On that windy, frostbitten night, he could taste the musty, damp smell of death in the air, he could feel it brewing. Dr. Gordon wouldn’t have much longer to live, and he knew it.
   With hair the color of the foliage he was standing on, that faded brown, anyone could easily see that he was a frail, aging man. Especially that hitman watching through the trees. Gordon had those small glasses that rested only on the nose, pinching all the time. His eyes were a grayish, diminished blue, like a view of a mountain in the far distance. He still had bags under his eyes, from the days he spent toiling in the laboratory. Standing there in his tattered, once brown suit, he frowned, thinking of what he had become.
    He painfully shrugged off the thought and continued walking. The old man didn’t know where he was going. It didn’t matter. At least he wasn’t there, back at the Company. “But that’s all in the past now,” he reminded himself.
    Suddenly, the ground began to shake–to slowly sway; like in the midst of a distant tremor. On that night, on that hill in the forest, a light began to glow through the trees. His past self would have called a hospital, but he couldn’t do that now. They would just send him back, back to the Company. The light continued to grow. It was a fierce white, radiating all around him. He knew he couldn’t go back.
    He knew this was the end. He didn’t want to fight it. He was too tired to fight. He just sat down, and accepted his fate, as he waited for the light to swallow him entirely.