The shaking, amazingly, has smoothed out to some extent, and is now more of a smooth rumble, like an old service elevator rising. He rakes his fingers through his shaggy hair, and thinks about madmen, the end of the world, and decapitation-obsessed freaks.

"Whatever that is, I very much doubt a postal van is going to keep me safe. As for our murderous cultist friends..."

He jerks his head back towards the Thomas & Mac Center; terrified people are still pouring out of it, as well as clouds of steam, illuminated by the lights.

"A number of them are about to take after their precious lobsters, whom they admire so much."