Francisco's eyes started to hurt again. He took up the small bottle with eye drops he always carried on him and released a drop in each eye. He put his thick glasses back on and continued reading the text, making notes in a notepad in front of him. He had been working 15 hours straight now.

The lightning in the archive was damp to avoid damaging the ancient text stored in the room. Francisco DiStephano was used to it by now. He had been living in the vatican for almost 40 years now, working in the secret archives. He had interpreted thousands of texts and was considered by the church and most of the outside world as the number one in his field. Although Francisco didnt care what others thought of him, he didnt even care what the church thought.

An orphan, he had grown up in a monastary near the village of Stephan in south Italy. He later became a priest, not serve God but to get access to the vatican archives. Of course Fransisco believed in God but he didnt love him as most of his fellow priests did. In fact he despised God, he hated the catolic church. It would be hard not to after having read what he had. The texts he had translated and interpreted for the pope and the cardinals, speaking of things he knew never would be acknowledged by them. He knew all about the churchs past and he didnt like it.

Suddenly one of the doors to the archive opened and a young man, a monk came in.

-"Padre, forgive me for interupting but the man said it was urging"

DiStephano took the letter from the boy and read it. He immidiatly went to his chambers to pack. He burnt the letter and took a taxi to the international airport not telling anyone where he was going. They wouldnt miss him anyway....

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Though I can hide my cold gaze and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable, I simple am not there...