With an ear-splitting cry, a sound filled to the brim with fury and regret and immeasurable loss, but also with ten tons of guilt, Dr. Lofadio slammed his fist with the remote into the nearest television. A miniature explosion of sparks as his bleeding hand slammed through the glass, and with the breaking of remote inside the TV all of the other televisions and projectors turned off.
Panting, Dr. Lofadio stood there, now well aware of the silhouette standing erect behind him.
“You need to stop blaming yourself,” the silhouette chided.
“What do you want?” the scientist demanded without glancing behind him.
The other man, dressed in loose, faded military fatigues that now more closely resembled jungle hunting attire, began to walk over to Dr. Lofadio. “The world has blamed you more than enough as is. Tell me, doctor, what are you going to accomplish by shutting yourself up in this room and putting yourself through this process every day?”
The scientist turned and looked the other in the eye. Desperation and hopelessness stared into complete calm and control. “I am going to find out where I went wrong.”
The man with the rifle scoffed in reply, “Is that going to change our reality today? No, no it is not. Only the active can change the world, as I know you are—or rather, used to be—very well aware of.”
Dr. Lofadio cast down his glance, meekly saying, “There is nothing that I can do. I cannot clean up this mess I’ve put the world through.”
“Then let someone used to cleaning up after others be the janitor. All I need is my supplies, and I can fix this. I need you to help me, though.”
Dr. Lofadio’s timid eyes looked back up momentarily. “Do you really think you can do it? Those creatures—they can break through bone with their fingers, and their shells are as hard as steel. They are intelligent. You don’t realize it, but they would be the predators, not you.”
The man smiled, amused, and leaned on his rifle. “Come now, doctor. Hunting predators is what I do.”