Mr. Fermi nervously adjusted his glasses as he ran to a phone booth. Everything was choking: the ash in the air, the necktie wound tightly around his collar. People were screaming as they fled.
Fermi threw himself into the phone booth and shut the door. Fermi coughed and spluttered into a handkerchief as he dialed.
The other line clicked.
“Hello?”
“Fermi?”
“Yes, checking in. Event on schedule,” Fermi checked his watch. It had stopped. “Event precisely at 15:46:30. Subject made contact with the event at roughly 15:46:28, not injured.”
“He still there?”
“Yes, I believe so.” Fermi squinted through his glasses and saw Kyle Ross lying unconscious in the street.
“Good”
Another click.
Fermi placed the receiver back onto the hook. He looked at his watch again. It had better not be broken! he heard his wife scold. Gold. Patek Phillipe. Finally the watch began to tick again. Fermi sighed as he wound the hands to the correct time. He didn’t notice that it ticked a little slower than usual.