Gamma’s footsteps rang out against the metal grating, hollow and hallow to his ears. They had spent so many decades and incalculable funding to make the Collective possible, their unnamed benefactors only asking them to do all they could to direct the flow of the future in the right direction—or at least the direction they had prescribed. Gamma had been recruited when he was still a boy, two men in dark grey suits driving up to his parents’ rundown shack in a motor car—back when that sort of thing was still novel. “Why him?” his mother had asked quietly, as if they were about to be reprimanded for some unknown transgression. “Because he’s special,” the two men replied together, though slightly out of sync. His father had asked what made his son so special? In his thick Mid Western drawl it all came out as one word, and Gamma had felt his face turn red with embarrassment. He had known why those men were there; had anticipated their visit weeks before, going so far as to pack his bags a day before they had arrived at his doorstep.
What do You think about The Green Lama: Crimson Circle?
