He stood at the Event Horizon. Michael’s life tipped precariously at the edge. He was becoming “unhinged.” Standing in a garret far above the Champs Elysees, he pondered his life in exile. Michael was exiled from himself … foundering in an ocean of auguries and mysticism. He came to Paris to present his findings to a group of powerful and respected scientists. For his efforts, he was thrown out of the Explorers Club and banished from the Philosopher’s Union. His crime was telling the truth. Most people can’t bare the truth. In fact, the truth drove Michael to the edge. He had discovered irrefutable evidence of the “Old Ones”. He knew they were controlling everything — and the world was about to disintegrate. He’d been searching for the truth since childhood, disentangling clues and picking through scraps of information. He discovered the lair of the Alchemist from the 14th Century. From his research, Michael began to feel a close connection to the Alchemist as if he personally lived and worked with the man. The Alchemist revealed the “Old Ones”: forces that were slowly tearing reality to sunders. The truth was encoded in secret journals Michael retrieved from a niche deep inside the Lair. Now, Michael had to dig even deeper to find a way to stop the inevitable. He started digging as a child … now he was 67 and time was running out. No one joined him on his quest. No one believed him. There was only so much material he could uncover and interpret. More than ever he was determined to dig up an answer that would solve the dilemma. For months he dug deeper, scouring every detail, using abrasives and other implements to crack open the hives of arcane information, trying to understand. He needed an answer to avoid total dissolution. The scientists derided Michael’s findings, the actual proof that was written in the genetic code of life: the Cipher of Death encoded by the “Old Ones.” He knew an antidote also existed if he dug deep enough. He came to the City of Light to end his quest one way or another. Answers abounded in the cathedrals and catacombs of the city. Michael was aware that answers could be found in the most unlikely places so he compulsively picked and scraped. His fingers were bloodied from scratching at his resources. His arms were shredded from his intense ministrations. His ears began to bleed. His nose was torn off. His tongue was flayed. Michael’s body was ravaged, picked apart as he feverishly sought answers that were hidden in his own genetic code. Finally his brain began to hemorrhage and his heart ruptured. Michael had picked himself to death … but, as he lay dying he discovered the answer he sought and scrawled it in blood on the floor: the formula to eliminate the universal drift into chaos. The inspectors were horrified when they found what was left of Michael’s body. By accident or design they smeared the blood, eliminating the vital formula.