Magical-Cupholder

        The tattoos, they caught on incredibly fast. I mean, it only took about half a year after the Death-caster came out. That's what the press called it, the Death-caster. Anyway, about 6 months after the first televised prediction, these tattoos starting showing up everywhere. It went from fad to craze to routine. Everybody did it. You would get some blood drawn. The machine would quiver a bit and hum. You'd get your paper and you'd go straight to the tattoo shop. Pretty much everyone has their cause of death, their C.O.D., tattooed these days. The accepted place to get it became the top of your left arm. Every time you go to check your

"It's your first day, isn't it?" "Yes. Ah, actually, I'm just an intern. I'm supposed to be working with Dr. Simonetti." "Simonetti? He's on the second floor. Just take those stairs, then follow the hall to room 216. The door says 'Director of Genetic Integrity', you can't miss it." "Thanks! I'd better hurry, I'm almost late." Paul tramped up the stairs, plastic soles announcing his hurry to everyone in the echoing, cold-walled office. The second floor had a carpet, thank the Presidency, and he was at 216 before he had time to process it. He wiped the sweat from his hands and knocked. "Come on in." Simonetti, a large man in a brown-mus