She dreamed of lights.  Shimmering, glowing lights that never faded and never dimmed.  They shown up from beneath the water, like a lighthouse in reverse, guiding her ever deeper.  There were hints, down there, of a city.  A city with spires that seemed to ripple as the water flowed through them.  A city with streets that turned ever inwards.

[i]A city with some serious electric bills ...[/i]

Junia stared at the ceiling.  She needed less sleep these days, but what she got was infected by those images.  They didn't bother her at all, and that fact bothered her.  She should be worried.  But there was nothing sinister about the dreams.  They just were.  The city felt like it had waited for eons, it could wait a few more.

Her bladder, however, was far less patient.  She shoved the comforter aside, which earned her a displeased look from a cat, and forged her way to the bathroom.  Her little duplex wasn't much, but some thoughtful soul had made sure it had a spacious bathroom with a full soaker tub.  That - and its convenient location not far from the Sunday Group headquarters - more than made the rent worth it.

Morning ablutions taken care of, she wandered towards the kitchen, traveling only as fast as the cats around her ankles would allow. 

[color=007236]"You two would get fed a lot faster if you stopped trying to trip mommy, you know."[/color]

Ellsie, as always, was imperious.  She stayed just out of reach, her profile stately, as she loudly proclaimed her hunger.  Dewey - dear sweet, stupid Dewey - tried to brush against her legs, tripped over his own paws, and tumbled onto his fuzzy behind.  She'd found both as strays, and she was becoming increasingly convinced that Dewey was part ferret.

She fed them both from the same tuna can, then punched the button on the coffee maker.  Breakfast would be miso soup again.  Well, after she cleared the papers off the kitchen table.  It was just a little too convenient sometimes.  But the dashi was already bubbling before she even halfway finished sorting, and so it was breakfast in the living room again.

After that, it was time to face the mirror.  The lines on her neck had gotten no darker, thank God.  She'd spent a week with blurry vision when the nictitating membrane showed up, but that would still be better than explaining gill slits to the hairdresser.  

Still, better to wear a light scarf.  A dress, a cardigan, and the uniform was complete.  She was almost close enough to work that she could walk, but her old Subaru still had boxes and boxes of paperwork that really did need to be accessioned.  No reason for anymore delays. Time for work.

[hr]

The building draped itself on the slope.  It was made of the same yellow-ish brick as every other small office complex on this half of the city.  Beside it was an old grocery store converted into a warehouse, and on the other side was an old warehouse converted into a food co-op.  The circle of life.

Naturally, the parking lot was on the steepest part of the slope.  There was a railing at the bottom in case of a failed parking brake.  Thankfully the Subaru never budged.  Once again she decided against unloading the boxes.

The sign out front listed a half-dozen organizations with well-meaning, nonsensical names.  All of them were just slightly true.  The "Council for Stress-Related Disorders" could certainly refer to the Sunday Group, given how many members developed PTSD.  The "District Library Assistance Board" was her baby; grants went from the state to the local libraries through D-LAB.  No one needed to know that the whole organization ran on a laptop in her office.

The trick to the office building was to think of it as a mushroom: the visible part was just for show.  The real action was underground.  Each floor looked like it was terraced onto the slope, but they actually ran back into the slope for more than twice their apparent length.  Then they turned down, deep underneath the city.  God only knew how deep, really, and She wasn't telling.

It was bigger than it ought to be, and older than it could possibly be, and stranger than anyone could imagine.  It was the Sunday Group.  And, eh, it was a job.