<strong>Name</strong>: Michael Sandalphon<strong>When</strong>: Five months before the plague<strong>Location</strong>: Warehouse on the outskirts of Dallas<strong>Tagged</strong>: No one<br/><br/>It was raining, the wind lashing the falling water so it drove across the parking lot sideways and leaving no place to shelter from the storm. Not that it would matter if Michael could find shelter, since the walk from the bus stop nearly a mile away from the meeting place left his clothing stuck to his skin and shivers racing down his spine. He'd be lucky to finish the day's purchase without catching a cold. Inside the building there was a space heater he could huddle near to get warm, but the man he was waiting for was late and he didn't have a key. Well, there was one hidden in a crack in the foundation above the door, but if he went inside that way the man would drive off instead of completing their deal. So he shivered and he waited.<br/><br/>To be fair, it wasn't entirely the man's fault he was late. His girlfriend was upset because another check to one of their many bill collector's bounced and she'd caught him in a shouting match as he tried to leave. Crime wasn't something the man wanted to do, it was something he<em>had</em>to do so he could put food on the table for his girlfriend and their kid. That's why Michael had picked him. Someone who didn't want to be a "bad guy" was safer, or so he figured. It wasn't like he had much experience with things like this, but he needed the papers if they were going to let him go to school. The man was a good forger, not great, but Michael only had to fool public school officials, not the IRS.<br/><br/>Thunder rumbled and the wind changed so the sheeting downpour hit the blind young man from another side. Bouncing in place a little to warm himself up, Michael wished he'd paid attention to the man's timeline a little more. Then he'd have seen he would be a little late and would have taken a later bus. Too late for that now, however, so he tucked it into the back of his mind as another lesson to be learned on how seeing the future was really not all it was cracked up to be.<br/><br/>Finally, the rumble that reached Michael's ears wasn't just the memory of lightning creasing the skys and a large, two-door pickup truck rolled over the gravel parking lot. Stopping just in front of the doors, the driver hopped out and rushed to get inside and out of the rain. Inside, he shivered and stomped, leading the way off the bare warehouse floor and into a sparsely furnished office. There, he turned on the space heater Michael had been longing for.<br/><br/>"Damn boy, you look like a drowned cat," the man declared as the blonde huddled hear the warmth and let out a sigh of pleasure. "I s'pose we can get this done and I can let you warm up a bit before sendin' you off ag'in. Le'see," dropping a briefcase he'd carried from the truck onto the flimsy desk and popped the clasps open. Inside were two manilla envelopes which he passed over to Michael. "Birth certificate and Social Security Card for one Michael Sandalphon. Some of the best work I've ever done, but, uh, why's a kid like you need this, anyhow?"<br/><br/>Michael didn't answer as he pretended to examine the documents, just glanced up as if he could actually see the man and then down at the papers again. He'd already been clear on this; Michael didn't want to give his name and he didn't want to know the man's either. He didn't want to know his wife's name or his son's. He didn't want to get to know him, or them. He'd seen them all die; knowing them before it happened would be too hard.<br/><br/>"These look good," the blind blonde said and pushed the small card and certificate back into their respective envelopes. From his jacket, he pulled a soaked letter envelope and passed it over before moving to the table and putting the documents inside the briefcase. Because of the rain, he'd requested and therefore paid for that, too. Fore-sight did have<em>some</em>perks.<br/><br/>The man counted the cash, then grinned and tipped his hat to Michael, "So does this. It was a pleasure doin' business with ya." He paused and frowned at the bedraggled blonde. "Is there some place I can take you, son? It's pourin' out there and you're likely to catch your death."<br/><br/>It was so tempting. The truck would be warm, he'd even be dry by the time he got back to the hotel. But they'd talk, he'd be asked to dinner, then to stay the night. From what little Michael had<em>seen</em>of the man, he knew he'd like him and his wife and son, too. That was the real reason he hadn't been paying attention to the forger's timeline, he didn't want to.<br/><br/>Shaking his head, Michael straightened and took his first step away from the warmth of the space heater. "No, but thank you." He took another and another until he'd reached the door. He didn't look back, didn't picture the little boy who would starve to death at his mother's side, and he<em>didn't</em>wish that he could have been friends with someone who could be a criminal and yet walk in the light. Walking into the rain, Michael turned his face up briefly and didn't cry because that was just rain water on his cheeks.