"It must be," Jekyll demurs at first, looking at the endless rows of books rather than Martel. He is only so equipped to handle this, introduced somewhat abruptly to more things in heaven and earth by himself, by whatever force makes a monster of him, and so he can accept certain ideas under the umbrella of science that perhaps once he could not.

But death in what appears to be fairly obvious impermanence is still somewhat daunting - dead is dead, and the weak shadow of Sunday School absent watchmaker faith he had as a child even more so. "I've considered that if I were to ever be confronted with incontrovertible proof of the divine it would- be ruinous. If we are simply the sum of years and years of the refinement of parts, then I can accept that we are none of us perfect, and strive toward the fulfillment of potential too far off in the future for me to see."

It seems like a worthy goal, the horizon. "But if there is a greater consciousness, especially one which is supposed to be magnanimous, loving- then everything I have done becomes- remarkably pointless."