Beads of sweat were forming on Doctor Evans’ face, though he was quite calm indeed.
The man opposite him was similarly slick with perspiration, yet he looked the model addict; legs curled up, hugging his knees, rocking steadily. The cracked faux leather finish on the seat cushion creaked with each of his movements, adding a rhythm to the drone of the ineffectual air purifier.
The doctor pushed his wire framed glasses up his nose with his middle finger, leaned back and sucked his teeth.
“You can’t keep popping these pills like mints, Mr. Sanders” he scolded. “I told you they had a certain… addictive quality.”
“It’s Bolt doc, Steven Bolt” the nervous man spewed forth eagerly “and I know you told me, but I managed to lift the corner of a piece of paper with my mind the other night and I just need a little more-”
“Mr Sanders, please, you’re not making any sense” the doctor interrupted. He attempted a smile, but he couldn’t fight the disappointment suddenly weighing him down. He had only just gotten used to this city.
Steven Bolt’s last thought was one of disbelief as the laser sight mounted to the good doctor’s blaster blinded him briefly. It didn’t have long to sit in his brain before it was blown away with what remained of his wasted life.