Miranda

Panic began to take hold, as it always did, in the face of impending failure. The doctor's hands fumbled through the gory mess on the table before him, tunneling deeper and deeper into the vacant husk that had just moments before been his most trusted friend. The man's tortured screams still echoed in his ears, pounding against his skull. He had seen the light leave his friend's eyes; had watched as his spirit fled his body, but still he did not feel any different. The machine had shown no signs of activity, either, though he had thoroughly checked and double checked its functionality. His eyes darted wildly as he dug through the intestines, desperately searching for the secret which had been deftly eluding him since he began his experiments. Blood soaked his sleeves to the elbows and spilled forth from the hollow vessel onto the floor of the secluded laboratory. Absently he noticed that his dear friend's liver had fallen from the table as well. Still there was no sign of what he sought. He cast a glance over to the ancient tome that alone occupied his reading desk, doubt building up like a dark cloud over his head. Perhaps I have misinterpreted the prophecy, he whispered to himself, nearly choking on the implications of such a terrible mistake.