Divine Fire
“man, except man himself.—ByronTo hold a pen is to be at war.—VoltaireDamien stepped outside the executive bathroom and looked around carefully. No one was there that he could see. He supposed someone might be hiding in one of the office cubicles, but that wasn’t these zombies’ style. They had no cunning. Still, he listened intently. He scented the air. No hint of sandalwood. Nothing. Brice really was gone, not just hiding somewhere. Nevertheless, he walked cautiously among the bolted-together p...anels that made up the peons’ offices, peering over those low enough to offer a view of the working-class prisons.He disliked this place. Damien didn’t understand why management thought underlings needed to be treated like veal, to be confined in identical pens while they worked. Such an environment would make his brain numb. Surely it would do the same to any thinking man or woman.Of course, right now numb sounded pretty good. Anything was better than imagining what might be happening to Brice.Damien had known fear before—anger, even despair.MoreLess
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