TTDW Chapter 3I had worked much later than intended, and as I made my way up the stairs from the uppermost deck to the building roof, every muscle and bone in my body was screaming. No one usually works as late as I had, except maybe the janitorial crew, so the building was largely deserted. However, had there been anyone to see me, they would have easily noticed my discomfort. Every joint in my body was cramped up and as I emerged from the stairwell onto the roof, a new wave of pain blossomed across my back. I think I now know what the victims in the Alien movies must have experienced just before the chest burster emerged. All my throbbing aches meant that I had been in this form for far too long, and now my true self was trying to get out. The pain wasn't serious enough to be debilitating, but by Sobek's plume, it was uncomfortable. I still had to hold my form until I reached the roof, but now that I was out in the open,
TTDW Chapter 2Istaqa and I stayed at the crime scene as long as the police would allow, but despite our efforts, we found nothing new relating to the case. As the police cleared the scene, Istaqa and I boarded the subway train once more, heading back to our office in Springfield.Istaqa and I sit on the third floor of the ten-story Versar Center building in Springfield, near Springfield Mall. Though our address says Suite 301, Securitas takes up most of the space on the floor. The Washington offices of the Special Investigations Division were squeezed into one corner of the space, "squeezed" being the operative term. Securitas has several departments the fields of security and investigative processes, and one of those, Pinkerton Government Services, Inc., takes up most of the space in the suite. There are less than thirty employees in my particular department, including myself, all shoved into a space that might comfortably fit half that number.
TTDW Chapter 1Standing up on a Metro train is probably not the best idea in the world, especially if you don't have a good hold on one of the hand bars near the doors, over your head, or on the back of the seats. You never know when the brakes will suddenly be applied, sending you tumbling into somebody's lap – quite literally. Yet that's exactly what I was doing. I was standing near the front of the subway car, between the seats that face forwards and those that face backwards, hands behind my back, head down, and eyes closed. I had made it from Springfield to King's Street without tipping over, and I was trying to repeat the process after transferring from the Blue Line to the Yellow Line. The six-car train wasn't especially crowded, unusual for the early rush hour commute. Most of the two-person seats had someone in them, but it wasn't sociophobia that was the reason my preference to stand. I just preferred to stand wh