Michael Crichton Westworld Novels & Stories

“You don’t know Killian. “ “And you think you do.” “I know his mind. It will torture him forever. He will forever blame himself for what happened.” “Move.” One of the police officers urged Richard. “Good bye, Michael.” Richard smiled at him and let himself be led away. “Great job over here.” The man said and Mike finally looked at him. The man had tall, broad shoulders and determined features. He was human but looked quite intimidating, even compared to a wolf. He was most likely the director of the MI6.

This room barely had any fresh air. He had to finish his business here as soon as possible. With quick steps and movements he began to dismantle the large cupboard in the room. The cupboard was filled with old books, most of them looking like journals. Hugo pulled out some of the journals and placed them on the table. The man flipped through the journal, looking for notes that mentioned the words “wolvire”, “red moon” and “Kliwon Friday”.

No one was in the hallway, so I closed the door as quietly as I could and tiptoed to my suite, locked the door, and headed straight to the bedroom. I quickly dressed in a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt since I was just hanging out at the house. But if I needed to leave the Compound, I would dress in something more appropriate. After I was dressed, I checked out the kitchenette and discovered it was fully stocked. I made myself a cup of coffee, and then pulled a chair from the kitchen table over to the huge picture window to watch the sunrise. I thought about my animal patients and wondered if they were okay, although I was sure that they were. Then I thought of Cruz as his gray wolf. Alth