Late lunch

A technician saunters into the docking bay, carrying a lunchbox in one hand and a satchel full of tools in the other.

The technician, a human male with scrubby blonde hair and rather sunken blue eyes bobs past the crowd, whistling as he goes.

The technician reaches an erected scaffolding on the starboard side of the docking bay, slings the satchel over his shoulder and begins to climb toward a work platform that grants access to the rafters and the electronic conduits arrayed there.

The technician's merry whistling continues, echoing through the bay as he climbs higher and higher.

Finally, the technician reaches the platform. He sets down his satchel of tools, then plops down on the platform's edge, legs dangling over. He pops open his lunchbox and ceases whistling. He mutters something about tuna salad...again...and then grudgingly takes out the sandwich, along with a small thermos containing a refreshing beverage.

The technician munches on his sandwich, gazing out over his kingdom...the docking bay. And it was good. Well, for tuna salad.

Something seems to catch the technician's attention, off to the left. He glances that way, sandwich in hand. His brow furrows, as if pondering an engineering problem just out of grasp.

The technician glances to the right, then back to the left. "That ain't right," he mutters. Obviously the sort unable to leave a problem unsolved in favor of food, he sets the sandwich back in the box and gets to his feet, moving in a crouch-waddle toward the left. The technician's eyes go back to a spotlight that is directed at the spot he's obsessing over. A spot that clearly has a shadow where there should be none.

The strange shadow then spills...if that's the word for it...down the bulkhead to fill the one cast by the technician. He scratches his head. "What the...?" Curious, lunch completely forgotten about now, the technician reaches toward the bulkhead with a bony finger. The technician's shadow suddenly begins to leak...if that's the word for it...along his finger and up his arm - evoking a startled shout as it ripples darkly toward his shoulder, then climbs his neck and cloaks his head. He throws his hands to his head, screaming, and staggers back. He knocks his lunchbox off the scaffold, and the box tumbles - clattering on the deck far below.