I wouldn’t want to work for you anyway. Hold on,” she said as she once again placed Amanda on hold.“This is Mark Morris. Who am I speaking with?...�� The voice she heard had such an insignificant tonal quality and was so devoid of inflection that Amanda was surprised it could be carried over telephone lines.“Mr. Morris, my name is Amanda Wallace. If you have taken the time to read the e-mail from Bryce Pierre, you should know who I am.”“Actually, you are some strange voice on the other end of a. But he was moments too late. As he fumbled with the emergency latch (what good is this latch in a fucking emergency? He thought to himself) the beaker exploded in Hus hand. His world went cold and dark. As his unconscious body hit the cold tile floor, his skin absorbed every last drop of the syrum. His mind reacted by overpowering the room. Every light blew, every glass shattered, and every table lifted and dropped back in place. Everything was dark. Even in his unconscious state he knew he had. We stopped at another bar he wasfamiliar with and listened to a live band this guy knew about. It was acountry and western band, which wasn't really my thing, but they soundedpretty good. It didn't seem like a shitkicker bar so after my initialanxiety, I was reasonably comfortable. I remember my benefactor keptsaying of the guitar player "he plays a mean guitar doesn't he?" Hesaid that many times and I think he was pretty drunk by then. We gotback into his car and he then asked if I wanted. 'Of course.' he chuckled. 'Wow!' I gasped 'I wish I could see it.' Again, that hadn't really meant to come out. He smiled, perhaps realising the gravity of what came out was not what I had intended to say, which was,at least, half true. 'You only have to ask.' he said, more jokingly than serious, expecting this would be a convenient way to end a conversation which had gone on for more anticipated, ad to move onto something else. I looked into his eyes at this, and said 'OK' more or less under.