This story idea came to me many years ago in a dream. Many of my stories come from dreams or .

It was a much more depressing story then. I was at a time in my life where I was often depressed and was using my writing as a way to work though my emotions.
“Their voices echoed back to him over dull dark walls. He didn’t care to listen even when he could hear.
Instead he tried to focus on the small echoes created by shuffling black shoes
and of course the ongoing argument. They had long since ceased to care whether
he was there and he heard it all. Bombed planted in a fake terrorist attack.
How to manipulate the president of Uranda. He would have closed his eyes
against the variation of shifting grey they brought into the back office except
then he would have to hear them instead. Perhaps he should have moved.”
~quote from first draft

Back then it played out like a silent film and old phyliphophical stories like Waiting for Godo or where the character represented the state of society. The Stranger who was then The Experiment .



. The experiments of the
organization known as Crave had left his body invulnerable and when he had
decided he had enough of them he had walked out. They had never looked for him.
There had been too many others just the same who were more than happy to
explore the world outside the city. It was all the same to him.


The three bullies in the office were brought forward from the shadows. Gaining names for themselves, though they would remain only as chafing voices in the mind of a troubled man.


Their voices
echoed loudly over dull dark walls.

“I want Oliver dead. I want him dead now,” the grey suit Fergus said.

“We should hold off and use him a while,” the black suit replied.

“I agree with Fergus,” the brown suit said, “He isn’t of any use if
he’s failing the assignments.”

One way or another they would kill the man they
spoke of.




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