He walked in the night, down tree-lined streets. He did not look left or right, just straight ahead of him. He had a secret and soon enough the world would know it too. Right now he had to get to the train station. Finally, his plan was coming together. Finally, they would remember his name. He would show the nay-sayers, he would show them all.
The plan was simple—world domination. Isn’t that what all mad scientists reach for? He had many opponents, the largest, himself, but at least he believed he would find the virus that would cause infinite destruction. However, Milo did not consider the consequences of the meaning.
He stepped across the street to the train station. His feet felt heavy, his breathing labored. The toe of his shoe scrapped the side of the curb, bending his ankle backward. He did not stop to look; he had to make the next train. He limped to the door. The fingers that grasped the door handle did not appear to be his own. He pulled the door open; the hand remained on the door. The door lazily swung shut, pinning him between it and the threshold. The bones of his chest and back collapsed under the weight.
“His name was Milo Scaggins,” the officer told the detective, pointing to the heap of sludge and clothing propping the door open.
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