In the barren, outstretched arms of the Milky Way, rocketing at full ion-pulse propulsion sits our hero, Hadrian Windsor, at the console. Autopilot engaged and he is sitting back, sipping his grog and reading from monitor number four about the late 20th through the very early stage of the 21st century. The grog slides down. So his mind wanders aimlessly back into time and he thinks ::It would be incredible to see old earth:: but of course old earth has become a global eye sore in this quadrant of the galaxy. ::That's what happens when one man controls the world and others try a mutiny:: Of course a mutiny could be good in some circumstances, but old earth had a mutiny of the nations which caused the meltdown and nuclear raids of 2087. That explains his Omicron class LARS (Land Air Retro Spacecraft) he now calls home. Another sip and foam clings to Hadrian's nose.

The foam rips off with the metallic-leather alloy jacket he wears. A gift from his murdered father and the only true memory left of old earth. His mind sifts through dozens of realities of what could have been until he next vision of the dead world happens in his sleep.

I haunt his his peacefulness because I am a child of the time when the earth created its last savoring memories. I haunt him because his thoughts have chartered to unwelcome territory. He brings memories of the dead back and all of the demons and angels from earth cry in pain from the awakening. I am the messenger of an angered god. For once, in death, I actually like my job.

Hadrian dreams of the barmaid, Adrianna, he dragged into bed until their mating ritual and thrills were fulfilled. All this on an imaginary countryside at his great-great grandfather estate back 'home'. I enter stage right. Smiling with glowing white eyes in a way that a demon would when it is excited. For the first time Hadrian has no control of his dream, nor can he awake, but he is able to feel pain. That is my presence along with the death of 12.3 billion people.

Disappointment is Hadrian realizing that fighting the dream causes pain, so he sits and listens.

The threats of death are mere jokes to him so I tell about life, and horror, no, more than horror dances across his face. ::We didn't live for life, we lived for death:: He doesn't truly understand, so I continue on about the wars and how they started because of a religious slur, then about television and movies, blood sports, violent video games, and auto racing crashes. It's a joke to us, but he has to embrace this like I'm the only reason he breathes air. It isn't enough, though. I go to reach into his mind and pour the hatred, the violence, and the death I had to live with my entire life. He learns of scandals and liars, presidents and the FDA. The FDA who watched a mouse live for 48 years before they could pass the law to allow the sale of Mortallin, the life prolonging drug. Now you know why the population grew substantially. So does he. He also sees the diseases man harvested in factories to kill off a few thousand here, a few hundred thousand there, just to alleviate the world of its burden. He learns of poverty and pornography, no, I keep that thought to myself... He is greeted with a lash crumbling corporations. He samples a cup of crime with a dash taxes.

::Oh dear. He is catatonic:: I care because I want his fear to be a part of his every day 'extended' life. I reach into his nightmare and free him from it. He is awake and knows I'm watching. Thoughts like that will keep me warm for eons.