The storm wasn't approaching.
It had already begun, and it was spreading in ways that no mortal eye could yet measure.
Far from the steel walls of the Director's office, in a place where light itself seemed unwilling to wander, there was another kind of silence.
It wasn't something like the silence of calm, nor was it the silence of peace.
It was the kind that followed after too much screaming, after throats had ripped themselves raw until they could no longer hold sound, leaving behind nothing but the hollow reminder that something had once lived there.
Here sat the ancient evil god, an old presence that even memory struggled to hold him. His throne wasn't carved by human hands, nor did worshippers raise it.
It was a jagged spire of bone, fused together from long-forgotten creatures that no human tongue had ever learned to name.
