A page from the apocalypse

A soft incandescent slowly illuminates the recorder. A man's hand reaches in, and engages the pickup.

"My name is Damien Corl. No one died under my watch today. Would that I needed not to count this as an achievement. Instead, I would rather that I could return to the life I used to live. Would that that life were not closed off to me now. It happened slowly, like a cancer metastisizing out into the body. Still, I live somewhat in the old world. I drive home on the freeway beside them, in their shining cars, their sterile beauty. Am I a gaurdian of a world that left me behind, or a warrior tainted by the corruption he sought to banish? I don't know anymore. Jenny called today. Said she had two more samples. What happened that we started referring to these people as samples? Mark didn't come in again. Jim found him passed out on his floor, his breath intoxicating the three cats that probably hadn't been fed in a week. Jim checked him into detox. I'm not sure that was a kind thing to do. At least he found a way to stop the eyes from whispering in his head. No one died on my watch today."