The First Age

Dr. Weston took everything he had told her in stride. A good sign, one that would be invaluable in the weeks and months to come.

Acceptance was met with a nod but mention of the Facility tightened his expression. "The Facility. That would make sense."
He had heard of the Facility - a place of secret research - and its importance, but had yet to actually go there himself. A point which gnawed at him constantly. The sooner he could begin the better for them all.

Those thoughts were dimmed by the pain of his own experience with the Sickness and the grim description Tony had painted of those who did not survive. "It must have been painful,"
he spoke in a controlled voice. "The Sickness is...unpleasant. To watch helplessly while they died..."
he cut himself off.

"Yes. The Facility is where we will start,"
his mind ticked over. "At first, I will help them myself. Then when more are able to cure the Sickness, we can expand."
Again, he was forced to stop himself. He doubted any of it made sense to Dr. Weston.

"Sorry,"
he apologized shortly. "It is hard to explain. There are so many things that are unknown or indescribable. I can only ask that you trust me for the time being. Do you have any questions? I will answer as best I can."

Was Michael being empathetic? Commenting on Torri's pain as she witnessed death, helpless to intervene. "I did what I could to make them more comfortable."
It was all any physician would have done.

Memories flashed on the time she witnessed one such 'cure' taking place. Her eyes fell to the flatness of Michael's desk. "It makes more sense than you surmise. I have no questions."


The meeting surprised her: Michael, in particular. Today, she viewed glimpses behind the iron curtain of his emotions. She saw a vulnerability and fierce protectiveness for those he viewed as innocent. Yet the cold way in which he described murder did not thaw him completely. Torri was glad to leave the intensity of his attention. What sort of life had he endured to live within so impenetrable an armour.

She intended to get to work immediately, if only to distract her from the bizarre nature of the work itself.

The room descended into grim silence. The tone in her voice indicated she had experienced enough of the Sickness to last a lifetime.

"Very well, you may leave. We shall be in touch."


He wondered at the decisions made by famed figures in the past. What did Julius Caesar feel when he decided to cross the Rubicon? Did he feel the world shift beneath his feet? What would people say of this moment? Would it even matter?

Michael felt nothing but tired. No witty line to mark this moment in history, only hollow silence.


Edited by Michael Vellas, Dec 15 2014, 11:47 AM.