Declaring war

Humans - an overcrowded contingent on this planet are parasitically stripping it bare like uncontrollable locusts. Savage, but intelligent, the engorged pustules of our destructive legacy are bursting to render our children's' inheritance both uninhabitable and inhospitable. Yet our excessive numbers pitifully pale into a vacuum against the marauding armies of microorganisms currently invading and pervading your surgeries. Yes, there's a reason protocol demands that your surgery is wiped down thoroughly tomorrow morning; the little critters are there now. Of course you left it clean (using every disinfectant product in your inventory) but these guys have the capacity to multiply, regenerate and clone themselves at a rate that would frankly have Imperial storm troopers baying with envy. They're savage too, and if they had enough intelligence, they'd be laughing at us.

Watching a globule of blood abseiling down your patient's cheek and disembarking onto the fabric of the headrest is not a calming sight. You still have a minor construction project to finish suturing your patient back together again, and all the while this truant droplet of blood is etching its haemoglobin into posterity for the next occupant of your chair to find. It's hard enough to work within cross-infection protocols (as if bound in an invisible straitjacket, forbidden any contact with any surface) and now you're desperate to clean that haemolytic distraction from the headrest and save face without actually using your limbs to assist you. Not easy, is it?