I clocked in a few minutes before midnight, same as always.

I swiped my badge, watched the light turn green, and walked into the half-lit lobby where the venom machines buzzed louder than the lights.

I set my thermos down, tab the monitor to wake it up, and started another shift guarding a building that never saw traffic.

Technically, I work security for a research facility on the edge of the industrial district.

What kind of research? I couldn't tell you.

They don't breathe the night guards.

My job is simple.

Walk the halls every hour, check the doors, monitor the cameras,

and call it in if anyone tries to sneak onto the property.

No one ever does.

Honestly, I think the whole place is a shell company. There are labs and conference rooms

sure, but I've never seen more than three or four people in the building during the daytime

turnover. The lights stay off in half the offices. Most of the server racks hummed to keep

themselves busy. Once in a while, I'll see a crate in the loading bay marked, hazard,

but it's always empty by the time my shift starts.

The boredom is what gets the most guys.

Not me. I don't mind the lack of action. There's a comfort in routines that never change.

I keep a radio on the desk.

One of those weather alert units that doubles as an emergency broadcast receiver,

wired to receive work notifications that never came.

Only the occasional emergency alert would pop through,

never important to me, but something to break up the monotony of the shift.

...