fxrtytoo.
‘ -------- i don’t like it. ‘
his brow creases, eyes narrowing as he watches the monitor. his form shows the age that his soul feels, the cracks that mar his soul and his hearts now show in wrinkles and furrowed brows. but still there is a spring to his step as he moves with rapidity around the console. levers and switches responding to his touch as he spoke. whether thy were thoughts said to be heard, or only tto be said ---- whatever it was -- he wasn’t pleased with something.










