As midnight rolled around, there Michael was, not paying attention to the time. Far too many things to do. His own speed had become detrimental. If only he could think at the same speed. Maybe things would get done even faster. Notes scattered across tables, as he moved back and forth, filling in gaps of what worked and what didn't. He couldn't cure anyone, and even while it ate at his conscience, he was giving samples to the dying. No one would recall that he was ever there. His mesmerism made certain of that. His computer feet away, but on for added calculations to be set in.

There might as well have been a chime of the clock, as everything went still. His head feeling a fog roll over it. One person completely gone within the confines of his head, and back to another. Standing in front of a desk, he almost felt as if he couldn't move. Everything in him just wanted to drop onto the ground in fatigue. How long had he been like this? Moving like this? Running on little to nothing as he pushed himself on further? There had been no real telling. Memories that were there, they didn't give enough assistance. He had been through this before, was self aware enough to know that it was real.

What had he done? More importantly, why? Looking over his own notes in front of him, he didn't care. Things had to be fixed and changed. He wasn't a killer, regardless of what he remembered. Why had he attacked that handful of people? The notes. Everything had to be in the notes. Frantic, he rushed through them, uncertain of what was really to happen.

Moving to the computer in order to try and find some sort of added explanation, something, anything, a site was already up. It wasn't the one that he was plugging data into. It was something else. A video. A fight, battle, war. There were so many people, and he didn't know any of them. Wait, no, he recalled the green from last time. This wasn't right. Clicking over to the next tab, he sat gawking at himself. A man just staring at the scene before him. His hands not quite right. There was a form of claw there. But he couldn't seem to get the apple out of his mouth? Was it that difficult to take a bite? Why did this feel familiar?

Finally, a slow recognition came to, and Michael sat only to practically melt into the chair. A hand over his mouth. The fangs were gone, but there he was, changed. He couldn't even be so much effected by the fact that the moment had the potential to be just that embarrassing. It was the fact that he had changed. Those physical traits he had been afraid of. It left people to know what sort of monster he was. Outted in public view. Deflated, he looked at the number of views.

A slow but steady smirk moved right into his features, as his brow raised. Okay, that did make things better and worse. His own arrogance moving into play. This tab would be allowed to stay for quite some time. Looking down around this desk he looked for notes, but his gaze kept going back to the screen. Little comments about if this was real and why would a vampire eat an apple. If he were a real vampire, he would sparkle. All were scoffed at. It obviously had to be tied to Twilight, given the apple. Why did things always come down to that? He wasn't your average vampire, but to hell with that. Why couldn't he just enjoy an apple? He needed food, a shower, and to get back to work. There were people out there to help.