The man is not blindfolded. His eyes seem to bore through me, though I don’t believe he’s looking at me. I won’t look at him. I won’t look him in the eyes.

I think he’s looking around, maybe at the sky. Maybe the snow, or the facility behind us. What a dismal thing to look at before you die, all gray concrete and steel doors, bars on windows. Maybe he’s breathing in the cold winter air. Feeling ...

Being a Director was a position of power.

Power over people. Power over land, over machines. Power over vast swathes of resources that humans had lost lives over. Power over the arcane. Power in ruling.

Power was a purpose in the world. Power was a crumbling pillar of quickly eroding stability, in a never ending sea of turmoil. Power was claimed by clawing your way up, til your hands are too blo...