'Cause at Sundown, All the Crazies Turn Nuts
Halloween night in San Francisco, about eleven o'clock. Any other year, parents would be attempting to convince their little ones not to eat all of their candy, lest they should get a stomach ache - and probably failing, resulting in sugar rushes that, thankfully, only come once, maybe twice a year. At this hour, the various clubs and nightspots of the city should be full of made-up faces and outrageous costumes. This year, however, the City by the Bay sleeps, albeit fitfully, trying to recover from the bizarre "super-flu" that has been wreaking havoc on its citizenry and infrastructure.
But any patient, sleeping or not, requires supervision in the event that the fever suddenly, or even violently, breaks.
Tonight, Grant Emerson is fulfilling that role of the dutiful attendant. Unfortunately, the inherent nobility of the task seems to escape him. After all, late night monitor duty is only charming for so long, particularly on a night such as this when absolutely nothing is going on. Finished with his first cup of coffee for the night, Grant tries to busy himself by flipping through news feeds and glancing through some of the various mission files scattered around the workspace.
The room is dark and quiet, the lights dimmed, the only illumination coming from the harsh light of the monitors and a small desk lamp poised near the stack of mission files. Leaning back in his chair, the stretches, raising his arms above his head, yawning a little. Seven more hours to go...
But any patient, sleeping or not, requires supervision in the event that the fever suddenly, or even violently, breaks.
Tonight, Grant Emerson is fulfilling that role of the dutiful attendant. Unfortunately, the inherent nobility of the task seems to escape him. After all, late night monitor duty is only charming for so long, particularly on a night such as this when absolutely nothing is going on. Finished with his first cup of coffee for the night, Grant tries to busy himself by flipping through news feeds and glancing through some of the various mission files scattered around the workspace.
The room is dark and quiet, the lights dimmed, the only illumination coming from the harsh light of the monitors and a small desk lamp poised near the stack of mission files. Leaning back in his chair, the stretches, raising his arms above his head, yawning a little. Seven more hours to go...