Prometheus found his mind racing noisily as he sat still in the silence of his garage. He had spent half of the trip home contemplating the odd turn his investigation had taken but knew that he would need more information to draw any conclusions, which he could not gather while hurtling down the darkened country highways of northern France at over a hundred sixty kilometres per hour. The roads were nearly empty at that hour, but he knew better than to take his eyes off the road at that speed. Even with his multilayered suit, he could feel the tug of momentum and the light pressure where the aggressively bolstered seat hugged his broad shoulders as he took curves without decelerating. 

Taking a deep breath through his nose, he settled himself by focusing on the rich scent of natural leather that wafted from the tightly wrapped steering wheel, despite his Honda S36k being nearly a decade old. “That was the advantage with buying virgin vehicles,” he mused to himself; with the proper care, they would run and smell like new almost indefinitely. Sliding out of the tiny grey coupe, he stood up and swung the door shut, a satisfying thunk…