All that exertion has worn you out, so you pour yourself another coffee and sit there, getting crumbs on the desk. You glance down at the CCTV, and you can’t make head nor tail of what you’re seeing. All detail seems to have been blotted out. You twist the dial to get the other cameras, and they’re pretty much the same – a shifting sheet of grey-white static, bands washing across the glowing screen.
You peer harder, and a small dark object slowly drifts into view. You realise, startled, that it’s a bottle. And it’s floating. You frown, check the other channels, and what you originally thought was just interference is really light reflecting off the waves on the water. That can’t possibly be right, though. You’ve never known it to flood around here.
Picking up your torch, you walk over the front doors. The carpet isn’t so much damp, as swimming. There’s water coming into the building. You shine your torch through the glass doors, and it’s like a lake out there – the pavement has completely disappeared. In fact, you can see that the water has risen up to above the bottom of the doors. There’s a thin trickle squeezing in across the threshold.
This isn’t good. In fact, this is so far beyond good, that you think you might need to phone someone and ask them what you should do. But you realise that, if it’s that bad here, how bad is going to be in the basement car park? You’re going to need to check on that, because you’re going to be asked. You jog back to the reception desk, grab the keys and your torch, and head for the stairwell.