<div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="background-color:#2e2e32; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;"><div style="background-color:#101010; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;">Martin's heart pounded as indecision stole his last moments of free will and possibilities to get away safely and home to the barricades. Three baristas were scrambling through the diner, all wearing feral grins as they leapt over counters and tore bolted-down chairs from the floor with ease. One of them was shaking a broken bottle of coffee syrup at a terrified woman, almost as if it were reprimanding her for daring to think she could get away, before cracking her over the head with it. In his panicked state, Martin almost thought he could taste the sweet, artificial hazelnut concentrate mixed with the metallic flavor of the woman's blood. Patrons ran, crawled, and hurled themselves out of any exit they could find - a majority seemed to prefer dying under the open sky rather than in a cage. Martin couldn't wrap his head around the difference, but an instinctual desire to follow the flock gripped him, and he soon found himself trying to wriggle towards the door, as casually as possible in an attempt to avoid notice of the three who were already dressing the unfortunate woman from earlier in a green apron and chanting. The seconds trickled painfully by as Martin tried to avoid slithering over too many glass shards on his quest for a hopefully slightly less certain death.<br/><br/>Martin reached the door and bolted. He shot to his feet, sweat trickling down his spine as a foursome of vicious growling erupted behind him and he ran for his life, dodging under well-meaning hands holding tempting cups of unground coffee beans. The smell was making him dizzy. <br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">“Get the fuck out of my way! Do you really think you frighten a scientist?”</span></span><br/><br/>The words reached Martin through the haze, and everything was almost okay as he fought to regain his breath inside the dumpster he'd taken refuge in. There was a scientist, and scientists were always fine. Which meant, he reasoned, that if he could get close to them, he would be fine, too! He grasped around in the container, feeling for something, anything, that might get the attention of the scientist, finally finding a thankfully closed bag that sounded as if it were full of glass. He grasped it firmly, took a deep breath, and kicked the dumpster open with a scream he hoped would frighten rather than attract. Martin jumped out, clutching his find firmly, and stuck his hand in the bag with a silent prayer to the mysterious hooded figures. <span style="font-style: italic">Yes.</span> He drew out a conical beaker and threw it as hard as he could in the rough direction from whence he'd heard the voice. The heads of several baristas turned as the beaker flew above them and smashed on the ground, then jerked as one to stare at Martin who, if possibly, began to sweat even more. He hadn't realized how totally not thought through that was, before the baristas began briskly walking towards him in unison, smiling with the sharp, coffee-stained teeth.</div></div></div>