As I sometimes do, I find myself with a story too far over 100 words to be worth anything once I've chopped it down. So here is a nice long story (200 words) for "today," as I scramble to catch up with my failures during my recent travels.
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The knockout gas is effective. One might even say super-effective. The guards go down without a sound, and I slip inside. I ache all over; my muscles strain to drag my weakened bones along; I can breathe only with mechanical assistance; I ooze more fluids in more colors than I'd ever thought possible. But I cannot stop now, not when I am so close.
My zoological quest began when I was still very young and full of yearning. I gathered up animals, plants, and everything in between. I collected mammals, reptiles, birds, and fish; fungus and mold, insects of every description; even supposedly mythological beasts, ghosts and legends. I developed the technology to resurrect vanished species, the long-gone saurians and primitive amphibians. They all rest in stasis on my remote island compound, a veritable army of creatures at my command. Data on their forms and habits is retrievable from my handheld computer. But it wasn't enough. It can never be enough.
I reach the inner sanctum, and there I find my goal. A glass vial: smallpox. The last known supply, extinct everywhere but here.
I smash it.
I breathe in, and smile.
At last, at last, I've caught them all.
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