WHAT FOLLOWS: S1.E01.4
Monument had taken one of the vans and driven the coward's route: away. He didn't try to pretend what he was doing was in any way courageous, because it was the opposite. It was wise. Some hundred or so meters outside of Famine's lethal aura, his comfort and the tires of the van were still intact. These things had value. Inside the van, outside the searing snow-turned-rain, he watched through the open side door and felt the balmy winter night on his face. The red light from burning men was glowing against his white body armor, turning its polished surface orange. He supposed his pallid face, his pale eyes, were taking on the color of death as well, as its air washed over him. The death slipped past him like warm oil, though, glistening and polishing but not burdening him. He had no weapon; he would not need it. As long as Monument did not give attention to Famine, he would be left alone. That was the rule that Famine had lay down decades past. It was his mercy.
Men like Foundation did not accept that mercy, though. They could not. It was mathematical, a predictable, common equation and at its end was the very refusal of peace. Famine's objective was quite a bit distant, if Monument's calculations regarding Marduk were any hint, so it would be easy to stay uninvolved. But while Monument sat aside, he had to wonder what was going to happen to Project Four in the future if its leader, the man called Foundation, got himself so uselessly killed?
