T hey were both treading amongst the masses of the D.S.O bureau as dying, soon to be expired, representatives, as disposable instruments for a government that couldn't care an ounce for their wellbeing -------- As the relentless fingers of death, taking the infuriating guise of the T-virus, gradually coiled around their throats, toying with their mobility, their functionality, day by day, and will unendingly keep executing so, whilst chortling cruelly aloft amidst his scrutinization, until it abruptly decides it's grown ever bored and ultimately snaps their brittle continuation into naught but mere information forgotten on crumpled reports. -- Before that climax is brought into actualization, he wanted, no, he needed, to disclose a secret, the precise reason for his position as a presidential agent, he's withheld from the diligently eminent woman he considered his daughter, for decades, thus he had approached her appointed office and connected a knuckle, unhesitatingly, against the wooden veneer of her ajar door. ------ Shoulders tautening, nerves arousing, he clears his windpipe out loud, further announcing his attendance. " Hey, Kid. " He addresses her lightly, intonation gruff with age, blue eyes peering in her explicit direction, softening as he encounters her profile. " Can you spare this old man a moment of your time to talk in private? ---------- I'll treat you to lunch. "
