No one would ever guess in a million years this type of cutting-edge science and debauchery was going on in the basement of one of the most prestigious hotels in Atlanta. We have surveillance cameras spread out three-blocks wide surrounding the facility. Either coming or going, there is no way in Hell our fortress can be compromised. Anyone who comes within fifty feet of this building is automatically scanned into our computer system and identified. The iron gates open up before me, and I drive down into the damp, dark parking lot. I park and dismount my Ducati Monster, and remove my helmet, I leaving it on the seat. No one will bother my shit here. Everything we need to be a self-sustaining operation is here—labs, clinic, cafeteria, exercise rooms, offices, and sleeping quarters. The sleeping quarters are not only for certain staff, but also just in case one of us needs to pull an all-nighter. Walking up to the metal entrance doors of the facility, I have to punch in a code and swipe my hand over the sensor in order to gain access.
