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Rescue.

Jones' eyes widen when he takes in the fallen bodies of Carl, Neil, John and Leslie.

His face whitens as he traces over their rolled-up eyes and frothing mouths.

'What the hell' he thinks, panic beginning to build within him as he convulses despite trying to hold it in.

"S-sir." Everything becomes hazy and he begins to wonder if his eyes were playing tricks or if it was truly spinning as he tried his best to stay awake before he gets swept away by sleep.

His eyes snap to the prone form of Amos when he hears his strained voice. His second in command is leaning forward in his chair, his eyes bloodshot with spittle dribbling down his chin. He points an unsteady finger at the coffee mug sitting innocuously on the table.

"S-sir th-the coffee-." He mutters before his eyes roll back and he slumps in his chair.

He glances at the cup in his hand, he's not sure but he could already sense what was going on, but it's a bit too late.

"Amos!." He yells but the man doesn't reply, dead to the world
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