A dull buzzing arose from the bedside. Francois, groaning in annoyance, reached over. At first, he thought it was an alarm he had forgotten to turn off before going to bed. When he opened his heavy eyes, his phone’s screen was alight. Slipping away from Jennifer’s arm that rested on his back, Francois sat on the edge of the bed and looked at his phone. He rubbed his back. Jennifer really had to pace herself. She was going to shatter his pelvis at the rate she was going at him. The beer could have attributed to the roughness. Jennifer had damn neared drunk enough to make a brewery dry. Rather than obliterate her liver, she most likely felt only felt a bit tipsy. Whilst he nursed the dull ache, he saw that McKonnig was calling him. A sense of deep worry ambushed him, removing the calmness that came from a peaceful sleep. Rubbing his eyes, Francois answered him. A fat slobbery voice, the panicked flappings of some blubberous beast like a walrus, met him.

“Hey there Francois, you okay?”

McKonnig’s words were tinged with anxiety. He never spoke this fast, nor did he ever bother with such formalities as asking people’s feelings. Francois’s worry rose like a furnace being stoked, his gut churning at all the possibilities coming through his sleep-addled mind. Perhaps he was being fired for something, perhaps he had left something at work that needed to be done or perhaps he had leaked some confidential information.

“Yeah…” Francois spoke in hushed tones.

He glanced over his shoulder. Jennifer sprawled across the bed, having grown in the middle of the night such that she more or less took up the entire mattress, relegating Francois to a little unclaimed portion upon its precipes. Yet from the way her hand had been, she had instinctively kept him close in the same manner one would sleep beside a stuffed animal. He put his hand to his mouth to cover a deep lengthy yawn and looked at the clock. The twilight hours, that slight limbo just before dawn. Something must be bad for him to be calling this early.

“What’s the matter?”

“Uh…” McKonnig paused for a time. Francois could hear the faint sound of typing, the clicking of a mouse and the static in their connection. “I need you to come in today.”

“What?” Francois blurted out, his anxiety crescendoing into a welling of deepest fear.

“I need you in.” He repeated.

More typing and then a tired exhausted huff before McKonnig spoke again. “One of the larger teams has fucked everything up. All the data, the analysis, projections, fucking everything. All this is meant to be going to the lender's consortium on Monday.”

Francois took a moment to let it sink in. “Why are you calling me exactly? I don’t know anything about that account.”

“I’m calling everyone I can. The executives have been meeting since midnight after some QAs caught the problems before the graveyard shift kicked in. It's all hands on deck mate. Managers have been given the order to get everyone on the analyst desks working on it. People are getting buried, jumping out the window or running for cover. It's going to be armageddon at the office today mate.”

“Christ.” Francois rubbed the temples of his head.

“You’ll get clued up at the office. We’re pretty much chopping down an entire forest to print out orientation documents to get everyone up to speed. I’ve been up all night trying to distil this shit storm into an email so everyone knows what we are dealing with.”

Francois groaned. “We getting paid for overtime?”

McKonnig let out a nervous chuckle, “Course. We’re not a sweatshop.”

“Had me fooled at times.”

A chortle came from the other side of the phone followed with a weary laugh. “So you coming in?”

Francois glanced at the clock and huffed, “Do I have a choice?”

“Lemme put it bluntly.” McKonnig’s hefty voice carried a sense of growing frustration, though Francois could not tell if it was directed at him or whatever work was in front of him.

“If we don't sort this mess, we lose all the banks as clients, and then all of us are going to be cashing unemployment cheques and looking for new jobs by the end of next week.”

Francois paused for a moment. He glanced over his shoulder. Jennifer had rolled in the bed slightly but still appeared to be sound asleep. He hadn’t realised he was biting his lip.

“Alright,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “I’ll be there by seven.”

“Top lad.” McKonnig perked up immediately. “I’ll order some food at lunch. Noodles, curry, kebabs, whatever you want. If this is really bad, we’ll get some beers after. Lord knows we are gonna need em'.”

McKonnig pepped up even more at the mention of grub and alcohol, but that was him to a tee. It was what Francois appreciated most about him as a manager. There was a willingness to get stuck in when things were going south, but happy to comp in any way possible to keep everyone content. Others would make the call, round up anyone they could and then fall back to sleep, letting their underlings do the lifting. From the background sounds and the weary exhaling that interlaced with the call, McKonnig really must have been up all night dealing with this problem.

"I'll hold you to it. See you at the office." Francois hung up the phone.

A cold sweat rolled down his spine. He felt a soul-crushing weight like he was caught in some overwhelming aura. Francois turned his head slowly and went pale with fright. Jennifer’s mane was frazzled and scruffy, forming a veil of crimson locks that obscured her golden gaze, her eyes half-opened. Like a mother bear forced out early from her hibernation, a roar of metal came, and the wooden frame of the bed cried out in agony as she grew to become the terrifying amazonian height, having to squirm down the bed to ensure she did bash into the wall. Stunned into place, he watched her shimmy, her legs dangling over the side, her hips butting up against him as her ass pushed the covers up, barely concealing the rising mounds. What had frozen him into inaction was the sheer speed. The metallic groaning he heard heralded a slower growth, one that he could at least fathom, but in a few scant seconds, she had ballooned up, almost doubling her height. By the time he had realised Jennifer was awake, her hips were already barreling towards him.

Just as he was worried he would be flattened, her hand swung round, catching him in her iron grasp. His phone flew out of his hand as Jennifer pulled him into her, nestling him between her breasts. A hail of protests came from Francois. A luxurious warmth like the soothing heat of a gentle sauna tempted him. Jennifer always insisted on being the big spoon and would wrap herself around him, surrounding him as she curled up to sleep for the night. Being engulfed by this all-consuming softness gave him a sense of cosiness and protection. Brimming with muscles as she was, they never felt hard as he imagined. Seeing her pronounced abs, biceps or thighs, he could not help but see them as being harder than stone, such was his impression of her physique. Somehow, on the contrary, her form had all the luxury of a woollen blanket, so soft and inviting that whenever you felt its touch, all you desired was to mesh yourself into it and never be parted.

Yet this was not a time where he had the luxury of indulgence, as much as he wished to be pinned against her chest for a few hours more. As he was about to yell about the urgency of his work, Jennifer rolled onto her front, trapping him in place between the mattress, silencing his shouts beneath her. Smiling with contentment as she felt Francois wrapped up beneath her body, cooing in delight at him struggling so much, enamoured with his little frame being overwhelmed by hers, she wiggled and squirmed just to tease him, letting Francois know how much she was enjoying his fight against him. This was the price he had to pay for having his phone dare to stir her from her rightful rest.  

A low mumble emerged from Jennifer, half stuck in a tired stupor still. With a hearty yawn, her head came down onto the pillow and muttered in a crackly voice. “You’re not going anywhere if you fight like that.”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Francois writhed, profanities snuffed out by her chest, barely freeing his arms so he could go about slamming his fist against her. Usually, he had given up at this point, content with her laying on him for a minute or so. Every blow struck against her, pathetic as it was, barely registering as anything more than a fleeting annoyance, seemed ferocious, like he was desperately trying to heave her off. Jennifer sighed, shrinking herself down to a more modest height such that she did not have to strain the bed anymore with her form. Pushing herself to her side and using her elbow to prop her head up, Jennifer allowed Francois to escape from confinement. Gasping for air like he had been deprived of it all his life, his face flushed blood red as though somehow being underneath her had made him sunburnt. Francois shot a death stare at her.

“This isn’t funny Jenn.” He said after each quick breath, brushing his hair to give it some form of neatness, “I have to go to work.”

“Waking me up this early isn’t funny.” She grumbled as she still fought off the lingering grogginess.

“I’m being serious, it's an emergency.” He fumbled his way off the bed, rubbing his eyes and looking through the mess on the floor, trying to spot any clothing that was not stained or well worn.

A few uneasy seconds passed as Jennifer processed the word.

“It's relative alright? Fucking hell.” He picked up a creased black t-shirt and pair of jeans from the mounds, hoping this pile was compiled of clean clothes.

“No, it's not!” A thud came from her stuck the mattress, the anger rising in her voice. How the bed survived her wrath Francois would never know. It was powerful enough to make him rock.

“It’s my job. Besides, it's a one-off. I’ll be back before you know it and we can go-”

An explosive grating sound as harsh as nails dragged on a chalkboard went off behind him, the violent snapping of wood deafened by the blast. Fright made him turn around and he saw Jenn filled the entirety of the room, the top of her head digging into the wall as plasterboard stained her locks with a coat of white dust. Half curled to prevent herself from fully demolishing the walls, the soles of her feet pressed against the other end, threatening to burst through into the living room. The frame of the bed became another casualty of her growth, another ruined piece of furniture overcome by the weight of Jennifer’s amazon form. No, it wasn't Amazonian. It was larger. The room was decent enough size. The fact she was so scrunched meant she had easily cleared double digits in height in a mere instant. A massive digit came before his face and Francois twitched, half ready to dive out of the way as though her finger came flying towards him like a truck barreling right at him.

“No, no, no!” Francois’ body rumbled from the power of her voice, deep enough to rattle the foundations of the apartment with fear, the tip of her finger poking his chest.

“You are staying here with me and that is final! Tell your boss to get someone else to deal with the problem!”

His throat went dry. Words clumped in his throat, lodging there as Jennifer glared at him, stuck beneath the oppressive icy gaze that had frozen him in the spot. A cluster of words forced their way out as he stuttered “I-I can’t Jenn!”

“I don't care!” Her response came like a roar of thunder, rocking the apartment with the power of her voice. “I'll tear down that office with my bare hands if I have to! Brick by fucking brick!"

Francois breathed in and steadied himself, and responded in a low, calm and direct. “Listen to me. They need everyone there Jenn. I have to be at the office to help handle it. I'll be back before you know it.”

Bracing himself for another booming bit of uproar, the silence that followed caught him off guard. A creaking like the sound of a mighty oak caught in perpetual fall came as the gargantuan digit retracted with Jennifer shrinking down until she lay on the thoroughly flattened remains of the mattress. Shards of the bed’s frame lay scattered about, a cracked indent in the wall. Jennifer turned away from him and crossed her legs. Her back arched over as though she deflated after having spent all the vigour. A heavy pause hung over the bedroom.

“We were meant to spend the weekend together…” She covered her face and sniffed. A tide of tears welled, threatening to break through and flow over her face, her voice cracking and growing weak.

“Jenn…” Francois went around the bed to sit beside her, stepping over the remnants of the bed frame and strewn about attire. Jennifer turned her back to him.

“Just go if it's so important.” Her words were so meek, they came more as a faint whisper.  

Something had to be said, there had to be the right way to explain why he had to go. Nothing came, however. In part, she was right. This was not an emergency in any true sense. Absyalls were an emergency. Dealing with demanding clients hardly compared. But this was two worlds clashing, he thought. Jennifer dealt with the true issues so she could allow frivolous problems like business errors such as these to exist. If a hierarchy existed, from which one issue resolved allowed two more to exist, far down this ever-expanding list of interconnected points, Jennifer’s emergency would be at the top, the absolute fundamental from which all others were allowed to devolve from. A great lineage of other minute problems that were allowed to exist only because she could contend with the greatest existential crisis that plagued humanity. Pangs of guilt struck his stomach and bowed his head. She dealt with the Abysalls, sometimes handling back-to-back incursions, coming in at those ungodly hours where the dawn splits the night sky, flopping into bed beside him still in her suit. Never once did she complain about the burden, but was she too not entitled to that same normality she helped to create?  

It felt wrong. His heart raged at him, thrumming harder and harder as if the constant rhythmic beat were trying desperately to pump some sense into him. This work wasn't important, his company wasn’t important. This wasn’t his problem, but he moved away out and started collecting the rest of his clothes and left the bedroom. His work helped keep a roof over their head, his work allowed her to have a place to rest. If her job was to protect the city, it was his job to make sure there was always a home to get back to, no matter how disgusting or awful it was. She could have a place where she wasn’t the Titaness, this mountain-like giant of a woman that struck down abominations with her bare fists. She could walk through the door and be Jennifer. That was his job, to be there with her when she needed him. Emotion quarrelled with reason in a cataclysmic battle. It made every step towards the bedroom door feel as though each tread shattered his heart, piece by painstaking piece. He pressed the handle and it clicked. A heavy snot-filled sniff and a subdued whimper. Francois looked back. A faint light from the alarm clock made her streaming tears glisten.

Cold water from the shower shocked him further awake. On and on came the icy stream as Francois stared at the tiles then to the showerhead. The water felt more chill than usual, more bitter than arctic seas. Maybe he could quit his job and spend the days with her. To see her like this was not worth the paycheck they gave him. It would mean her having to do more to rake in some form of income. One of the greatest benefits of his company was the salary allowed her to avoid doing all the promotional or marketing work the others went through. Fight Abysalls, turn up to some event, endorse a product, sleep for a few hours, repeat. Seemed like being one of those girls was a fate worse than death. Sacrificing his soul to examine financial data was worth helping her avoid that humiliation, even if, according to her, some of girls relished the media focus. Jennifer always turned them down. One of the reasons was always that it stole away the weekend. If she made such a sacrifice to be with him, to leave her alone for a single Saturday was a crime. Yet, she had her duty. He had his. Maybe the bosses would give him a bonus for helping resolve this problem.

Francois smiled to himself. That thought was the only way he could reconcile this betrayal. Just a little bit extra would be enough to get that ring a few months earlier. Squalid as this place was, that diamond would shine like the brightest star on the most deserving beautiful woman imaginable. For a moment, he envisioned it all. It was perfect. A plan so long in the making. Taking her for a walk in Victory Park, stopping by the lake as the amber glow of the dusk sun lay upon them then dropping to one knee, showing her the ring and then popping the question. Cruel reality sunk back and he huffed. Would she even agree after today? Time was the true gift. Going out for walks, lounging on some broken couch having cheap beers, chatting about inane topics and scoffing lousy takeaway. That was most precious of all, and he was taking that away from her. A great injustice, perhaps the worst of all, he thought to himself. Twisting and churning, his stomach raged against him.    

Drying himself off and getting dressed in his casual clothing, he went into the living room, picked up his workbag, and dropped it onto the flattened couch, checking over that he had everything. His plain black t-shirt and chinos were creased, but at least there were no stains or odour. At least none he could see or smell. Inside his bag was his laptop, chargers of various kinds, several notepads and pens. Patting on his trousers and unable to feel his wallet, phone or keys, he twisted his neck with such speed he could snap it, staring at the half-ajar bedroom door. Creeping in, Jennifer had tucked herself back into bed. To his mind, she seemed smaller, only taking up a quarter of the mattress. The sheets may have obscured her height or she could have curled herself up into a ball. Swiftly swiping his wallet and keys from the dressing table and then tip-toeing over the splinters of the bed frame, he procured his phone.

Francois stared at her for a time, unsure of what to say or what to do. He thought to lean over and kiss her, but that would only upset her more. Backing out, he hung in the doorway. Dim light crept in from the living room. Jennifer hadn’t stirred whatsoever.

“I’ll see you later hun.”

No response. His gut writhed against him. Closing the bedroom door, he slipped on his trainers and left.

Out of the apartment came the wider world. To his left were doors to the other apartments. No doubt they had heard the commotion. They were either being polite or they were collectively planning to murder them for the constant problems he and Jennifer both caused. Blue half-light still hung heavy in the sky with whispers of orange bleeding in as the sun crept over the horizon. To his right was the open stairway down, giving him a clear view of the surrounding complexes. He huffed, slung his bag and made his way down. Bird song chirped and distant honking came and went. The city was unnaturally still. Down several flights, he pulled out a key and unlocked the metal gate, coming into a sidestreet. Mopeds and chained-up bikes attached to parking racks lined the tarmac, with gaps only where the entrances were for the requisite block. Unlocking the chain to his bike, this white thin-framed variant with narrow wheels, he pulled it out and began his long cycle to work.

Weaving through the many sidestreets about, he found the city to be in a state of flux. Late-night revellers staggered home, their suits and dresses thoroughly worn by a night of excesses mixed with retail workers coming off the night shift. Joggers and dog walkers passed by cafe owners throwing up the shutters and setting out tables and chairs. Vans parked in alleyways had their cargo unloaded as hefty delivery drivers piled off box after box. When Francois connected onto the main street, enough time had passed that there were more signs of life. A slow trickle of cars built up, piling up into the lanes, waiting for the lights to turn green as a steady stream of pedestrians crossed. Worming his way through the stationary cars, he merged into the cycle lane on the left-hand side, joining an eclectic mix of cyclists. Some bore heavy boxes on their back either for takeaways or for delivering packages, others wore skins that were typical for the true enthusiasts, and then there were all the uneasy-looking tourists or first-time city cyclists who appeared quite uneasy and hesitant about riding the bike through the busy roads of the city.

When the light turned green, the horde of cyclists raced off. Francois went straight ahead, joining with the majority of the touristy group. Indeed, it was not too unexpected. This portion of the city had been spared from much of the destructive rampage of those creatures and retained much of the history and the look of the old metropolis. With all its ancient museums and libraries, he could guess a chunk of the tourists were off to visit those spots. As he cycled further on to his office, the buildings around started to alter in appearance. Older structures had a dull alabaster look, only to be broken up with the occasional brown-bricked aberrant. Much of the architecture followed a similar style, with large plane glass windows only broken up with masonry. Outside ornamentation was generally lacking, but this changed as he cycled closer down to the office. Some thirty minutes later, after many stops and starts and winding through several intersections, the style of the city changed. Offices and apartments, shops and roads, and even to the sidewalks, a greater emphasis was placed on adding vibrancy. Colours were no longer confined to the boring and drab terra cotta or weathered marble look, now their exteriors resembled all manners of the rainbow. Spaces were more open as tiny parks and small amphitheatres broke up the endless encroachment of tower blocks. It was as though Francois had crossed into a new world, from sterile to experimental. Yet, the change in scenery belied a terrible reality.

It provided a physical border between an old and new world. Rampages that saw antiquated constructions turned into ruins and rubble had given the planners ample opportunity to rebuild the city. Though he was still a ways from the beach, the surroundings provided that marker, as if stating that this was as far as the Abysalls got in their attacks. Some historical tidbits were rebuilt, however. Famous landmarks like copper statues had been given new life, yet even these were punctuated with new pavilions and well-kept viridescent gardens with memorials at its centres, a reminder that even though life had been breathed into the city, it had been built upon previous sacrifices of so many. Whilst he cycled through, Francois could not help but think that it may have been too premature to erect such displays so soon. Even he could remember back to times he was conscripted. One of the first in his neighbourhood. It had been many years since all that, yet cycling what was at one point a war-torn hellscape he patrolled with schoolfriends in their ragged uniforms to now see a bustling hub made him feel as though he was experiencing an illusion. There was enough here to convince you those times had passed by, but a creeping sensation of eeriness, like he was expecting a cold drop of water to land on his back, kept him tense as he wound his way through the lively streets.

Crossing one intersection made him join a great build-up of vehicle, bicycle and foot traffic. He sat in the cycle lane with the horde waiting for the light to turn red. Now that the sun had crept over the horizon and bathed the city in its brilliant light, everyone who wanted to enjoy the fresh air and radiance of an early summer's day would make their way to Victory Park. Vendors had set up their food vans all along the footpath just before the entrances to the grand park, creating almost a miniature bazaar as cooks bellowed out what they serving as a means to advertise their street food. Pedestrians wandered down, some partaking and others skirting through the mass of people to head into the park. A constant flow of people went through the marbled archways and followed the path into the expansive green fields. Groups of skaters bobbed through the crowds whilst cyclists snuck between the gaps.

A decadent waft permeated far and wide. Fresh doughnuts and churros emerge from the fryer to then combine with the searing of beef and chicken on the griddle topped off with the faint scent of roasted coffee. Francois stopped at a red light to admire the city awakening but then a couple caught his eye. Holding hands, sipping from their drinks, chatted away and laughed as they stopped by one of the food vans for a bite to eat. He cocked a half-smile at the happy couple even as it felt as though someone had punched his gut. It should have been him and Jennifer out there amongst the crowd, partaking in all the fun and freedoms she allowed everyone in the city to afford.

Yet, there was something more. Subtle at first. Francois scanned the stalls, a scowl of disgust forming on his face. Creeping through all the smell of fried confectionery and food came a hint of fish. He sniffed again. A mere whiff of it made him gag. Someone must have been selling fresh seafood or some catch of the day. He pitied the person trying. Being attacked by the likes of giant walking fish creatures turned most off having any form of seafood. Whatever they were selling had to be incredibly pungent to be detectable above the alluring aroma of so much else.

“For god's sake, move!” Came a loud shout from behind.

The light had turned green and Francois was idly blocking the cycle lane. He pushed away and joined the rest of the cyclists. Yet, no matter how far he went, the scent seemed to follow him.

He arrived at his office and chained up his bike at the nearby rack. The reception was clean and sterile, it looked like the entrance to a hospital. He swiped his card on the security doors and made his way to the elevator, heading up several floors towards one of the spaces designed for all the analysts. The elevator dinged. When the doors parted, Francois excepted madness. Instead, there was silence. Left and right. Rows upon rows of empty desks. Electrical buzzing came from the overhead lighting. There was not another living soul in sight. He glanced over his shoulder at the elevator. Would anyone care if he wasn’t in work. No one else from the office had arrived. Even McKonnig hadn’t bothered from the looks of things. Was he lied to? Was this work really that important that no one had bothered to turn up?

Francois grimaced. Going back now to Jennifer might be a death sentence. Having an enraged girlfriend was one thing, but having one that was so furious that could lose her temper and grow hundreds of feet tall in an instant was another. Better to stay and let her cool off. As he weighed his decision, a wave of fatigue snuck up on him, forcing him to yawn. A quick trip to the kitchen for coffee was in order. He walked left. More of the open desks came into view. Immediately passing by the wall came a small sink, cupboards filled with mugs and metal cups, an ancient microwave and a fridge. A tall hulking coffee machine stood at the end of the row. Somehow, the entire area stunk of fish. Francois cursed that some coworker must have reheated some seafood during a night shift. The office positively wreaked of it. The air was thick with the god-awful waft that he could almost taste it. He could only hope that the air conditioning could suck it away. Spreadsheets were bad enough. Working on the weekend was torture. Combine them with the fact someone pumped through an odour of an entire fish market was something only the devil could conjure up in his most sick and depraved dreams.

The dispenser shot out cheap coffee, more water than caffeine. He took up a seat next to the window. The office overlooked Victory Park. Barely perceptible blips went along the paths. Little paddle boats filled the small lakes. Even this far up, Francois could hear the muffled chatter of so many people enjoying the weekend. With the laptop hooked up to the computer, Francois checked over his emails. A right mess considering the flurry of documentation. He ran his hand down his face. It was going to be a late one. Spreadsheets and notes came up. Managers delegated tasks into chunks for each analyst. With a weary huff, he started to pour over the work. The faster he started, the sooner he would finish. Maybe he could call Jennifer and invite her down to meet him at the park. The stalls would still be open and they could salvage a weekend together. Then again, calling her now could upset her even more. It would prove her point that this did not constitute an emergency if he had the time to call her. He slumped down in his chair and he found a nigh unlimited list of tasks. Pulling up all the programs and data required, he got to work.

A rumble. Francois sat upright. He looked at his watch. An hour had passed. He frowned and wondered if he had felt something at all. A pause. He looked to the window. The office swayed. His chair rattled. He stood up. Another quake came and he stumbled to his side. A creeping sense of worry gripped him. Whilst he wondered if he had felt anything at all, that terrible fish smell overwhelmed him. It rivalled the repugnant scent that Jennifer had brought it. He gagged, coughed and howled obscenities whenever he could. Every passing second it became worse. It was as though an entire ocean’s worth of fish had died and rotted beneath the summer sun. Francois turned green and fought back the overwhelming urge to vomit. It was worse than the night before.  

Then, the lights flickered, computers fell, and panels rained from the ceiling. Like a drunkard, he stumbled about and fought to keep his balance. The worry that some earthquake was hitting the city allowed him to stave off the evergrowing odour of the sea. By the window, Francois blinked. He blinked again. It couldn’t be real. He saw the centre of Victory Park caving in. At first, it looked as though a great sinkhole was forming. The dirt seemed to split wide as though some invisible bomb had struck and was creating some crater in slow motion. Small dots fled as the hole grew wider and wider, consuming more and more. Trees rose, listed and then toppled, falling into sundered earth. Gazebos to stalls, lamp posts to statues, all fell into the evergrowing hole. Cracks formed the breadth, the land itself buckling. Lake water rushed into the gaps. Francois watched the chaos from on high and wanted to run. A primordial sense of survival to turn away from devastation before he urged every fibre of his being to get out of the office struck him. Yet, he stood frozen. Everything from muscle to nerve told him to run. An ear-shattering roar bellowed.

He scrambled. The office felt as though it rocked side to side. It was as if he were no longer in an office, but rather he was now stuck in some poor little ship caught in the middle of a raging storm. He swayed left, he swayed right. Francois stumbled across and passed the kitchen after slamming into the cabinets and sink. Turning the corner, he ran as best he could to the fire exit. The door was shut. The earthquake grew worse. He screamed, he shouted, he cursed. The door did not budge, no matter how much strength he put in. Desks slid across the office floor. Reinforced windows cracked and started to shatter. He kept on pressing the bar to the door. Through the door window, he could see others bundling down the stairs. Francois banged on it, and he screamed for someone, anyone to help.

Everyone ignored him. Another booming roar came. The windows burst. Shard of glass sprayed across the office like shrapnel. A rush of air swept Francois off his feet. Desks, chairs, computers and all manner of equipment went flying out of the office. A panel struck him, sending him flying face first onto the ground. Francois looked out the window, tracking the panel that had hit him as went careening out towards the deathly drop. He then met with something. His mind could not comprehend it at first. Something so tall, so gargantuan that its mere presence made the concrete and steel of the complex shudder in fear. Though he could only glimpse part of it, he knew what it was, but he refused to believe it. It defied reason. It defied logic.

Abysalls only came from the sea.