Conrad Fisher Novels & Stories

He replied, "The wait is meaningful exactly because of the fleeting nature of the view. No one will cherish something that comes by easily or appreciate the beauty of it." She was surprised by his words, which seemed to allude to something else. Anyway, she wasn't in the mood for philosophical discussions. She rubbed her arm and grumbled, "It's freaking cold. I'm leaving." With that, she went back to land. Conrad had appeared on the beach without them knowing. He was secretly taking a lot of photos with his phone. He planned to show the photos to Lewis after the latter sobered up. It would serve as a peace offering in case he got into trouble for bearing witness to Lewis' drunkenness last ni

He wasn't old, but his hair was shaved close, and his eyes had the flat, dead look of a shark. "Dr. Willow," he said, offering a hand I did not take. "I am Director Fisher. We have been waiting a very long time for your call." "Let's skip the small talk, Fisher," I said, keeping my voice low behind my silver mask. "You want the biological sequence to stabilize your synthetic projects, and I want to talk about Zack." Fisher smiled, it was a slow, empty stretch of his lips. He turned and gestured for us to follow him into a massive office with floor-to-ceiling windows.

“And who’s he?” Anatoly frowned. He dropped his hand and plucked a cigarette from…. I wasn’t sure where the stick came from. One minute, he was seated with a bloodied cloth, and the next, dancing yellow-orange flames from his Zippo lighter hovered under the butt of the cigar between his lips. “That’s Greg Fisher.”