The Shadow

The line into Kuwait has been crossed. Never before have I stood back from a war in my lifetime, but I cannot in good conscience interfere too deeply in this one.

Like an oil well, there is far more beneath the surface here than what shows above ground, and it must slowly be dragged up to light, but at what cost?

The war for truth is one that cannot be won, today.

It's an unpleasant thing to argue with yourself from half a lifetime ago, even if there are other subtle differences I haven't had opportunity to note yet. Clearly my sense of humour has improved. Still... he spoke to me in Russian, and if memory serves, I have a good idea what he's currently gotten himself into. I'd probably snap too, in such a situation.

Was I really so dour?

Have I really become that.. personable with Myra?

Alone in the darkness of the Sanctum, The Shadow watches the writing fading beneath the single blue light. With a sigh he crumples it in a gnarled hand and drops it neatly into the unseen waste basket. Back to business. There's Myra's courier jobs to line up, and a greater task he'll need her on when the time is right.