How can anyone not be intrigued with the place? The cream- colored structure with brick, green glass, and ceramic detailing is straight out of The X-Files: Entrances and exits are closely monitored, and tinted windows prevent anyone from seeing what must be a sterile maze of hallways, laboratories, cold-storage rooms, and locked offices and closets. (What's going on in there? What are they doing? What's being created, studied, discarded, discovered?) Behind the enormous building, where boats are docked and seaplane tours are given and people take scenic lakeside walks on a wooden path, there is a mysterious hidden pier under ZymoGenetics, void of sunlight and sealed off with chain-link fencing.
A floating metal sidewalk stretches alongside the back of the building; this veers off to a metal door with a keypad that seems to be the only way to gain access to ZymoGenetics' rear waterfront entrances. Signs posted on the fence are blunt warnings: "Potential Contamination Area. Unauthorized Entry Prohibited." There are no biohazard containers or incinerators in sight, only closed doors and wooden piers and large shadows. The surrounding waters are dark and murky, a sickly soupy green.
Stranger Personals
ZymoGenetics' P.R. materials are slick and reassuring: We're told that the successful company focuses on developing therapeutic proteins for the prevention and treatment of human diseases, and that good work is being done in the name of bioinformatics, molecular biology, protein chemistry, and animal biology. But there are those of us who are not convinced; who continue to get goose bumps every time we drive by on dark nights and see the lone security guard in the lobby.
ZymoGenetics is an independent company, after all. Patents are pending, access is limited, privacy is maintained. It is one of Seattle's most frightening ambiguities, and it continues to make strong, silent progress. MIN LIAO






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