That day had not seemed in any way unusual as it began. Those kinds of days never do. You get up, wash your face, brush your teeth, scarf down some rations for breakfast, and get to work. If anything ever seemed unusual at that point, then go back to bed. Those kinds of days sneak up on you. Those kinds of days are lurking in the nooks and crannies of ordinary days, waiting for a bit of the universe to unfold and spring it out in the recirculated air like a mote of angry dust flung from a bunched up bed sheet.

I got up. I washed my face. I brushed my teeth, and I scarfed down a ration pack number fourteen, eggs and an oat bar with a side of black coffee.

Then I followed the other three guys to work, down the wrangler lift to deck eight to relieve the A shift. Not unusual in any way whatsoever.