Lights are out, doors closed. He has keys, luckily. It took some convincing, but Humka and Blazer let him stay overnight at the SDN's techlab.
The only light source is a little lamp on the table, the only sound is clicking and mechanical buzz, empty can of energy drink and drained thermos that used to have coffee in it on the table. Foreseer is sitting on a stool, forhead resting on the table, fighting back tears. Fuck, he's a man, he's a hero, he doesn't cry. Especially not about... Basically nothing!
He loves being famous, recognized... Loved. Oh he loves being loved. But lately his spotlight started fading. He's still young, strong, smart, why media don't care anymore?! Sure, interview here and there, but it's not the same. Yet still he has more work than ever, no time to take a breath.
A client called him today, a work that was due next week had to be delivered tomorrow. Is he for fucking real?! But it's a regular client, and a rich one at that, he has to throw everything aside and finish it. He can't afford any fuck ups, especially not now.
He did it. Oh he fucking did it. He got paid, client was satisfied and Foreseer finally got a chance to rest. He didn't even wait, getting out od the big and clearly expensive house in suburbs, he sits on the sidewalk, taking a deep breath. He's so tired, a burnout or some shit? No idea, but he needs a break. To just sit down and do nothing for a week.
He doesn't do anything. Sitting, staring at a little flower growing out of the concrete, so lost in thoughts that he doesn't even notice a person approaching.
