Danny grew cold. Cold and alone, upon a mountain he was too weak to descend from. He was growing faint, fading away from the fabric of life, losing what little meaning he had left in his wretched, vile existance.

Danny was extremely ill.

“You feel it don’t you? What poison lurks inside of you. Why would you let anyone else suffer a fate like yours?”

Dan let go to clutch the cabinet beside him. He became disoriented, lurking in the shadows of consciousness, breathing raggedly, trying to fill his lungs with something other than bile.

“I am doing the right thing, boy. I am saving the world, just like your father tried to. I am the stronger man for it, willing to do what he was too afraid to even think of. My research, my life’s work will be celebrated once we get through this Dark Age. The mass, they are afraid now, but you know how Machavellian we are, old sport. The ends will justify the abominable means. Everybody will see, they will see, I will be celebrated, revered; and you boy, you will be dead.”