ED'S POV.
This bloody headache wouldn't go away. Didn't matter whether I slept or not.
Though who was I fooling? When had I last slept properly?
The wretched thing gnawed at me day and night, pressing behind my eyes, grinding through my skull until even the simplest thought turned unbearable. It wouldn't let me exist in peace, not for an hour, slowly driving me mad.
I blamed the weather...
It was the end of February, yet the weather refused to make up its mind. Warm or cold. Snow or rain. It shifted from one to the other.
Down on the streets, it looked revolting. Snow and puddles everywhere, the whole place drowned in brown and grey. That sticky, miserable snow drifted from the sky without pause, while a sharp wind cut straight through to the bone.
The clouds hung too low. They pressed down on the city heavily as though they meant to crush me beneath them like some unfortunate beetle.
When would this awful weather finally decide what it wanted to be, winter or spring? One or the other would do.
Blocking out every scrap of light that might slip through, I pressed my palms over my eyes, trying to force proper darkness. Any light, any movement, sent a sharp stab somewhere deep inside my skull.
I sat there for a while. Breathing slowly, waiting for the pressure to ease a little. It didn't.
In the end, I lowered my hands. Work hadn't vanished simply because my head was ready to split.
I turned and faced the vast panoramic window.
Never thought I'd hate that thing. I'd never imagined I'd want to cover it with anything I could find, nor regret refusing those enormous curtains the designer had pushed so insistently. At the time, I'd thought the idea ridiculous. Completely unnecessary.
Now I would've drawn them shut with genuine pleasure and left the whole window hidden behind heavy fabric.
I glanced down at the street. However, there was little to see. Fine snow drifted through the air, mixed with a thin veil of fog that swallowed the view.
The weather was vile again.
The television murmured somewhere behind me. A low stream of voices that never stopped.
It was on at all hours. Not because I adored television, nor because I spent evenings absorbed in dramas or those brainless TV shows people devoured. Entertainment had nothing to do with it.
It was a necessity.
Any bit of news, any shift in public mood, could ripple through the business. A minister caught in a scandal. That could mean removal from office and a chain of problems for us. A rising celebrity suddenly adored by the entire country. That meant contracts worth revisiting.
Or the opposite. The same star tumbling down from those glittering heights, dragging their reputation through the mud. In that case, we'd need distance. Quickly. Before their stain reached our products and ruined the image we'd built.
Nothing could be missed.
So the news muttered in the background, day after day. I had no intention of making the mistake of switching it off.
Of course, I could have relied on my analysts. They would have delivered neat summaries, tidy reports. Everything would be structured, filtered, and explained. Still, I trusted my own judgement more.
After all, how could they truly know what was best for the company?
For my company.
I turned my gaze to the television and tried to listen. The presenter's voice was lifeless and unnatural.
"Another altercation took place yesterday in the central district. It involved several hybrid teenagers and a group of residents. Witnesses report that the situation turned rather violent after an initial dispute."
I exhaled, drawing breath through my nose, then reached for the remote and switched to another channel. Another news. This time, a man. His voice sounded firmer, as though the story he was telling was of great importance.
"…public concern continued to mount as incidents between hybrids and non-hybrids increased. However, new community groups were attempting to establish what they called 'neutral zones'—designated areas where hybrids might gather without fear of harassment…"
A neutral zone… honestly, what a stupid idea. A tidy phrase dressed up for politics, nothing more than segregation in better clothes. I wondered whether the supporters of hybrids, or the hybrids themselves, even understood what was being done to them. They were being herded together, penned in behind a fence.
I wondered how that differed from what they had before, or from what they had now.
Well… It'd make things far easier for the government to watch them.
It'd look very much like a zoo. A collection of "dangerous" animals gathered in one place so people could come to stare.
Hm, would they sell tickets?
My head ached again. I was so tired.
I kept switching from one channel to the next, but it was all the same. Different faces, different locations, yet the meaning barely changed. They spoke of protests, demonstrations, beatings, and riots.
When would they all finally settle down?
I pressed the button with a flick of irritation and muted the television, though I didn't quite bring myself to turn it off.
It was just as well I'd stepped off that train of madness in time. People, beastmen, hybrids, fuck, to hell with all of it. My head was throbbing, and all this… all this news had ruined my mood completely.
I tightened my grip on the remote and threw it onto the table without properly judging the force. It slid across the smooth surface and fell to the floor, skidding all the way to the door.
God, I couldn't be bothered to go and pick it up. I wondered whether it was still working or if I'd have to have the secretary buy a new one. Lately, I seemed to be breaking everything far too often.
Drawing a deep breath, I leaned back in my chair and shut my eyes tight, trying to manage the pain. I needed to pull myself together so I could get back to work.