[b]Ticket Office[/b]

In one fluid motion, Jon drew back the bolt on his P90 and pulled it tight into his shoulder, aimed squarely at the fishman that had just appeared from the crack. The creature was unlike anything he'd ever seen before; unlike anything he'd ever sketched as an eight-year old in the back of a maths book.

[i]Why do I get the feeling this isn't even going to slow it if it decides to attack?[/i] He wondered to himself.