Subject: Finch had joined Building Maintenance those many years ago largely out of necessity.
Posted on: 2017-02-18 10:29:09 UTC

It had turned out, to his disappointment, that there were no official openings for 'professional coward.' His side choices, 'official yellow-belly,' 'executive milksop,' and 'full-time namby-pamby' had all gone that same route. Building Maintenance was all that was left, as he saw it. He never, however, gave up on his ambitions, and worked paranoia and cowardice as a full-on hobby. His skill had grown beyond compare. He was, as such, very highly talented in the art of deducing whether or not somebody was walking towards him. His sonic-sensors spiked. Something unique in the levels, something odd in the volume. He swished his ocular to the side. Whir, click. It widened, then narrowed. No doubt about it. Moving, towards him. Right towards him - a direct path that led right to him. To Finch.

'Hello,' he said. He extended an actuator and pointed, backing off slightly. 'This is a date-thing, right? You don-t have a giant, serrated knife knocking around on you you want to stab into me, or anything like that, right? And don-t get bloody cheeky, I-m against giant serrated guns, too. Even moreso, honestly.'

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