More intent on supplying himself with oxygen, Denton completely missed the lack of lighting as he hit corridor 7b2. In an inglorious moment of mass and momentum he slid through a puddle of something. A crack and a ping assailed his ears just before the floor smacked the back of the head. Coming to rest, sore and embarrassed next to a reinforced barrel twice his size, he listened.

“You missed heem.”

“Deed not. He felled.”

“Ja, before you hit heem.”

“Bullsh…”

“Wait.” The voices paused for a moment, leaving Denton to wonder how ragged his breathing was. The first voice called out, “Hello der? You okay?”

With a gulp, Denton proclaimed, “This is private property after hours, and you’re not on the list. I’m going to have to ask you to vacate the premises…um, immediately.” A series of shots came in rapid succession, a less than witty rejoinder to his request.

“I know I get heem dat time.”

“How you know? Is totally dark!”

Denton considered slinking away, but then the voice came again, “Jack?”