‘Fuck, I hate this job.’ I think to myself whilst cleaning up some sort of goo that could wither vomit or blood or some mixture of the two.

Mopping up the alien vomit, blood, and goo isn’t the worst part of this job, though I do hate that too. No, what I hate the most is being stuck in these claustrophobic, bland halls under hundreds of feet of dirt, steel and cement.

‘Seriously what was I thinking?’

If you told me a year and a half ago that I would be working in Area 51 I wouldn’t believe you. But eighteen months ago, when the recruiter enticed me with a job at a maximum security, super confidential blacksight, I couldn’t help but be a little curious.

Well curiosity killed the cat… but satisfaction brought him back.

Aliens, monsters, weapons and gadgets straight out of science fiction, all that and more. I was thoroughly awed. Unfortunately I didn’t become a researcher, a secret agent, or even a guard. No. Instead I am the one cleaning up all the mess, a god damn custodian. Technically a “Senior Sanitation Technician”. What a load of bullshit.

At least it pays well.

*WWWWWWEEEEEEEERRN*

*WWWWWWEEEEEEEERRN*

*WWWWWWEEEEEEEERRN*

I am broken from my internal monologue by the sounds of an alarm accompanied by flashing lights. This can mean one of three things. A drill, a massive on site containment breach, or a fucking alien invasion. I am hoping for the first one.

++This is not a drill, I repeat this is not a drill.++

“Fuck!” I say aloud.

++All on-sight containment is failing, in approximately three minutes all containment will fail.++

‘Shit, I am right in the middle of containment!’

++If you are on or above floors forty please head to the nearest evacuation tunnel, if not, reach the nearest panic room and await rescue.++

I’m on floor sixty, nowhere even close to forty. I should still be able to make it to the panic room.

I ditch the mop and bucket and start running through the maze like halls filled with frightened people. It takes me a minute to reach the get close to the entrance of the panic room.

I’m not the only one near the entrance to the panic room. There is a large crowd of scientists, soldiers, and other staff heading to the panic room, including my fellow janitors.

If this were a drill, everyone would be calm and orderly, everyone would be able to make it into the room in time. But reality, defies trying and expectation. The entrance to the panic room is small, the crowd large, and the amount of time to get into the panic room before shit hits the fan short. As a result everyone is fighting to get in.

‘I’m not making it in there, am I?’

I have a strong feeling that if I waited my turn, or fought to get in I wouldn’t make it inside the panic room before the door seals.

‘Where could I hide?’

Thirty seconds pass while I contemplate the best location to hide in.

The idea pops into my mind.

There is one place that I can access that few others would be able to access, the location is full of equipment, contains food and water, and would be a decent place to hide until rescue comes. The janitorial closet.