Chapter 39: I Am a Prophet - A Terminally Ill Prophet
Reese clearly didn't understand what David meant.
He shrugged, muttered "whatever," and closed his eyes with world-weary exhaustion.
Soon after, snoring sounds emerged.
David sighed and rolled down the window.
He had no choice—current Reese was unbearably filthy, and the stench was enough to make David lose yesterday's lunch.
Desperately needed fresh air.
About an hour later, the Town Car stopped beneath a bridge overpass.
Standing on the empty riverbank was a man wearing glasses and a dark overcoat.
He faced the river breeze and observed the two men exiting the vehicle.
Reese, having slept, stretched and walked toward Finch fearlessly.
"Do I owe you money? That why you're bailing me out?
But sorry, right now... well, as you can see, I'm a bit cash-poor."
Finch, standing there, smiled:
"You owe me nothing, Mr. Reese.
Among the many identities you've maintained, this is the name you prefer, correct?
Don't worry, I won't expose you, just as I won't reveal that Mr. Wells is dying."
Reese completely ignored the last statement and strode toward Finch:
"You don't know anything about me. You don't know who I am, or what I'm capable of."
Finch disregarded Reese's proximity and turned toward David:
"Actually, I do. I know your history, I know you worked for the Agency, I know everyone else believes you're dead.
But we can discuss that later. I need to speak with this dying Mr. Wells first.
He doesn't have much time."
David, meeting Finch's gaze, simply smiled:
"Did that Machine tell you all this?"
Hearing David mention the Machine, Finch's expression transformed instantly, losing his previous composure, even forgetting his prepared remarks:
"How do you know about the Machine's existence? Are you one of them?!"
Before this meeting, Finch had thoroughly investigated David's background.
Previously, David had been just an ordinary medical student.
His past was so unremarkable that Finch found it completely uninteresting.
If he hadn't discovered David's Continental Hotel connection, he wouldn't have bothered meeting him.
But he never anticipated that a terminal brain cancer patient with limited time would actually know about the Machine's existence!
This was an extremely classified matter—nearly everyone involved had been eliminated.
There was no reason David should know this.
Observing Finch's shocked expression, David smiled:
"I know far more than you imagine. You could even call me... a prophet."
Finch's pupils contracted sharply.
A prophet? This person actually compared himself to a prophet?
That was something only the Machine could accomplish—how could human cognition compete with the Machine's billions of calculations? Simply impossible.
But David's next words genuinely frightened Finch.
"I know why you recruited Reese. Reese is living without purpose—he needs direction, and you'll provide that direction.
Let me think... your first number is Diane Hansen, correct?
Unfortunately, you only obtained her social security number, so you know very little.
You only know she grew up in Detroit, came here after law school, and is single.
You can't even determine whether she'll be the victim or perpetrator in the forthcoming incident.
But because of glioblastoma, which occasionally allows me to interface with the Machine's perception, I know clearly—she's the perpetrator!"
Finch was overwhelmed with disbelief—David had everything correct!
David genuinely knew what he was about to propose, the intelligence he'd obtained, and what he was preparing to execute!
With this level of specificity, could David actually be a prophet?
Could he truly interface with the Machine's perception?
If not, where did he acquire this information?
Had glioblastoma actually caused David's neural patterns to mutate, allowing synchronization with the Machine's frequency?
This entire situation felt profoundly wrong.
Unable to process it immediately, Finch shook his head repeatedly:
"Impossible. Impossible. Absolutely impossible!"
Reese, standing nearby, looked bewildered at the two speaking in apparent code.
He completely failed to grasp the connections between Machine, Diane Hansen, victim, and perpetrator.
David naturally understood Finch couldn't accept this immediately.
But Finch, who'd created the Machine, should comprehend a prophet's potential existence.
Although David couldn't genuinely interface with the Machine's perception, it was like Schrödinger's cat—Finch couldn't prove David couldn't interface.
So, facing the skeptical Finch, David simply concluded:
"If you don't believe me, proceed with your investigation according to plan.
Once you confirm I'm correct, come find me.
Don't worry—I'll survive considerably longer than you anticipate.
I imagine you, with Machine access, know where to locate me?
Then we can discuss how to save more lives.
Oh, and if convenient, could they return me to the Continental?"
Finch, profoundly surprised, struggled to control his expression, returning to his initial calm demeanor, finally gesturing for the driver to transport David back.
Watching the Town Car's receding taillights, Finch's mind raced.
Should he believe David or not?
He hadn't forgotten David was terminal glioblastoma—could the cancer have caused psychiatric symptoms?
But this couldn't explain why David knew his upcoming plan so thoroughly.
"This kid's really terminal cancer? Doesn't look it at all.
I've never seen any terminal patient as animated as him.
And capable of articulating such statements with complete mental clarity.
After learning they're dying, people are either terrified or enraged, but never display such composure."
Hearing Reese's observation, Finch realized David's behavior was completely inconsistent with terminal cancer presentation.
Strange. Too strange.
Finch now somewhat believed David genuinely was a prophet.
Otherwise, too difficult to explain all this.
According to his intelligence, David should've actually died four days ago!
Because David hadn't received any treatment, not even palliative care!
Under such circumstances, David shouldn't have survived until today.
Yet now, he was thriving. Wasn't that bizarre?
And working normally! Could no one recognize this was a dying man?!
Finch's composure was completely disrupted by this unexpected visitor, David.
He smiled wryly at Reese:
"Simple to verify his claims, Mr. Reese. Let me show you."
[Power Stone Goal: 500 = +1 Chapter]
[Review Goal: 10 = +1 Chapter]
If you liked it, feel free to leave a review.
20+ chapters ahead on P1treon Soulforger