It was the evening, Thatcher sat at his desk, staring blankly at his computer screen that illuminated his face, and the room around him.

The screen was just documents that he had wrote from ALT encounters, to random things that popped up in his head, most were about Ruth, god he missed Ruth.

Thatcher sighed, scooting the chair back and began to close the tabs, he could've swore he saw something out the corner of his screen, but ignored it, only making his paranoia grow.