The heavy clouds of the last few days had snuck away sometime the night before. Standing by the window of his office, Dr. Naboru stared up at a clear October sky. The sun sat on the very line of the horizon, a beautiful blazing scarlet orb that threw bands of pink and gold across the sky. It was a glorious picture.
He hated it.
Sometime in the past three years the setting of the sun had begun to feel like a betrayal. He did not even know who, or what, to blame. The earth, for spinning Tokyo out of the protection of the sunlight? The sun, for not somehow holding the planet firmly in the light? Science and medicine, for not offering him an answer?
Or did he blame the moon in its serene dance across the sky, every night swelling larger as the feeling of foreboding began to spread throughout the hospital?
Earlier that day the doctors went through another flurry of fruitless research. The nurses tightened the security measures and checked off every step of the procedure, testing locks and windows. The orderlies started their usual routines early so that they could spend extra time locking down the other wards.
Still the sun sank, and still the moon would rise, full and silver and cold, and the nightmare would begin again.
