Zeke clocks out of his security shift the very first second he can. His head hurts, he's exhausted, and there have been frogs trying to climb up his pants all goddamn morning, and all he wants to do is go see Crysta. She'd shown up late last night (or early this morning), drunk on expensive champagne, holding a piece of cake and looking like she'd been crying. Which he didn't mind; he'd worked plenty of morning shifts on a dangerously low amount of sleep and he'd do it a hundred more times if it meant Crysta felt she could come to him when she needed a safe place.

But it left him distracted today, and annoyed at the chaos unfolding with the loudest fucking critters he'd ever met in his damn life. And as soon as he can leave, he abandons any coworkers still trying to handle the frogpocalypse (a-frog-calypse???). This is so extremely not his problem now.

"Jesus fuck," he swears as he slips into the residential building, squinting through his current pair of coke bottle glasses. He shuffles down the hall, doing his genuine best to avoid squishing any little amphibious bodies. "Let my people go already for fuck's sake."