Intro to Daniel Reagan

I was under psychic attack.

A knotted hand clutching at my chest, I could feel the wavering beat of my heart, a flickering candle as my mind swam with the years, decades, almost a century of memories. Staggering too my knees as I felt the weight of all those years come crashing down on me in a wave of guilt, sorrow, and defeat. All the people I'd failed, the people I couldn't save, the hero I never was planning to be.

I felt my free hand grasp at the end of my desk, manuscripts and papers falling to the ground as I was unable to keep balanced. Stay strong, but I was becoming weak as a kitten as I felt my heart start to give out.

I collapsed on to the ground, the sound of brittle bones breaking.

My eyes clouding I looked up at the wall of my office, fading photographs of faces long since gone. A team of bright eyed soldiers, a black and white signed photo of a beautiful lounge singer singed “Gloria” in large scrawl, and that of a woman with my eyes little more than a child holding a baby swaddled in her arms.

I was the last one left; but now I was off to join them.