And the Abyss Stared Back...

Year 35: By the time Michael got home, his head throbbed. The stitched wound itched and his nerves felt raw. When he got home, he ignored the greetings and gasps from everyone in the household and walked drearily up the three flights to Morgan's bedroom. When got there, he found it empty. Groaning to himself, he walked into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub. Morgan walked in behind him. “How are you doing?”

Michael didn't look up. He answered, “I don't think the day can get much worse. How's that?”

Morgan said, “I tend to agree with that. You walked right by my office without noticing I was in it. That was surprising, but I think everyone is in shock right now.”

Michael's nausea refused to subside and it felt like the vertigo was returning. “What do you mean 'everyone?'”

“Did you not hear the news today? I was on the 97th floor of Tower Two when it happened.”

Michael looked up. Morgan was in a regular work suit. It was ripped and bloodied and discolored by dust and debris. His right arm was in a sling and half of his hand was missing. He was walking with a brace cane.

“Tower Two?” Michael asked hesitantly. “The World Trade Center?”

“Yes,” Morgan answered, “both towers fell. Terrorist attack. I survived by using a force bubble but I don't think there are many other survivors. I dug my way out and pulled two others up with me. It was horrifying.”

Michael picked his head up in surprise, antagonizing his condition. He turned and a mouthful of chunky spit landed in the tub, relieving both his vertigo and nausea.

“I slipped away in the confusion. They kept saying I was a hero. All I did was save myself. The other two happened to be there on the way up. I don't want to think about all those who are dead from true heroic deeds.”

Michael turned to Morgan, the world still spinning slightly. “What were you doing there? And is there any clue who did it?”

Morgan stood there, his jaw moving, no words coming out. Michael just stared. Then, he shook his head. “N-no, please tell me you didn't.”

“I... I thought I was delivering a death threat. Maybe, I actually was. I was supposed to drop a briefcase at a specific point, a specific desk. I used our company's pass to get in. I never made it to my actual destination. I was going up the staircase to avoid detection. Then, I heard a tremendous boom. I slowed, exited at that floor, and listened to others. A jet had crashed into the neighboring tower. I questioned everything I've ever done in those moments. And, I wondered about every last person who made me do them. I put the briefcase down and tried to open it. I had just managed to jimmy it when the building I was in was hit. At that point, I thought of phasing out, which I couldn't do. I went cloakless. So, I impassively sat there and waited for it to fall, and listened to people crying, panicking, screaming, praying and realized that I was just as much doing this as the very people who were driving those planes. My whole existence played out right there in my mind. This was my life and this is what I do. No matter how much I was forced into it, I am still a weapon of destruction and death and even if I died today, I'd fucking survive. There are five thousand others who graced by god or not, won't. I did not fly those planes, Michael. But I probably have done hundreds of smaller things together that were just as heinous, just as destructive. I got to watch my entire life's work in the course of a day. Even if I wished I were a real boy, I never could be, because a real boy would have been scared. He would have feared death. He would want his mommy. No, I felt none of that. I just knew I would survive, like a cockroach, and find my way out of the debris and pain and tragedy and continue existing. I stopped thinking of any god as benevolent because if they were, they would have died today too.”

Michael just shook his head in disbelief. “Why didn't you make the force bubble larger?”

“I did. It snapped from the building compressing. So, in the end, it wasn't very useful.”

“But you survived.”

Morgan nodded. “May your death be quick and purposeful, brother. Mine will be long and nonexistent and like unto god.”