Everyone in the lobby of the fairly expensive but also very discreet hotel, a business that catered mainly to a clientele that didn't want anyone discussing their mere presence never mind their movements, stared at the four people who trailed through towards the elevators.

All of them were in various costumes, which wasn't at all unusual here. It went with the territory.

Two of them didn't look particularly standard-issue either. One was slender, had orange skin, a long tail, and odd-looking blue eyes. Not to mention a scowl you'd need a crowbar to remove from his face.

The other one was a slightly translucent-skinned, very heavy man, bald, with odd skin excrescences, who was muttering to himself in something other than English. He did not look pleased.

The remaining pair were both female, one probably quite young, the other in her early twenties based on the little that could be made out of her appearance. The young one was slumped and appeared very tired, and was being helped along by the lizard-like orange boy, who couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen himself. The older one was, even though no one could see her face through the welder's mask over it, palpably fuming.

Everyone who stood between them and the elevator they were heading for moved out of the way with some alacrity. They didn't give the impression of people who intended to slow down or stop.

Even that wasn't the odd thing. Again, it wasn't uncommon to find dangerous and even furious people both coming in and leaving from here. The reception staff were used to it, and knew what to do if trouble broke out. It seldom repeated itself.

No, the thing that stood out, and made everyone move hastily to the side, was the smell.

And the slime.

The faint glowing of the latter didn't help.

All four of them were utterly covered in it. The young man on the reception desk peered over it at the sets of footprints that were being left in the carpet, which appeared to be slowly bleaching where the foul stuff landed, sighed faintly, and called for housekeeping. He was far too professional to hold his nose like most of the other witnesses were, but he dearly wished he could.

The smell really was fairly appalling. Beyond that it was impossible to describe with accuracy.

"Never again." The obese bald man spoke as they reached the elevator. "I mean it. Never. No amount of money is worth… what happened."

"We were never going to speak of it again," the orange youth snapped, glaring at his compatriot.

The man shrugged. "I merely wanted to make sure my views were heard."

The currently silent older woman wordlessly poked the elevator button as the audience watched with rapt attention. "OK. Fine. I agree, never again. Now we will never talk about it again. Got me?" The boy seemed very insistent about this point.

"Agreed."

As the doors slid open the boy sighed loudly. "A shower. And some TV. Two months without either is too much."

"I admit I would like to catch up on the news. And a shower wouldn't go amiss."

"Pff. News. Why, who cares?"

"You never know, something important might have happened." The older man followed his companions into the elevator. "We were hardly in a position to find out recently."

"I doubt anything interesting happened in only two months," the boy retorted. "Compared to what happened to us, of course."

"How is this never mentioning..."

"Shut up. I just want a shower, and a bed."

The doors started to close behind them, the sound of the big man cut off mid-chuckle. Everyone stared at the elevator for a few more seconds, then business reasserted itself. Housekeeping turned up, the man and woman representing this service gaping with dismay at the job ahead of them, while the man at the desk went back to his own job.

Newter leaned against the wall of his shower cubicle and sighed in relief as the water, as hot as he could stand, ran down his back and along his tail. After a couple of minutes just luxuriating in the sensation, he grabbed the bottle of mint body-wash and squirted a generous handful into his palm, taking the bottle from his other hand with the end of his prehensile tail when he'd done that. Rubbing his hands together for a moment, he began scrubbing himself.

For the third time.

"I hate this job sometimes," he grumbled under his breath, applying more of the soapy substance to his hair, which was still matted down with the disgusting crap. "I hate the cold, I hate chemical Tinkers, I hate people who think it's a good idea to put traps in the ceiling filled with whatever the fuck this is, and I completely hate underground bases. Who the hell lives in one? And how did that lunatic make one that big?!"

He rinsed himself again, and started to wash his hair for the fourth and hopefully last time. "Fucking seven weeks in the middle of nowhere in Alaska, only to have another solid week poking around underground looking for something that wasn't fucking there in the first place!" The young man sighed heavily, rubbing his head vigorously. The horrible goop had finally washed out, but he could see from his reflection in the glass shower screen that his hair was much paler than it should have been.

"Time to dye it again, I guess," he decided. Turning around he flicked the lever that controlled the water with his tail, shutting it off, then slid the door open. Shortly afterwards he was standing in front of the mirror by the sink brushing his teeth, after which he went back into the room he and Gregor shared. The two women in their group were in the next room.

He found his friend and co-worker watching the TV, his eyes appearing a little glassy. Looking at the device, he frowned. "Hey, I didn't know they'd made another Godzilla movie," he commented on his way past. There was no reply from the older man. Opening his suitcase he rummaged through it looking for something clean to wear. The clothes they'd been in when they'd come in were now in a double set of garbage bags, heading for the nearest incinerator he suspected.

Pulling the towel he'd had around his waist away, he dropped it on the bed, then put on a pair of modified jeans, followed by a t-shirt. Combing his hair before putting it into a ponytail, he flopped onto the bed face-down and put his head under the pillow. "Thank god that's over," he moaned in relief. "I just want to go home."

The music from the movie Gregor was watching got louder for a moment, then faded. He frowned to himself, that was awfully similar to the sound-track from 'Pacific Rim.' Apparently Hollywood was even less creative recently than it had been before. "Turn it down, Gregor, I need to rest. Bathroom's free, as well."

Again, there was no response. He sighed. Sometimes the older guy was annoyingly quiet.

Newter rolled over, pulling the pillow down around his ears. He wanted to sleep, but he was also starving, and weirdly, considering the last couple of months, bored. He was looking forward to going back to Brockton and the club. A couple of girls he knew would undoubtedly be up for some fun, which he desperately needed. And Elle was certainly going to require some decompressing time, the poor girl had worked her ass off on this job.

Now the TV produced a massed roar from a crowd of thousands, or something along those lines. Moments later there was the sound of someone speaking, over the noise of a helicopter, based on what he could hear. Idly wondering what movie it actually was he sighed again.

"Go shower and turn that off, will you?" he requested in a muffled voice. "Why would you even want to watch a movie before washing that crap off?"

There was a pause of a few seconds, in which more odd sounds came from the TV, before footsteps were followed by his pillow being yanked away. A large hand, still wearing a glove covered in yuck, grabbed his shoulder and pulled him upright before he had a chance to resist.

"Hey!" he yelped in shock. "What the hell, man? What's the problem?"

Gregor wordlessly pushed him to stand in front of the TV.

"That," the other man said, simply but eloquently. "That right there is the problem."

Newter looked at the TV, then his friend, puzzled. Then he looked back at the TV again, tipping his head to the side a little. It showed a scene where the Godzilla creature was swimming through the water with a huge ship following it, shot from above and to the side. Based on the apparent size of the vessel, which appeared to be some sort of oil tanker, the creature was at least a hundred feet long.

He squinted.

"Fuck, that CGI is some of the best I've ever seen," he said, momentarily involved in the images. "What's this one called?"

The camera in the aircraft, apparently a helicopter, moved slightly as the giant lizard looked around, the thing appearing oddly amused. He grinned at the way the animators had managed to make such an inhuman face easily convey human-like emotions. It was very well done.

Then he focused on the background that the shot now showed, of the bank of what was some sort of river or bay. There was something about it…

"Why are there so many people just standing there watching the monster?" he asked curiously. "Weird movie. Normally people would be screaming and running and shooting and shit. What's the plot… supposed..." He trailed off, before leaning closer.

There was a silence between them for some moments.

Newter pointed at the screen.

"That's the PRT building."

"It is."

"The PRT building in Brockton Bay."

"Yes."

"Our Brockton Bay."

"Correct."

Another few seconds passed in silence.

"Why did they set a monster movie in Brockton Bay of all places?"

Gregor put his hand over his face and sighed heavily, waiting for the next thought to process.

"Holy fucking shit!"