No sooner had Evan placed his things down that he heard Charles bellowing with Fury in his office.
“Evan! Evan! Evan!”
Evan ran in, thinking something was deadly wrong, even after already going through Charles’s “just to hear his volume knob go up” yelling rants. “Hey—Is everything alright—“
“No!” Charles yelled. “It’s not alright. Dammit—These corporate sour knobs are so…” His voice trailed off. Evan pulled up a chair and sat down across from Charles on the other side of his desk. He figured that Charles fancied himself an incredible orator, and though he used terms like sour knobs, he thought the transcripts of his rants could will Pulitzer prizes. Evan looked into Charles’s eyes. Something about him was so evil and repulsive, and yet, Evan simply sat there and took it.
Charles continued, “I hate these corporate big wigs. You ever hear the tern big wigs, or is that before your time?” Evan started to say something, but Charles cut him off before he could get any words out, “It doesn’t matter. The bottom line is, these schmucks think the moment the sneeze or even fear danger they can just prey on big wigs like me, a real big wig, and I’ll just protect them valiantly. Well, they’re wrong. Arthur didn’t pull the sword out of the stone for free. He got a kingdom out of it.”
Evan paused, not knowing if he was supposed to respond to that or not. Charles continued to barrel through his rant, “Here’s what I want you to do. Someone’ll get you the address and go to this guy’s place, Wrigley Oliver Renton and talk to him. Some helicopter crashed into one of his buildings and now—“
Immediately, Evan felt a sharp pain right in his temple. He saw it all in his mind. The propellers slicing into the glass; the motor sputtering out; the alcohol in the pilot’s bloodstream from the night before; the people inside watching as the ferocious sound drew near; and in his mind, the pilot and the helicopter—and the color of many of the people right inside were turner darker and darker until they were completely black…
“Pay attention!” Charles barked. Evan blinked quickly and came back to reality. “Seriously. Get out of here. Go over there.”
Evan stood up, bewildered, “Thanks—I’ll call you, I guess.”
“Just do what I said and it’ll be fine.”
Evan walked out of Charles’s office, and as he regained his senses, he looked out the window and down to the ground. An entire spectrum of color seemed to pool through the streets. He could see people headed towards infinite dangers of all kinds—some years and years from now, some not even a year away, and some all too close for comfort. What was he seeing? What was he becoming?
Evan got in the elevator and headed down to the lobby. It was the first time he had been by himself all day. He turned and looked at himself in the mirror. He had no discernable color to himself.
He looked deep into his eyes and tried to make sense of everything he was seeing in the lives of others. Something stirred within him, and the words, “Angel of Death” came into his mind. No. I can’t be that, he thought. The Angel of Death was too sinister, and other-worldly. He had stumbled into some kind of immense vision. He was clairvoyant. He felt like an oracle. The energies of others spoke to him in magnificent ways. It wasn’t ethereal. It wasn’t magic. It was something else.
Evan reached the ground floor and walked through the lobby and into the street. As he looked on into the greater populous, he knew his life would never be the same.
But right now, he had to speak to a man who’s building had been hit by a drunk helicopter pilot.