Snippet #1906045

Peter Tykwer

"Damn illusive soldier. . . ." Peter hissed spitefully into the air. He had scoured the facility looking for Eyrik and still the man had not turned up. How did Peter expect to recapture Michael if he did not have the best of the best working on the case? Eyrik was Carmine's attache, and one of the most proficient soldiers he had seen. But he was still one of the most illusive! Where was that man?! Peter grasped the edge of his mask in frustration, the metal smooth but obtrusive, heavy. He sighed loudly, the air made a grating noise in his throat as it was forced out by his lungs. He was so thirsty, his throat was so dry, but it had always been this way since the accident in the lab. He entertained the thought of getting it fixed. He wouldn't be in constant pain and his face would be once again bearable to look upon. But he had entertained the idea before, and just as before he instantly dismissed the thought. These scientists were skilled but some were. . . broken. He wouldn't put it past them to do something horrible to him while he was under the knife. Besides, he wouldn't feel right correcting his disfigurement until the individual it reminded him of was brought to --for lack of a better expression-- justice.
He stormed along the halls looking for the soldier. Peter even resorted to asking some subordinates where the man was. Nothing useful came of it. In fact it just made him more lost. He felt humiliated, like some being above was looking down and laughing at how fate was treating him. Like he was some puppet that was being controlled and forced into a comedic relief role. Peter stomped down the hallway, one of what seemed to be millions, and was so wrapt in his own thoughts and the indecipherable map of the facility that he collided, or nearly collided, with Gabriel. The masked scientist whirled, even more flustered; was slapstick now in this farce of fate too?
"Watch it!" He snapped. He grumbled; grand, now he seemed petulant and brutish, but he still wasn't about to apologize. He gazed at the other subject in the near-collision, something seemed familiar about him.
"You were that one outside Carmine's office weren't you? While I was leaving." He paused, trying to judge the man. He seemed poised despite his lax nature. His blonde hair fell down in an almost messy and careless manner but the man's demeanor seemed to speak anything other than careless and messy. His eyes were scrutinizing and alert.
"Who are you?" Peter demanded. He felt the man would answer in a very sparing manner, the kind to provide information on a need-to-know basis, so Peter suffixed the phrase with: "And why are you here?"