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SIX WEEKS AFTER HIS Google alerts had told him of the initial outbreak in New Jersey, Aruna was at home watching the TV news. The country was going crazy. Fights over food. People screaming at each other on news programs.
And best of all, riots.
Riots were good, the more violent, the better. Smart people wouldn’t riot. They’d stay home. So for a change, the right people would die, not a cross-section of people, including some he’d prefer to keep, if he could. He couldn’t wish for a better development than rioting. As he watched films of bottles thrown through plate glass and cops shooting tear gas canisters off, he smiled.
Tear gas was good. It’d irritate bronchial and lung tissue, and anyone who inhaled it would be that much more likely to contract the flu.
He realized he had half an erection. Was that sick of him? No. He was just buzzed, thrilled that it was all working out. Jarri had been so right. About everything. And Aruna had executed the plan correctly too. He knew he’d be hearing praise about that.
How could he bear to wait for the next contact from Jarri?