Albert J. Petron worked in a top secret bunker, monitoring the private communications of his fellow citizens and reporting them to his superiors in an un-named intelligence agency. He had no idea if anything actually happened as a result of his reports, but figured he should probably continue filing them if he wanted to keep his job.
He was only allowed out of the bunker one day a year. Ordinarily, he chose to take this on his birthday, but as this fell in December, he usually spent it being cold and miserable. This year, however, Albert didn’t take his one special day in the bleak midwinter and waited until early April.
As he stepped out through the blast doors, Albert he felt a light breeze run through his hair and caught the faint scent of apple blossom. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, he turned to face the sun, the light of which – magnified through his coke-bottle glasses – concentrated into two white-hot beams and burned his fucking eyes out.