Axelord's Box

Ten years. It's been ten years since I sat at my desk.
My old office, everything is dusty. Everything seems a bit off. It's not just my office though. Ten goddamn years have passed.
Ten years for everybody but me. Less than a month ago, I was sitting there, in my office, filling forms.
I am 36 years old man born 46 years ago.

The last time I saw my daughter was at her 14th birthday party and now she's a researcher at Site-18. I missed her graduation. I missed her marriage. I'm a grandfather! I'm dead for her now, she made that clear enough.
Her mother's dead. Classified stuff, hush hush. I wish I could find out exactly what happened.

My colleagues, they avoid me of course. My old research partners. Frank, Flagg, Alex, Dorian and Wilde. My friends.
We've talked of course but they were distant. Went and sat with them at the Site's cafeteria. Like trying to talk with a well knit group of buddies. I don't belong. I'm an outsider. Outcast.

Never should have stepped in that blue police box.


Foundation Incinerator (retaining some of the effects of object incinerated?)
Racist Flour
FAIL button
The man who could NOT be captured on tape/photo

My little burgeoning collection of articles picked from before they were deleted. Great material for academic purposes.

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