six pm, a Saturday evening rounding up for it’s early start night crawlers. Donivan hated the party goers, the problem runners. the noise, the unnecessary violence, it interferes with his work. nothing pissed him off more then a couple of wasted sorority kids losing their temper over the drop of pin. he didn’t do night people— he didn’t do people. well, he did do one person. a special person. his one and only comrade, his accomplice. a knock on his office door, at this hour. right on time.