Cecil was acutely aware of his problem. It gnawed at him each time his hand gravitated towards the slim metal flask concealed in his coat pocket. The stinging sensation in his throat served as a grim reminder of the contents within.

Despite his inner voice warning him against seeking refuge at the bottom of the liquor bottle, the GDA director found himself a disheveled wreck at his desk.

"Mngh.. hic..."

As he raised the bottle to his lips, a second hand tugged it away, preventing him from indulging further. He could barely register the whispers and murmurs that beckoned him away from his liquid solace. He could only muster a weak whine in reply.