The crew got to work with the efficiency of people who’d done this hundreds of times, but their expertise was in event planning, not biosafety protocols. They had no idea they were setting up a party inside an active research facility containing genetically modified organisms.
The cruciform design of my conservatory made their job almost too easy. The intersection of the cross—what I had specifically designed as the main ventilation area where air circulation was strongest—became the obvious choice for the central stage.
They installed the DJ booth and dance floor right where the negative-pressure systems worked hardest to maintain safe air quality. My high-powered photosynthesis lamps, designed to provide specific light wavelengths for fungal cultivation, were repurposed as fantastic stage lighting, according to my mother’s enthusiastic direction.
The south wing, where I stored tools and prepared soil samples, was transformed into an elaborate buffet and bar area. Tables appeared, linens were draped, and bartenders began setting up stations for what would obviously be serious drinking.
The north wing, where I grew dense climbing vines as part of my research into plant-fungal symbiosis, became the altar. The event crew attached fake white flowers to my living specimens, creating what they clearly thought was a romantic natural setting for the ring-exchange ceremony.
By 10 a.m. Sunday morning, the transformation was complete. My scientific sanctuary had become a wedding venue that would have graced the cover of any bridal magazine.
Tiffany had arranged for ten different camera angles to livestream the entire event. This wasn’t just about celebrating her marriage. It was about monetizing it. She expected to earn serious advertising revenue from what she promoted as the most unique wedding venue you’ve ever seen.
Everything looked absolutely perfect.
None of them had any idea that they had just created the perfect conditions for biological disaster.
At 11 a.m. Sunday morning, Tiffany’s wedding officially began. The guest list read like a who’s who of our district’s elite: law partners who handled million-dollar cases, investors with portfolios that could fund small cities, and most importantly, the groom’s CEO—a man whose approval could make or break careers.
One hundred and fifty people filled my conservatory, not counting the service staff, event managers, and photography crews.
These weren’t just any guests. These were exactly the kind of high-profile individuals whose presence could launch Tiffany’s influencer career into the stratosphere. Her livestream was already performing beyond her wildest dreams.
Over 300,000 concurrent viewers had tuned in to watch what she’d been promoting all week as the wedding of the century in the most exclusive secret venue.
The irony was devastating. The more successful the event appeared, the more catastrophic the consequences would be.
Beneath the glamorous facade, disaster was already beginning.
The fungi I was researching weren’t inherently dangerous under normal circumstances. They were specifically chosen for their plastic-degrading properties, their stability, and their generally benign nature.
But my monitoring systems had been carefully calibrated to detect one critical danger.
Under anaerobic conditions—or when CO2 concentrations exceeded specific thresholds—these organisms produced a mild hallucinogen as part of their natural stress response. It was a defense mechanism millions of years in the making. When the fungi felt threatened, they released chemical compounds designed to disorient potential threats until conditions improved.
The wedding guests had created the perfect storm.
When the DJ started playing music with heavy basslines, the sound waves reverberated through the glass structure. When 150 people began breathing together in the sealed environment, CO2 levels started climbing rapidly. When they transformed my carefully ventilated space into a dance floor, they inadvertently disabled the air filtration system by blocking crucial vents with their staging.
The result was a sealed room where fungal spores became trapped and concentrated while carbon dioxide built to dangerous levels. The organisms I’d spent months cultivating suddenly found themselves in exactly the conditions that triggered their most primitive survival instincts.
The spore burst began invisibly, silently, with the lethal efficiency of millions of years of evolution.
Stage one was euphoria.
Initially, the guests felt what they interpreted as wedding joy amplified. The music seemed richer, more intense. Colors appeared more vibrant. Everyone’s mood elevated beyond normal celebration levels.
Tiffany, radiant in her Vera Wang dress, danced with abandon in front of the main livestream camera. Her cheeks flushed with what viewers assumed was bridal bliss as she shouted into the lens.
“This is going to be the most special wedding you’ve ever seen. The atmosphere in here is absolutely amazing.”
The online audience responded with thousands of heart emojis and congratulatory messages. Comments poured in praising the venue, the dress, the obvious happiness of everyone involved.
For thirty beautiful, terrifying minutes, it looked like Tiffany had achieved everything she’d ever dreamed of.
Then stage two hit: irritation.
The transition was as swift as it was horrifying. Joy curdled into something else entirely as every guest began experiencing the sensation of thousands of ants crawling under their skin.
The itching started subtly—a scratch here, a rub there—but escalated with frightening speed. Guests in designer suits and elegant gowns began clawing at their arms, their necks, their faces. Hairstyles that had taken hours to perfect became disheveled as people frantically scratched their scalps. Makeup streaked and smeared as the need to scratch overwhelmed all social niceties.
The livestream audience watched in growing confusion as the celebration transformed into something that looked increasingly disturbing. Comments shifted from congratulations to concerned questions.
“Is everyone okay?”
“Why is the bride scratching like that?”
“Something seems wrong.”
But the worst was yet to come.
For Complete Cooking STEPS Please Head On Over To Next Page Or Open button (>) and don’t forget to SHARE with your Facebook friends.
