours, she couldn’t have been trapped in the chamber for more than five minutes. Someone was playing a little practical joke on her, and on any other day, she may have found it remotely humorous, but not an hour before her supervisor was coming to check their progress.

“Will someone get me the hell out of here?” Her voice reverberated throughout the room, but only she heard it.

The sterile air of the room was making her lightheaded, so she dragged her feet to the wall, leaned against it, and slid down it until she sat on the floor. Her face between her knees, she placed her hands on the back of her neck. “They’re probably all up there laughing at me right now,” she said out loud to herself.

Suddenly, a faint humming could be heard. She slowly raised her head and looked around. Softly at first, almost inaudible, the sound steadily gained intensity, but she couldn’t identify it. What is that noise, she wondered, crinkling her forehead to try to focus on the familiar sound.

She sprang to her feet the instant she recognized it from the control room above. It was the system powering up as it did ten minutes before a test. She thrust her wrist in front of her face to read her watch that had been synchronized with the control computer earlier that week. Though the time was only seconds after ten to twelve, the power-up sequence had been initiated.

Her anger turned into anxiety as she imagined how far they were going to take this tasteless prank. Flailing her arms in the air, she hollered at the camera. “This isn’t funny anymore! Hey, you jerks up there, get me out of here!”

No response. She jumped to the control panel and frantically pounded on the button, her finger then nervously pressing it again and again without pause. She brought her cheek against the wall, so her eyes could keep vigilant watch of the light—the red light—the stupid red light that wouldn’t go off—the damned red light that prevented her from escaping the room.

The humming grew louder and louder. Suzanne’s anxiety became outright fear. What if this wasn’t a joke? Sweat beaded on her brow and dripped down her arms. What if this really was the test? Her screams for help started echoing into an unending and deafening screech.

At that moment, Niels, Keith, and Darren entered the control room laughing. Their lunchtime conversation concerned a wager the three of them placed on the impending fate of the fern this time. Then Niels abruptly shushed them.

“Chill out,” said Darren.

“Do you hear that?” asked Niels, detecting the faint hum from the chamber.

“Yeah,” replied Keith. “It sounds like the system powering itself up.”

Darren jumped into his seat and focused on the computer monitor. “It is powering up. It’s not supposed to be doin’ this for another hour.”

“It does not matter,” said Niels. “We run the test early. Suzanne must have the specimen in there by now.”

Keith’s eyes bulged when he glanced at the video monitor of the chamber. “That’s not all she’s got in there.” He turned to the others. “She’s in there too.”

After a split-second pause, the three men adopted battle stations for the crisis. Darren was speedily typing away at his computer terminal, Keith kneeled by the video monitor and plugged a microphone into an audio jack near the video console, and Niels hunched over him watching the screen.

“Suzanne?” a male voice bellowed from the top of the chamber.

Her cheeks were streaked with mascara as tears dripped down her face. “Keith?” she muttered to herself. “Keith!” She hopped up and looked straight at the camera, waving her arms around wildly and then cupping her hands in front of her face to yell. “You’ve got to get me out of here!”

Up in the control room, Keith could barely hear her over the ever-increasing hum. He pressed the talk button on the microphone and spoke: “What are you doing in there?”

“I was setting the plant! Now get me out! The radiation lock won’t open!”

Niels noticed a light on the console. “The outer door to the lock is ajar.” He pressed the button to close it, but nothing seemed to happen. “It will not close.”

“This is the real thing,” said Darren, still striking the keyboard. “The computer thinks we’re doin’ the test now.”

“What?!” Keith brought the microphone with him as he slid to Darren’s side. “With Suzanne in there?”

Darren pointed at his screen. “The computer thinks it’s seven minutes to one.”

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do nothing! The time’s been fine all week!”

“Well, can you abort the initiation sequence? Or at least open the radiation lock?”

Darren punched a series of keys, but the computer responded rudely with a series of beeps. “Jeez, this thing won’t let me in. I’m friggin’ locked out.”

“How can you be locked out? You programmed this.”

“I know. I ain’t ever seen this before. Some serious shit happened.”

“Keith?” Suzanne’s voice was strained and crackling as she tried to speak through her tears and over the roar of the rapidly turning electric generators. “What’s happening?”

“We’re working on it, Suzanne. Trust me.” He released the button of the microphone. “All right, what are our options?”

“I hope I didn’t miss anything,” said a