In her dreams, her head is split into pieces, broken into thousands of tiny fragments.
The being inside of her deftly jumps from piece to piece. Its prey is near.
But before it can find it, she wakes up.
Dr. Finch's muscles force her to rise from her bed, despite her mind being functionally asleep. By the time she has her first thought of the day, she's already gotten dressed and driven to her workplace: Site-73.
What do I have to do today?
Burrows wanted to work with me on something. I suppose I don't have any extant projects. I can spare a few moments for him.
She pushes through the door with purpose. With a few swift overly complicated calculations and inferences, Finch comes to the conclusion that he must be in the breakroom. Her hypothesis is correct— he's sitting at a table, hunched over a hot cup of coffee, feeling the steam on his face.
"Dr. Burrows," she says, standing across from him.
"Dr. Finch!" The man grins. "Good morning."
"Morning to you as well. I understand you wanted to speak to me?"
"Right to business, hm?" Burrows reaches for his briefcase, digging around in it for a few moments before pulling out a big manilla folder. It makes a thump when he drops it onto the table, and Finch begins to stare at it. "This is what I've been working on."
She grabs the folder and digs in like a shark into its prey. She reads, rereads, and strangely, pauses. Burrows raises an eyebrow and can't help but grin. By now she'd be making some comment about—
"This is nothing."
Burrows blinks, and his expression fades away. "This is my life's work."
She sets the folder down. "It doesn't make any sense."
"Nothing we study makes sense!"
"Yes it does. I can make sense of what I study."
"Maybe that's—" Burrows stops himself, sighing. Getting in an argument with Finch never ended well, he knows better than to continue.