Miguel opened his eyes.
The cubicle was dark and empty. A lone fluorescent flickered vacantly somewhere above, casting gray shadows across the desk. He thought to look at his watch—1:40. Then noticed his hand.
It was…glowing? Greenish, a sort of metallic sheen, and he pulled back his uniform shirtsleeve in a panic. Definitely metal.
Miguel reached to the desk and pulled himself to his feet, glanced around. The three-wheeled chair was spilt radially from its center, jagged plastic glinting from its final resting place.
Then something made him turn.