3 AM

[The Book of Sins]

A thought creeps in through the crawly cracks and coagulates in the geometry of an attic.

It sings a curdling cadence, hatching thoughts in a nearby head that's weak enough to listen.

"She almost followed."

"The one who sees?"

"The one who strikes."

"The one who kills?"

"Found."

"Out of reach."

"For now."

Bob Eelston bolts up in bed, woken by nightmares he can't explain and barely recall. He almost knows what he must do to make them stop. He keeps seeing it in the darkness of the closet and each night he scratches it into the wood as he cowers under the coat-racks. He's almost done. He feels it.

[The Book of Sins]

The next day he pulls on his jacket, head swirling with symbols of impossible angles as he heads to work. Maybe today they will just shut up for once and let him get through his shift. Bloody loonies. But he knows how to shut things up, doesn't he? Yes, soon he'll finally have some peace and quiet. No more shrill nails dragging over the frayed blackboard of his mind.

[The Book of Sins]

"Mornin' Bob. We still on for the pub la...ter...?"

Bob shuffles past the checkpoint and the two guards without a second glance.

"Hey! Way to ignore me, wanker."

"We all got bad days."

"And he looked just about ready to check himself in."

"Hey, cut him some slack. He's got night-shift coming up next week."

Meanwhile Bob continues his shuffle through the fenced in area towards the main building of the Brookridge Institute for Criminally Insane Meta-Humans.