They say pa­tience is a virtue, but they’re wrong.

If you were pa­tient, you’d have taken an air­plane for the sec­ond time in a week, to travel to Hawaii, to visit The Li­brary once again.

Thank­fully, you are any­thing but pa­tient.

You have no idea what hap­pened at The Li­brary, and no idea how you left. You took a flight to Hawaii, and there’s no record of any flight back.

You need to be there now. Not in twelve hours. Not af­ter sev­eral flights. NOW.

Your im­pa­tience takes over; it blinds you.

You don’t think; you can’t think; you’re in a panic, des­per­ate, and then–

Here you are.

For a split-sec­ond, the cra­zi­est thoughts fleet through your brain. Why did­n’t the air pres­sure dif­fer­ence kill you? The dis­tance is gi­gan­tic; dif­fer­ent time­zones, even; for that mat­ter, what time is it? Is it noon? The sun’s di­rectly over­head, and–

SLAM!

Your punch sends the guard right through The Li­brary’s ma­hogany door just be­fore he can with­draw his weapon.

For a mo­ment, you wish to mourn for the beau­ti­ful wood, but you shake your­self out of it. Your mind must still not be work­ing right.

In­stead, you search the guard’s pocket. There’s no weapon. Just some candy. Come to think of it, he’s still smil­ing goofy, and he’s not wear­ing a uni­form or any­thing.

Oh well.

You pop the candy in your mouth. It is, in­deed, tasty. If you had time, you’d leave a thank-you note.

In­stead, you step into The Li­brary.

“You know what I did,” he whis­pers in your ear.

You spin around. Noth­ing.

“Or, at least, you’ll think you know, soon enough.” Your other left–

“All he needed was in­ter­net. And he could get it. Phone a handy Wat­son, she’ll come run­ning, emer­gency lap­top in tow.

“Then, thinks I, what if it were to rain? And of course it does, and the lap­top is ru­ined. I had the im­pulse. It’s what I do.

“If I did­n’t, he would­n’t have died, but it’s how it goes. That’s why I’m here. He had an im­pulse, and so did I. He tried to stop it, but he could­n’t ever stop me.

“But you could.”

You fi­nally see him, the Phoenix of Im­pulse. He’s stand­ing right in front of you.

Im­pulse looks at his watch, smil­ing sadly.

“You’ve got twenty sec­onds.

“In twenty sec­onds, you will hate me. You will hate us all–all Phoenixes. It’s what Truth Be­lieves, and what She Be­lieves, so Truth Be­comes. Ten sec­onds.”

He takes a breath.

“I’m fin­ished. You’ll do the deed. You’ll know where to find me…”

With a flash, he’s a bright yel­low Phoenix.

His fi­nal words echo across your mind.

“Don’t try to fight the hate. It’s not that dif­fer­ent, any­way… You’ve al­ways hated Phoenixes. Even if you did­n’t know it.”