The hands don't seem like my own as I stare down with itchy, burning eyes at the pistol cradled in them.

I haven't slept in days, and I feel like I'm going insane.

Or maybe I already am insane.

I glance over at the mutilated body in the corner of the containment chamber.

If that's not evidence of my insanity, I don't know what it is. But I had a job to do.

I was tasked with a very important job.

And I was threatened with the possibilities of what could happen if I didn't do the job.

So I did it. I did it, damn it.

I'm a containment specialist after all.

And I'm good at what I do. So I stared down at the gun in my hands, and I wait, and my mind goes in circles.

There's only one last thing left to do.

One more thing to make sure the containment works.

To ensure my masterpiece is truly that.

I stare at the gun, my mind a great, roaring, deafening buzz of static.

The minutes pass. I close my eyes. It feels so good to close my eyes.

Julius? The voice is clear as a bell, and so is the fear in it. I smile and open my eyes.

Shut the door, will you? I say to Ross as we walk into my office.

Ross shuts the door and takes one of the two seats in front of my desk, throwing himself down

as if he hardly has the strength to stand any longer. I know how he feels.

This latest project has been the very definition of a marathon.

He brings one slender finger up and jams it between his necktie and a shirt collar,

loosening the tie and then bringing his thumb into the fold to unbutton the top button.

...