Blinking, the white room started to come into focus. His head was throbbing horribly, and the abnormally bright florescent lights were making it worse. He raised his hands to his head, pressing against his temples. “Where am I?” Fane asked the room. It was rather a useless question, the padded room being vacant except for him. He looked down at himself. He was in a short blue spotted hospital gown that barely reached his knees. “Shit. She must have given me one hell of a bender for them to have me in here. No, that’s not quite it. They’d have told me if I had something. Did something go wrong? Are my plates alright?,” he mumbled, trying to pull his gown tighter around him.
The ticking of the clock in the darkened room did not help ease the tension of the men gathered around the green lit table. On it was a topographical map, small pawns, tanks, and ships sporadically dispersed. A knock came at the door, and an assistant let in Zephyr. He eased over to the table and sat with the rest of the men, taking a pawn from his jacket pocket and setting it in the middle of the table.
“As you can see,” a familiar face stated, “from the labs we drew this afternoon, Subject 15 has finally found the triggering mechanism.”
“Doc, were you able to determine what the catalyst was?” Zephyr turned to the man he had just seen that morning.
“Well, it wasn’t anything he ingested from the night before,” the doctor replied, handing a file to Zephyr. Zephyr took it and pulled out a very long list of lab tests and graphs. He scanned them over and tossed it on the table.
“What was he doing when he first started exhibiting these symptoms, Abbadelli?” A muscular, bald man asked.