I once knew a journalist who believed, heart and soul, in the truth—in universal truths and justice and other such high-minded concepts. He was driven by this belief, lacking passion for all other things.

Before the fall, when the great old ones came back after their aeons of slumber, he was leaked a memo describing a super-weapon hidden in an old nuclear bunker complex. He sneaked in somehow, evading the military guards, but he never came out. His disappearance was forgotten amidst the chaos of the following days.

Knowing now what I didn’t then, I sometimes wonder if truth gives secrets indigestion.