Daedalus

Thanatos and the Immortal Inventor, Part VIII

In the center of the room, under a brilliantly white spot of light, is the inventor himself. Behind him is a massive circular stained glass window. He sits inside a metal box with two oxygen-pumping apparatuses on either side, forming some sort of iron lung. A tube leads from the pumps into his nostrils. His faded blue eyes are full of life and intelligence. They focus on us, filling with contempt as a sneer breaks out on his ancient face.

Back from the Brink

The old man stops and contemplates the question. “Most simply call me the Inventor. Few know my real name. Truth is, it’s a long time since I’ve said it out loud.” He stops, adrift in his own thoughts. “Daedalus.” He says it slowly, as though recalling each syllable.

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