Up until now, I've been running on adrenaline, and it doesn’t take too long for that debt to make itself known. I suddenly feel… More than tired, the exhaustion that settles through me is bone-deep. I quickly find it harder and harder to keep on my feet.

Still, something makes me fight through. It’s not grit, exactly, more- expectation. The expectation Miss Lopez put on me, before she- before she left. She expected me to keep things together, so… I will. Someone needs to, after all, and from the way the Mayor looks right now, it’s not going to be him. He’s pacing, muttering under his breath, his face flushed with apprehension and fury.

As for Olivia, she’s looking even worse, somehow- she hasn’t made a sound since Abby left, and she’s curled up into a ball in the corner of the bed, eyes darting around the room as if any shadow could contain a monster. Hell, as far as I know, maybe they could; I’m not exactly up to date on the alien threat.

I put her out of my mind for a second; there’s nothing I can really do for her right now. Instead, I focus on what I can do: work out what we have to hand.

The panic room is predictably small, and loosely divided into two main compartments. The bedroom, which is mostly just the bed itself, and what could generously be called a living room- if your conception of a living room consisted of one leather chair, a few cupboards, and a minibar.

There’s three other things of note: one, the little cloistered nook which contains the computer and assorted camera monitors, little bigger than a plane bathroom. The cubicle toilet, which is even smaller, and the water dispenser. I check, just to be sure, and- yup. It seems like some genius decided it was important that it be powered, too.

After all, a standard office cooler wouldn’t make the water as pure and chilled as a fucking filter in this emergency shelter, would it? Fucking fantastic. God, I hope the toilet isn’t inexplicably connected to the mains too.

I eye the minibar, warily- I don’t know how long humans can survive drinking only alcohol, and I’m not excited to find out. Maybe he keeps sodas in there or something, as a mixer? Fuck, I really hope I’m not going to find out my boss only drinks neat liquor right about now.

Okay, that’s enough focusing on things that are out of my control. Time to take stock of the cupboards.

At least here, there’s good news. I find carefully stacked shelves containing most of what we should need- ration packs and boxes of nutrition bars, a compact first aid kit, candles, unisex clothing, toilet paper, even a pile of full-face respirators. No water, unfortunately, and no radio like I’d hoped. I suppose with the walls being made of thick metal, they figured a normal signal wouldn’t get through, so they needed to rely on the computer’s alert system.

There’s spare ammo in what looks like the standard calibre for the bodyguards’ standard kit, but at a glance none of it matches the pistol. Guess this was Abby’s personal pocket piece.

Okay, so we’re not… Completely fucked, I think? We should be able to last a few weeks like this, though it’s not going to be pleasant without water. The anti-nausea meds are going to be working overtime. Maybe I can boil some of the alcohol, somehow? The vents are open, so I won’t suffocate us, but maybe the smoke would draw something.

I’m just considering whether water purification tablets would work on beer, when a choking sob pulls me out of my thoughts. It’s Olivia; whatever hypervigilant trance she was in, it’s broken now, and she’s curled up and weeping on the bed.

“Oh, helpful, Olivia! Really helpful. That’ll fix everything. You’re gonna draw the monsters right to us!”

The snide voice of Usk cuts through her whimpering, but Olivia just bawls harder at that.

"Dude," I turn and give him a hostile glare. “Shut the fuck up.”

He whips towards me, and draws himself up further.

“I am your boss, Miss Galleani." He barks. "You would do well to keep that in mind if you want to keep your job.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

I shrug, and indicate our surroundings with stiff nonchalance.

“Mayor- Melon. That could not matter less right now. If we get out of here, then sure, fire me, whatever. But first we have to live through this, and right now, you’re just an extra useless split of the rations. Do something useful for once in your life and shut the fuck up.”

He stares at me, and in the hesitation provided by his gaping-fish look, I rise, and move over towards Olivia.

She looks up and flinches as my shadow blocks the light, but I hold my palms up, placatingly. It’s pretty awkward, honestly; I wanted to comfort her somehow, but I don’t really know her. After a moment, though, she shuffles over slightly, and I take that as permission to collapse on the bed next to her.

I reach out and stroke her back gently, as comforting as I can be; she doesn’t shift from her volleyball-impression, but her sniffles lessen. Across from us, Usk snorts, but otherwise keeps his comments to himself- instead, he reaches for a bottle, and pours himself a glass of something that smells strong. He sniffs at it, grimaces, but collapses back into the leather chair with it anyway.

I sit there with her for what feels like at least twenty minutes, just gently rubbing her back, before the tears start to subside. Eventually, she flops forward, seemingly exhausted, and turns her head to look at me blankly- as if she’s seeing me for the first time.

“You know Jet, you’ve been here for a year and a half, and it just occurred to me that I don’t know one single thing about your life outside of work.”

I side-eye her, just a little. “You’ve got great timing, Olivia. I was just thinking to myself, ‘you know, this alien invasion is a perfect opportunity for a team-building exercise,’ and there you go.”

She laughs lightly. “Look, we’re gonna be here a while, no matter what, right? Might as well get to know you. Like, come on, it’s you, or him.” She nods in the Mayor’s direction. He sticks his tongue out at her.

I shrug. “That’s fair. Well… There’s not much to know, really? I don’t really have many hobbies outside of work these days. I do a bit of tai chi, mostly just keeping myself flexible. Some running, some cycling. I look after a window box at my apartment? That’s really it- I’m not that interesting.”

“No family? Friends?” She prods.

“No, things were already strained with my family, and… well, it doesn't matter. I haven’t really had many opportunities to make friends outside of work, and none of my previous jobs really lasted long enough for that.”

“You didn’t stick around anywhere?”

“I spent a couple years as a temp, moved into an admin job with a corp after that. You paid better. What about you?”

“Oh, well. You know, I’m a millennial, so I made the same mistake everyone else my age did. I got a degree! Majored in business administration, with a minor in communications. Bounced around a couple of desk jobs after that, then I landed at a start-up. It was basically seven guys with engineering degrees, and me. They didn’t think they needed a paper pusher on their ‘world-shaking enterprise’ and they wanted to let me go.”

She snorts. “Up until about the third time they misfiled something, and the grant money they needed got denied as a result. They started to see the value in someone making sure everything was properly documented after that.”

She’s been glaring into empty space, but seems to catch herself. “I threw my life into that job, and for what? Got promoted to so-and-so’s assistant half a dozen times, still barely making more than my starting salary. It got to the point where I could hardly make rent anymore, so… I jumped ship. Ended up with another up-and-comer, working for him.” She nods at Usk, more respectfully this time. He holds up his glass in a toast.

“I mean, he’s a prat,” Olivia says, ignoring his sputter of indignation, “but he did at least notice my work. He actually seemed to care about what we all brought to the table. When we got bought, he walked, and he asked me to join him, work as his campaign manager. I did. It worked out pretty well- until now, at least.”

Usk joins in, voice raspy from the alcohol. “To be honest, I never wanted to get into politics. I wanted to be this big shot businessman. But the first couple companies I ran, they collapsed. It was a disaster, honestly. I was never very good with fiscal stuff. But I realised- I am good with people. So then I built that whole thing, the way it really should have been- boss in name only, just, hiring the right people, like Olivia here. And it worked! We were getting somewhere!”

He laughs bitterly, but it morphs into a cough. “And then we were a threat, of course, so the big boys got ready to rip it all out from under me. Hostile takeover- didn’t want another player in the game. And I just figured, hey, I can’t compete with that, right? Well, if they don’t want me as a peer, maybe I can keep them happy by acting as the mediator instead. Run for office, get myself some good publicity. Make deals. Make everyone happy.”

I can’t help but snort at that. “Everyone? Your golf buddies, maybe.”

He scowls at me for interrupting his sob story, but I keep going. “Tell yourself whatever you want, dude, but you know that most of those deals you love to make come at the cost of the city, right? Like, come on, I work here- half the contracts you have me write up for you involve basically selling government services to the highest bidder. At least tell me you’re a cynical crook! I’d take that over you being some Reagan ideologue who actually thinks that private interests will run the sewers, or the subway, or the fire department better.”

Somewhat predictably, my outburst doesn’t go over very well; Olivia draws back into herself, unable to meet my eyes, whereas Usk is doing nothing but glaring at me. Whatever, dude- my empathy can only stretch so far, and I’m not going to sit here and listen to your rich boy problems.

With the conversation stagnating awkwardly, I decide to close my eyes and doze, just for a bit.