I stand poised, the pin pressed against the tip of my forefinger. The aquarium is empty now,

and I am the only employee left in this section of the complex, perhaps in the whole building.

The atmospheric, watery blue, and green lights from behind the glass shimmer and waver across

the ground below me. They reflect off of the surrounding tanks through the darkness,

and illuminate my hands blue, to turquoise, to green, back to turquoise, and back to blue.

Will it work? I think to myself. There's only one way to find out, Rob.

My heart beats fast as I steady my nerves, then carefully push the pin into my finger.

The sharp point breaks the skin and I winds in pain. I draw the pin back as a droplet of blood

buds on the tip, appearing purple beneath the wash of the lights. It builds in size, quivers

for a moment, then slips, falling down to the floor below, where its splatters soundlessly.

I take a breath. It didn't work. I lift my gaze, and my heart races with excitement

when I realize that it has. Directly ahead of me is the Arctic section of the aquarium.

Once you reach the end of this corridor, you can choose to go left,

to see an indoor view of the penguins. You can go right, to see an array of polar fish,

and directly ahead is a wall of ice. Guests and visitors to the aquarium can put their hand on it,

to see how long they can stand the biting cold before they have to pull back. It's an endurance

game, an interactive thing. But now, tonight, a gap has appeared in the ice, a narrow split,

directly through the white wall, and it calls to me, it worked. I can't believe it. It fucking worked.

I pull the chewing gum from between my teeth and smoosh it beneath the nearest hand rail,

then I sought the blood from my finger and stride towards the secret passage.

The first time I saw the gap in the ice, I hadn't even realized it was irregular in any way.

It was only my third or fourth day on the job. We were getting ready to open the aquarium,

...