God, my hands are actually numb. Nobody's around, no — I checked the loading dock and the front lot, both empty. Even the vending machines are dead, that hum they usually have, gone. Just us basically.
Listen, I've been thinking about this for two days and I want to just say it straight, no dancing around it. We do it tonight or we lose the window entirely. The night guy at the east gate rotates out at 3:40, there's a gap, maybe eleven minutes.
Eleven minutes is a stretch, Pia. You know the security loop at the loading dock takes four to cycle. If we're late by two, we're locked out. And what about the van? My shift starts at seven, and if I'm not there, my manager, the one with the clipboard, will call my home number. He has it. He's the type who calls when someone's late.
Also, the cold is getting to me. My fingers feel like they're swelling inside these gloves. I'm not saying no, I'm just... the risk is different if we get caught now versus next week. The cameras in the hallway, do we really know they're looped? I need to hear that again. And if the alarm sounds, where are we supposed to go? My place is too small.
Eleven minutes, four to cycle, that leaves seven — it's enough, I timed it twice last week with my phone in my pocket. The cameras, yeah, I already told you, Duo said the hallway loop's been running the same forty seconds since March, nobody's watching it live, it's just tape filling tape. I'm not going to keep re-proving that every time you get cold feet.
Your manager's clipboard isn't the thing that ends us. If the alarm goes we don't go to your place, obviously, we go north to the depot lot, I've got a key to the fence gap there. Look — my hands are numb too, I'm not made of anything different than you. I just don't want to lose the gap standing here debating minutes.
North to the depot lot? That's a four-block run in this wind. If my hands go numb completely, I drop the keys, and then what? You're relying on a forty-second loop that hasn't changed since March. Duo isn't the security chief; he's the guy who eats lunch in the breakroom and talks too loud. Did he actually tell you, or are you guessing? I'm not saying we can't do it, I'm saying the margin is thinner than you think. And my shift... if I miss the morning briefing, they don't just call, they send a car. It's not about fear, it's about the math. Why are you pushing so hard tonight? Is it because you're desperate, or is there something else you're not telling me about the window?
Duo told me himself, standing right by the panel, I'm not guessing. He's loud in the breakroom because nobody thinks he notices anything, that's exactly why I trust it, nobody's watching him watching it. I'm not desperate. Don't put it like that.
The window's tight because it's always tight, that's what a window is. It's not going to get wider next week, it's going to get a new guard rotation and a new lock, that's the whole reason it's now. If you want math — four blocks in this wind is nine minutes, we've got till 3:52 before anyone's back at that gate.
I didn't say drop the keys. Put them in your inside pocket, not your glove. I've thought about this more than you're giving me credit for.
Nine minutes? You're counting seconds while the wind is stripping the heat right off the pavement. "In your inside pocket" — fine, but if the jacket zips up wrong, if my fingers fumble just once, we're done. And "next week" is a guarantee? That's the gamble. The new lock could be installed tomorrow. Or it could wait. I don't know why you're so sure the guard rotation won't just shift earlier. You're trusting Duo's word and a four-block run in this weather. That's not a plan, Pia, that's a wish. If we get caught, I lose my job, sure, but you? You have nowhere to go, no backup. Why is it always "now"? Why can't we wait for a clearer night, or a better spot? I'm not saying no, I'm saying I need to know you're not dragging me into a hole because you got impatient.
I have places to go, don't say it like that. I've got the depot lot, I've got my sister's spare room if it really goes bad, I'm not standing here with nothing behind me. Don't turn this into you're the one with something to lose and I'm just reckless.
It's always now because now is when I can still feel my legs enough to run four blocks. Give it three more nights of this cold and neither of us moves fast enough for any window, clear or not. That's the actual math, not the seconds on the loop.
I'm not saying trust Duo blind. I'm saying trust that I checked it twice and it held both times. That's more than a wish.
Three nights? You're saying we freeze to death in this wind? That's a pretty dark way to frame "waiting." I'm not trying to turn this into some martyr story, but if we go tonight and the body count is wrong, I don't get a second chance. My manager doesn't have a spare room, he has a union lawyer. And you think Duo checked it twice? What if the third time the loop glitches? Or what if the new guard is actually awake and paying attention? You're banking on the cold keeping us from running faster, but maybe the cold is just making us stupid. I don't want to be out there if the math is based on "feeling your legs." I need a concrete reason to believe the window won't slam shut the second we step out.
I didn't say freeze to death, don't twist it into that. I said we get slower, worse angles, worse timing, every night we wait. That's not martyrdom, that's just what cold does to a body, you know that.
Concrete reason — fine. The panel light stays green the whole loop, I watched the LED, not just Duo's mouth, both nights, same pattern, no flicker. That's not a feeling, that's something I saw with my own eyes standing in that alley freezing exactly like now.
I can't give you a guarantee nothing goes wrong. Nobody can. You want a sure thing, this was never going to be that. I just think tonight's odds beat next week's.
Green light, I saw it too, but a light doesn't mean the system isn't logged elsewhere. If the server flagged a breach, the green stays on but the siren still blares. You're looking at the LED and thinking the building is safe, but that's like watching a stoplight and ignoring the truck coming down the hill. And "odds"? You're betting against a lock you've never even touched against a guard you've never met. I'm tired of guessing what you saw in an alley. If we go and it fails, I'm the one who has to walk back into my shift the next morning and lie to my face. Do you really think a green light is enough to risk that? Or are you just hoping I'm too scared to say no?
I'm not hoping you're scared, that's a shitty thing to say to me right now, standing out here same as you. I saw what I saw. I don't have the server logs, no, I never claimed I did. Nobody standing in an alley at three in the morning has the server logs, that's the whole problem with waiting for certainty, it doesn't come, ever, not from me and not from anybody else you'd trust more.
I'm cold and my jaw's starting to hurt from clenching it and I don't actually know if that's the wind or you. Maybe both. I still think tonight's better than nothing. You don't have to agree with me standing here. Just don't make it about who's scared.
Jaw hurting? Try not screaming at me while your teeth chatter. That's not "shitty," that's just what happens when you push me. You're right, I don't have server logs. Nobody does. But you're asking me to bet my job on an LED light in an alley. That's the difference. You can run to your sister's room; I have to walk into a room full of people who think I'm just lazy. If we wait, the cold gets worse, sure. If we go tonight and the light is a lie, I get fired, maybe worse. Maybe we should just wait until I can get a day off? Or until the wind dies down. I'm not saying "no" because I'm scared, I'm saying it because I don't have a backup plan like you do. You're lucky you have that. I'm not.
I'm not lucky, don't call it luck. My sister's room has her kid's crib in it and a husband who barely tolerates me showing up once a year, that's not a backup plan, that's a last resort I hate thinking about. Don't make it sound easy on my end.
A day off — how many weeks out is that, realistically, with your manager watching the schedule like he does. And the wind doesn't die down on a timeline that helps us, it just changes what kind of miserable it is.
I'm not going to drag you by the arm. If you want to wait, say it plain and we go back inside and figure out when. I just don't want to keep standing here going in circles while my hands stop working.
"Last resort" is the only plan you have, Pia. Don't act like it's a choice. And a day off? If I ask for one next week, he'll know exactly why. He's been watching the numbers. So waiting isn't really waiting if the whole thing collapses the moment I open my mouth.
But the window... what if the loop is shorter now? What if the patrol cut it down to five minutes because of the cold? We're guessing on guesswork. If I go and get caught, there's no "figure it out later." It's over. So if we do this, we do it with a signal. If I say "wait," we stop. No arguing. Just stop. You can't just say "I'll wait" if you think I'm stalling. We need a rule.
That's fair — a real stop word, not a maybe. If you say wait, I stop moving, full stop, I won't even finish a sentence. I can do that.
But I need one back from you too. Once we're past the fence line, past that point there's no half-turning around, that's when "wait" can't be the word anymore, because standing still there is worse than either direction. So the word only works up to the gate. After that we're both just moving, together, no stopping to debate it mid-step.
I don't love saying that out loud, it sounds harder than I meant it. But you asked for a rule, that's the honest one I've got. Cold's getting into my teeth again, I need to stop still and stomp around a second.
Okay, stop word is "wait" until the fence. After that, no stopping. That part is fine. But what about the fence itself? If you're moving and I'm stuck, or if I drop something and you keep going because "no stopping" is the rule... are you just going to leave me? That sounds like you're deciding the plan for both of us while calling it a rule. And my hands are shaking so bad now I can't feel the zipper on my bag. If I can't get the keys out in time, do we just walk away? Or do I have to catch up while you're already inside? That's the part you're not defining. The fence isn't the end of the risk, Pia, it's just where the running starts.