Life in New York City was a stressful affair. Everything was in a constant state of motion, people never slept, even on this side of the rift. The place was a constant storm of people trying to live, trying to grow, reaching for the stars or barely keeping their heads above water, and sometimes both of those last two at the same time. This was why it was incredibly important to take time to decompress.

That was exactly what Greg was doing on this night. The doctor let out a content sigh as he looked up from the book he'd been reading(Oliver Sacks, "The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat."), and looked up to the clock. Goodness, was it already two minutes to midnight? He looked down to the page a moment more. He was nearly done. He had nothing planned tomorrow, so he could keep reading.

No, Enraptured as he was in this fascinating collection of tales, he knew he would thank himself in the morning if he went to sleep now.

He folded the page neatly on the corner, and placed the book to the side, standing up and stretching all of his segmented limbs, walking into the bathroom to look at the image of a giant cockroach in the mirror.

Many years ago the image in the mirror nearly drove him to the edge of sanity, but now, looking at himself in the mirror was simply part of the routine. He tipped his hat to his reflection, and then set it to the side, leaning in to wash his face. Hygiene was doubly important for this strange body of his; there were so many little nooks and crannies for debris to hide in. He hummed lowly to himself as he washed away.

He'd had his latenight Decaf, no stressful appointments tomorrow, and he'd done a lot of good readying. It truly was a pleasant night... Why, then, was he so suddenly struck with a strange sense of dread?

Could it be, he pondered, that when he'd tipped his hat to himself in the mirror, the figure in the reflection had not done the same?

Yes. That was troubling, wasn't it?

For three nights, nothing like the hat tipping incident had happened again. He'd even stood in front of his mirror later and tried to make it happen again each night. Had he been imagining things? He'd been working quite hard, and his reprieves were few and far between. Could it have been a temporary lapse into some state of delirium?

Either way, it hadn't happened again, and he began to settle back into his normal rhythm. It was late once again, and he was brushing his maw after a particularly delicious meal of a ham and spoiled jelly sandwich with Vegemite dip when he heard it... The slightest whisper. In a fit of alarm he accidentally chomped down on the toothbrush.

"Do you feel it?" He froze in place, and closed the glass of his medicine cabinet, staring intently at his reflection once more.

"Do you feel... Me?"

He slowly pulled out the mangled toothbrush and set it on the counter next to the sink.

The figure in the reflection did not do the same.

"You will."

***

With a gasp he woke from a fitful slumber. The Giant bug sat up in bed quickly, and looked around his dark apartment room slowly. Just a dream. Such a strange one. He nervously cleaned his compound eyes for a moment, and then got up to get a drink of water.

As he passed the bathroom, he couldn't help but fixate on the ruined toothbrush on the counter.