Fingers flew across the keyboard with an almost dizzying speed. Occasionally, a long pregnant pause would set the air inside of the office still. The silence dragged on for a few minutes, until he admitted –with some resignation- that he wasn't going to get much more done, without lowering the quality of his work. Hadn't he often worked himself as hard as possible, only to find himself slumped on the ancient wooden surface that served as his desk? Part of him wondered if it were due to age, or simply him pushing himself too hard. A few years back, he could pull consecutive night-shifts with little issue. Probably why he –even- attained this prestigious position, were he to look at it practically.
Kyle leaned back in his chair, considering this for a few choice moments, allowing his exhausted mind to wander. He devoted his life to his work. Often, he felt as though he had given up being himself, since college. Giving himself to the cause. His cause. A lone finger rubbed the deadened scar tissue to the side of his right eye sub-consciously. The hospital's he'd visited as a child had given him his life back on no less than three occasions. Wasn't it just that he should do the exact same back? Increase people's chances of living, throughout his own service, as well as his research?
Said research you are most likely butchering through fatigue, came a voice, gnawing at him from the back of his mind. Every once in a while, during these long work-sprees, it took the opportunity to try to make him rest. Just a little while. How much harm could that do? He dimly recalled that 'voice' being his common sense and, in truth, it was right. Research could be destroyed over mistakes he was making in his sleep-deprived state. It was his job to remind others to stay healthy, to look after themselves. High hypocrisy, to be doing that, when he himself was not.
After a moment of internal struggle, his desire to continue and finish his current work battling with his desire for sleep, he gestured to the cameras situated throughout the office. With a sluggish slash throughout the air, he saved the document and began the advanced computer's shutdown process. The computer fan's familiar hum died down to a quiet whir, before ceasing. Reaching up with a heavy hand, he removed the simple pair of reading glasses, setting them upon the oak of the desk, the impact of such scarcely disturbing the blanketing quiet that permeated the room.
Three of the walls were stark-white, with various medical diagrams and certificates in frames crowding two of the walls, a majority of the framed awards sat behind him. It never hurt to remind people why it was –him- running the hospital, after all. The wall to his right was an overly large bookcase, containing everything from medical encyclopaedias, to research projects, as well as several works of fiction for his own pleasures.
The fourth wall, however, was an entire structure of glass. Standing, he adjusted his white coat and shuffled over, glancing out across the cityscape. Cars darted by the large roads, seemingly blurring as they accelerated by. A maglev train sped in and out of view in a matter of moments, stopping briefly for passenger's convenience of leaving without the added difficulty of going over three hundred miles per hour.
Tapping a slightly elevated pane of glass set into the window, Kyle observed himself. Small shadows had formed under his eyes, said optics slowly edging towards becoming bloodshot. He rubbed a hand on the stubble slowly forming along his lightly tanned skin, noting its lightening colour. With a slight frown, he had noticed his appearance becoming leaner as he presumed 'baby fat' had edged off. However, with the added fact that his dark hair had fallen from its respectable swept, spiked style to lie flat against forehead, he was going to take a wild leap and say he was, indeed, working himself too hard.
He looked by –far- too old for his age of 27. The doctor decided to put it down to stress. Which would be over in .. what was it? A month? His reflection pursed its lips, and Kyle raised a finger, tapping the console embedded into the window. A calendar appeared, a date lit with a light green. The 9th of May. By then he would have finished his research, finished his family preparations, and would be ready for it all. Drawing an 'x' on the odd surface, he turned the console off, watching as the city appeared to dim as the office's security systems activated.
Walking towards the door, he swapped out his lab coat for a simple leather jacket, pulling it on wearily over his white-collar shirt and tie and glancing around at his office. Everything was in place. He'd already chosen who was going to succeed him in the entire affair until a.. later date. Ten years. In cryogenic freezing.
He was ready to contribute once again to medical science. Everything would be fine. He walked out of the office, and shut the metal and glass portal which, with a click, and a thunk as the locks slid into place, held there until the familiar battered thumb-print scanner recognised his unique print.
He was ready.
Wasn't he?