Future Darkly: Pandemic - Kate and the Free Man

In the dim glow of her quarantined lair, Kate (Cherie DeVille) huddles beneath stark white sheets, earplugs jammed in, safety goggles fogged, oxygen mask hissing like a desperate lover. A ragged gasp rips from her throat as she bolts upright, eyes wild with the city's invisible venom. At the scarred kitchen counter, her ritual ledger mocks her—endless commandments etched to cage her agoraphobic terror. The weight crushes her; she hurls the marker, fists clenching against the storm inside. Breaths measured like bullets, she douses her hands in sanitizer, snaps on latex sheaths, and stalks off, a ghost in her own domain. Unyielding, she purges every shadow: wiping surfaces raw, sealing cracks against the plague's whisper. The landline shrills, slicing the silence. She freezes, lets the machine devour it. Her sibling's voice crackles through—irritated echoes, nagging about those damn plants dumped on the stoop. Beep. Gone. From the threshold of her bunker, the door creaks ajar. Gloved claw extended on a grabber pole, Kate lunges for the forsaken pots, veins pulsing with forbidden risk. Inches away, they taunt her. Frantic yanks, muscles screaming, but the world outside repels her. Defeated, she barricades the breach, heart hammering. Straight to the scalding spray, she tears at her skin, scrubbing the phantom filth, water pounding like accusations in the steam-choked haze.