The Gathering Chapter 3
The Tennessee sunset had spanned well across the horizon as Micheal pulled off of the long stretch of road leading to the remote campus of the University of Knoxville. Glistening against the lenses of his shades was the dawn's early light as the patches of pink and deep purple slowly passing through the sands of time.
Pulling up in the parking lot some five minutes later, he got out, showed his I.D. to the security guard, and moved on to the research lab. Sitting himself down in front of a computer terminal, he shook an array of different things out of his bag, namely a disorganized mix of disks and starcharts. No sooner had he put all of these things to use did his weary professor, George Livingston, turn up at the resource center entrance.
"This better be good, Mr.Cole." he said, standing over his shoulder. "It took everything in my power to pigeonhole our presentation for later."
"There's not going to be a presentation."
"What are you talking about?!" he yelled at him.
"My evidence has been falsified."
"Haven't you even looked at yesterday's paper?"
George thought back really carefully, then shook his head.
"What does that have to do with your information?"
"Remember the Dead Sea scroll that hinted at a tremendous disaster a long time ago? It couldn't have been a meteor or anything like that. It wouldn't have gotten away with ridding the past of all historic records unless extinction was the aftermath."
"Meaning?" George said rather tersely.
Through multiple starmap projections over the monitor, George saw that all of them overlapped to form a satanic-looking pentagram.
"I think history is going to repeat itself." Micheal retorted.
George didn't know what to believe anymore. As he was left in awe, the voice in Micheal's head began to come back, only this time, it was no where near as obscured as before.
'What is real can be unreal. You've seen them in your fantasies, you've seen them in your nightmares, and only when fate allows it will you see them in the flesh.'
Micheal thrashed his head about fiercely, trying to clear his mind of these messages to no avail. His professor grew worrisome from the convulsive tendancies in which his intern was powerless to resist against.
"I think we need to see someone who can give us some answers." Micheal said once the voices once again faded from memory.
"And where might we find this person?"
"In the city that never sleeps."
As the two of them drove off to get clarification for these bizarre occurences, something much more peculiar began to stem from the naked morning sky.
Small blue planets.
'The clock strikes twelve and moondrops burst out at you from their hiding place; like acid and oil on a madman's face, his reasons tend to fly away.'
'Astronomy/Blue Oyster Cult'