Kevin Burkhoff knelt beside his bed, or at least what was his bed. There were papers scattered everywhere. Notes on what he had been doing lately. His experiment involving himself. He had grown accustomed to working alone, but now there was one sickness after another and he couldn't handle them alone. He wasn't sure if they were side effects or proof of his failed experiment. Either way he needed help, he was sure he was dying. There was only one person he could think of to call that would even think about helping him. Somebody that he knew had a scientific background.
"Agent Skouris, I know your probably busy with something else at the moment, but whenever you can, could you give me a call. There is no rush, if something important is going on I can wait for a reply.", the phone beeps "MESSAGE DELIVERED"
Burkhoff fell back into his papers. He knew he had lied to her, there was a need for rush. Now the question was would he die trying because of using promicin?