Alexei grunted as he rifled through his black backpack he always carried on his shifts. He pulled out another pack of jerky; his last one.

Making sure to toss a thick milk bone to Val, who caught it in midair, he tore into his own snack. He was fucking starving. He'd had to cover for Patterson again, which made this his third double shift this month. He should have been home by now, eating his leftover steak and potatoes, while Val would attck his own dinner. Work out. Maybe crack open a beer, put his feet up, and watch a thriller.*

But no. He was here. With his best buddy, sure, but he wanted to go fucking home. He would have told Patterson to go himself if his superior wasn't staring right at him with narrowed eyes and lips pressed together.

So he'd just reluctantly grunted, and now he was here.

.