"Dammit!" Greg cursed as he banged his fist on the lab table. You look up from your laptop to see him lean back in his chair and rub his eyes.
"Still no reaction?" You ask the obvious.
"Two years and all we know is that Lobo is made from the diluted saliva of werewolves...but we don't know where the hell werewolves came from in the first place or how to turn them back," Greg says numbly, slouching in front of his microscope. You couldn't help but sigh to yourself. Those of the scientists who had been there from near the beginning of the epidemic, like you and Greg, could not help but be frustrated at the lack of progress. At this point, almost everyone had someone they cared about who had either taken the drug or been attacked by one of the addicts. But still, there were no clues of how to stop it.
Information had been gained, of course. Lobo worked somewhat like a retrovirus, rewriting the DNA of cells, and somewhat like a cancer, causing sudden and uncontrolled growth in certain ways. Because it was so diluted, at first it would burn energy to fuel the change, but when the energy ran low, the changes would somehow revert. However, it would accumulate in cells over time, almost like radiation, and eventually, the concentration would be so great that the change would be maintained, the draw on energy driving the addicts to act in an even more crazed manner.
But there was no road back, at least so far. Every possible cure was tried, and as the situation became more desperate, the theories became stranger. Some labs had even tried old tales of how to drive away werewolves, like using wolfsbane or silver, but a silver bullet had no more or less effectiveness than a regular one. Of course, that information was only known to a few labs, those who had committed themselves totally to solving the Wolf threat. Desperate as the general public was, none would take too kindly to their relatives being experimented on, even if said relatives were now no more than slavering, brutal beasts.
"I'm gonna take a walk," Greg mutters, pushing his chair back and leaving the room. Of course, you know that "taking a walk" was just a euphemism. Because members of your team was some of the foremost experts on Lobo, you all had experience that could not be lost and information that could not be released. Therefore, none of you had set foot outside of the secure facility in over a year. However, none of you complained about that either. Each of you had your reasons to be here.
Silently, you got up as well and left the lab room, going in the same direction as Greg, well aware of where he was headed. As you passed a lit hallway, you looked down it. Greg was standing there, three-quarters of the way down, staring at one of the rooms. Three sides of the room were made up of heavy, durable material, while the front was made of bulletproof plexiglass as well as metal bars. You could not see what was inside, but you could hear the loud thumping of something hitting the glass, and you knew.
Greg's daughter started college around the time Lobo was first hitting the streets. No one knew if she tried it on her own or someone slipped it into her drink. By the time Greg found out, she had disappeared from campus. When the government asked Greg to help with the research into Lobo, Greg agreed on one condition: his daughter would be found and placed under his care. The day she was delivered to the facility was the last day she or Greg saw the sky. God only knows if she even recognized Greg, then or now.
You only paused a moment, then walked further through the maze of corridors to another hallway. Unlike Greg, you did not put on the light. You knew what was there, even in the dark, and he could definitely see you. A bulky figure slammed into the bars, trying desperately to reach you. Accustomed to this ritual, you simply stood there with a bitter smile on your face.
"Hello, brother."