The Office

"Bitch, come to the park with us," Brenda insisted, her tone leaving no room for refusal.

Still, Julie refused. "I can't. I gotta work."

Erica laughed. "Girl, you don't hafta work. Fuck outta here with that bullshit. You know that's not a real job."

"Don't be a cunt," Julie retorted, grinning good-naturedly.

"Wudduya do, take their Starbucks order? Pick up the dry cleaning?" Erica's smile was wide and teasing.

"Jessica's teaching me how to use Excel. Updating spreadsheets. Data entry. That kinda shit. It's gonna be super fucking useful when I go to business school." Julie said, sounding more defensive than she'd have liked.

"And what are ya gonna wear?" Erica asked, her eyes dancing.

Julie looked down at herself and shrugged. "What I got on, I guess?" She wore faded jeans, snug in the waist and loose at the bottom, and a white cropped tee that clung tightly to her figure.

Erica playfully pinched a little of the soft flab on Julie's bare midriff and asked, "Gotta show that skin, though, am I right?"

Julie snorted and grinned sheepishly, "I mean, Mr. Jensen has a type, sure."

Erica continued to tease her friend, "Yeah, if young and hot as fuck is a type."

Julie held up her hands. "Hey, I'm young, I guess, but come on. Hot as fuck?"

"Bitch, don't even try to cap. You know you're the hottest chick we'll ever see." Erica did not relent. "And how much is Mr. Jensen paying you to be his eye candy, ho?"

"It's an unpaid internship..." Julie admitted.

"Not a job, bitch." Erica laughed.

"Come to the park, you fucking dumbass," Brenda piled on. "We're gonna have tequila, carne asada, we're gonna play basketball."

"Mr. Jensen's a millionaire. If I make a good impression, I get a huge cash bonus. Maybe a long term position," Julie protested.

"Goddammit, Julie. You're in high school. You just turned eighteen. Stop acting like you're thirty-six years old with two kids and a mortgage." Brenda complained.

That got Julie and Erica both in stitches, and when Julie finally regained enough composure to speak she answered, "Look, bitches, when I get my bonus, I'll buy a fucking keg. We'll all get shit faced. I promise, alright?"

"Fine, fine, go to 'work'," Erica conceded, throwing up mocking air quotes for the word "work" and elbowing Brenda. "If you get bored learning Excel or whatever the fuck, Brenda and I will be at the park, ballin' and getting fucked up."

Julie tried to give herself an excuse to go with her friends. Everything Erica and Brenda said was true. She was young and didn't need to be so responsible. She wasn't getting paid. Mr. Jensen was a bit of a creep. Everyone she worked with was either a teen or in their twenties, female, and attractive; and they were encouraged to wear scanty attire. But she had seen the bonus check Zoe received last month, and she was learning valuable skills and building her resume. It was a huge head start for her career, and she couldn't waste it just to go get drunk and play some basketball at the park. "You guys have fun. Drink a few shots for me, okay?"

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Alex's thoughts returned to the man from the club. Manny, he'd said his name was. Manny with the wiry frame, the cool blue eyes, the salt 'n' pepper hair, the skin like leather, the smile that made her feel like she was floating. Would he call her? Would he text her? Did he even like her? Maybe he had only been humoring her, having a laugh and passing the time. His interest had seemed genuine, but... Alex glanced at herself in the small vanity mirror clamped above her monitor.

Her diffident and timid brain saw herself through a lens tainted by self-loathing. She focused on the freckles smattered across her nose, seeing blemishes rather than the endearing marks that they were. She saw beady eyes behind ungainly spectacles. She saw pudgy cheeks. She didn't see how the arches of her thick eyebrows made her look innocent and adorable. She didn't see the kindness in her eyes, the fullness of her lips, the smooth complexion of her soft, heart-shaped face. She didn't see what so many others saw. She saw a woman of average attractiveness who couldn't get out of her own way.

No, Manny wouldn't call or text her. Manny was smooth and suave and confident and all the things she wasn't. Last night had been a game, and she was just a piece on the board for him to move around and toy with. But as she wrestled with these thoughts, unbelievably, her phone lit up. A text message. The contacts in her phone claimed it was from Manny. It couldn't be, of course. Surely it was a manifestation of her imagination, spurred by her hapless yearning. It claimed he was outside; asked if she was working, if she could buzz him in.

It would violate protocol and could get her fired, but who would know? She was head of security. She only answered to Mr. Jensen, and he wouldn't even be in the office that day. Her fingers fluttered deftly as she unlocked the doors and replied to his message, telling him to come in. As soon as the text was sent her eyes returned to her reflection in the vanity mirror. Her hands touched her auburn hair, which she thought bore an awful resemblance to a dysfunctional birds' nest. How do I even fix this mess? she thought.

Glancing at the monitor, the security cameras revealed Manny was indeed here and already on his way up, and apparently he had brought a companion. Alex studied the men in the elevator; Manny every bit as dapper as he had been the night prior. He wore a slim fit black suit that complimented well his lean form. His friend was similarly attired, although he did not make the outfit look quite as good.

It was certainly peculiar. Why would Manny show up to her place of employment, uninvited? Who was this person accompanying him? What did Manny do for a living? She couldn't remember if he'd told her. Insurance salesman, maybe, but the suits didn't seem to fit with that narrative. Her gut screamed at her that something was wrong. Something was off. But she pushed those thoughts away. She would not allow self doubt to fuck this up for her. A handsome man was here to see her. That's what mattered.

When the elevator dinged and the men stepped into the lobby, Alex wore her warmest smile. "Manny," she began. "This is... unexpected."

"Alex, mi amor." Manny's hand slipped inside his coat as he approached, a charming shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

Alex felt a warm, tingly feeling at his use of the Spanish term of endearment, her smile widening as she replied, "Who's your friend?" But her words died in her mouth as Manny's hand emerged holding a pistol fitted with a suppressor. She had expected flowers, or maybe chocolates. That can't be real, she thought dully, but a loud chirping sound and a crushing pressure, like a vice on her chest, disagreed. As her smile evaporated her eyes flicked downward, the black hole above and to the left of her right nipple told her it was very real. She tried to scream, but a sudden lack of breath made the sound come out as a pathetic little squeal.

"Perdoname, mi amor. In another life, perhaps, I would teach you confidence." Another chirp, and the pain in her chest doubled. Alex grimaced, and she watched in amazement as her white blouse turned crimson. "You are a lovely woman. With lots of great qualities. But I fear you do not like yourself." Another chirp, the impact this time in the inner portion of her left areola. The juxtaposition of Manny's kind words and the violence of his bullets left Alex's mind addled.

"Manny," she gasped, her eyes wide and wild, her mouth filling up with blood. As the gun chirped a fourth time, Alex felt her heart split in two.

"It's nothing personal, mi amor," Manny assured her. "Just business."

Alex wanted to tell him there was nothing more personal than this. He was killing her. What could be more personal than taking her life? But it hurt so much just to breathe. She clawed at her chest, as if she could somehow extract the bullets and restore order to her ravaged heart and lungs. This can't be happening. There's got to be a way to fix this. I'm the head of security.

As she sat in her chair, struggling to draw breath and wrap her mind around her own mortality, Manny moved her aside as if her entire existence was of little consequence. "So, what sort of views do you have here?" he said, cozying up to her work station. After glancing at the monitor he turned and gave her an accusatory look. "Were you watching me in the elevator? Mi amor, you're adorable."

Alex gaped in horror as he clicked around on the screen, switching from camera to camera. She caught glimpses of her coworkers; Rachel, Zoe, Julie, all going about their day, oblivious to the danger Alex had unwittingly invited into their office. She wanted to scream. To cry out to them. To warn them. She wanted to tell Manny he was a rotten bastard for taking advantage of her like this. But there was no air in her lungs. Her heart felt like it was beating itself to pieces. All that came from her blood soaked lips was a strained gurgling sound.

Looking down, she saw her white blouse was now a gruesome mix of maroons and scarlets and burgundies. I can't fucking breathe. Is this it? Is this really it? The room began to spin, colors blending together, and suddenly Alex found herself looking up at the ceiling. Am I on the floor? she thought through a haze of pain and confusion. What the fuck am I doing on the floor? I need to get up. I need to get back to work. God, my hair's a mess. I need...

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The girl on the screen was smiling, happy, vibrant, and stunningly beautiful. Her light blonde hair had a streak of pink in it, her big gray eyes were adorned with long, luxurious lashes, her pouty lips were lush, her body was lean and toned but she had meaty legs and her glutes were round and full. A series of clips were spliced together in which the girl was performing tricks on a skateboard, skillfully kick flipping and grinding.

Julie handed the phone back to Zoe, “That’s fucking badass. Don’t forget about me when you’re a big shot celebrity, okay bitch?”

Zoe chortled and said, "I don't know, Jules, maybe you better ask for my autograph now, you know what I mean?"

"Just don't get too big until you finish teaching me xlookup and pivot tables, okay? I'm gonna go start the next batch of coffee." Julie smiled and winked and turned to go. An intoxicating mixture of pride, admiration, and comradery filled Zoe's heart in that moment. The girl that had just complimented her was probably the most incredible human being on the planet - kind, quick witted, intelligent, and deceptively alluring. Although Zoe felt no sexual attraction to her, it was impossible not to admire the perfect curves of the girl's ass as she walked away, the strong jawline and chin, the exquisite cheekbones, the sensuous lips always hinting at a smile, those piercing blue eyes.

The video she had shown Julie had already accumulated half a million views and over twenty-five thousand likes. At the rate her follower count was growing, she'd be able to monetize both TikTok and Instagram and live comfortably just skating and shooting videos. It sounded like a dream, but she was close to living it. Her lofty thoughts were interrupted when the door to the office swung open and instead of Alex, two strange men entered.

Zoe stood up and turned to face them, a half a dozen questions on her lips, but all her inquiries vanished like mist on a warm spring morning when she saw the pistols in the intruders' hands. The barrel on the left jerked three times in quick succession, accompanied by several loud popping sounds, and she felt something terribly wrong down in her core. Her hands moved instinctively to her middle, and she felt the sticky wetness of hot blood spilling over her fingers and down her thighs. Instead of the emphatic imploration she had intended to make, a guttural groan sputtered through her throat, and she collapsed back into her chair.

"You shot her in the stomach," the man on the right said disapprovingly.

The man on the left defended his actions, gesturing to Zoe's bleeding belly. "Look at it." Zoe wore a white bikini top, leaving her entire midriff bare, baggy gray cargo pants and perfectly white tennis. A trio of nickel-sized holes spurted blood around her navel, and the man continued, "That cute little outie belly button, those toned abs, it's like it's just calling out for bullets." The man plugged her again, just to the left of her navel.

Zoe mewled softly and gazed in disbelief at her ruined midsection. Initially it had just felt like a punch to the gut, then a bit of pressure, but now it was like the fires of hell had been lit inside her and the blaze was spreading, getting worse. She looked up at the men, dazzling gray eyes wide and blinking, and she tried to speak, to ask what was happening, why this was happening, but she couldn't form words.

"You're a sadist," the man on the right said, clearly disgusted.

The man on the left shrugged.

"Finish her," the man on the right commanded, and Zoe felt her heart leap in her throat.

She raised her hands, palms forward, in a pitiful defensive posture, and managed to stammer the word, "Wait!" Instead of waiting, the man on the left put two bullets into her chest, in between her breasts, and the world began to turn fuzzy. Oh shit. I'm dying. He actually killed me. Zoe leaned back in her chair and looked up at the men, hating them for what they took from her. She was happy. She was young. She was going to be a TikTok star. And now it was all gone. She tried again to speak; to impart some last words on them, something profound that might convey the horrible desolation she felt, but her mouth and nose filled up with blood, and gouts of it spilled down from her lips and over her chin.

All she could do was look at them, and they didn't even seem to care. In fact, something more interesting than her premature demise apparently caught their attention, as they both raised their guns, one of them may have fired at something, and they scurried off, leaving her to die alone. There was so much blood. It felt like she was drowning in it. Hot red wetness soaking into everything, yet she felt so cold. Everything was turning gray. Dark.

My heart stopped. My heart's not beating. Fuck, this is so fucked. This is bullshit. So unfair. So fucking...

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The beaches were breathtaking. Wide expanses of sand that seemed to stretch all the way to the horizon in one direction, and endless blue seas reaching for eternity in another. It was only an image on a monitor, but Rachel could already see herself there. Feel herself there. Her light brown hair swaying gently in the wind, her plump breasts jiggling beneath her skimpy bikini, her toned legs and radiant skin soaking in the sun. How far would $100,000 go? she wondered. The money had been in her account less than a month, and she was itching to spend it.

The other question, to which she thought she already knew the answer, was whether or not to invite Jayce. Jayce was fun, stylish and comely, but the relationship was starting to lose its shine. The excitement and freshness starting to fade. To be in a new place like Cancun, with a familiar face like Jayce... Rachel giggled at the unintentional rhyme. Oh but the thought of sipping margaritas, wading in the ocean, and returning to the resort in the company of a different tall, dark, handsome stranger each night gave her an undeniable thrill. She could feel the warmth stirring deep in her loins.

Her reverie was interrupted by a commotion outside her office - some muffled thuds or pops followed by barely audible voices, inarticulate but pained, then perhaps the patter of rushed footsteps. Rachel was nearly out of her seat when the door burst open and Julie lurched through the threshold.

"They're killing her," the blue-eyed teen announced, throwing the door shut behind her. Rachel saw blood on the girl's jeans, and the left side of her white crop top was turning cherry red.

"Are you okay?" Rachel asked.

"I've been shot. So no," Julie answered matter-of-factly.

Rachel's sultry brown eyes widened with alarm. "Who shot you?"

Julie didn't immediately reply. Her eyes darted around the room until they settled on something, and then she headed in that direction like she was shot out of a cannon. "You know, I didn't catch their names," the girl finally told her, her words dripping with sardonic wit.

"Who are they killing?"

Julie's face was grim. "Zoe. I think she's dead." Julie picked up the paper cutter from the top of a file cabinet in the corner, and with surprising strength she wrenched the blade free from the base and wielded it like a machete.

"Zoe? Dead? No. She can't be." Rachel had seen Zoe not thirty minutes earlier, looking as lively as ever. This wasn't right. Julie had to be mistaken. "Julie, we need to get you to a hospital."

Julie positioned herself just to the right of the door, her back to the wall, her makeshift weapon at the ready, and she shot Rachel a scornful look.

"I'm calling 9-1-1." Rachel picked her cell phone up from the desk and stopped cold. There were no bars. She always had signal in the office. What the fuck is going on? Looking back at the door, she noticed Julie's blood was pooling on the floor and seeping through the doorframe, and evidently whoever was outside noticed as well. There was a dull thud and Rachel saw the skin on the left side of Julie's bare midriff burst open like some grotesque flower, and almost immediately this was followed by a second thud, and Julie's shirt erupted in a small geyser of blood only a few inches above the wound that had just blossomed in her belly.

Julie's reaction was oddly stoic, as she only grunted softly and then tossed herself aside, landing flat on the floor. Another bullet smashed through the wall where she had stood a split second earlier, then the door was kicked open and two well dressed men entered the room.

Rachel held up her phone as if it were a talisman and she was warding off evil spirits. "I've called the cops," she announced. A bullet struck the phone, smashing it to pieces and knocking it out of her hand. Rachel screamed, her fingers bleeding, her hand throbbing, and then the shots began to punch into her torso. Two in her upper abdomen, three in her chest, all in the span of one and a half seconds. That’s how long it took to turn her from a healthy young woman into a dying animal. "Oh. Oh. Okay." she stammered. Her fingers curled tightly around the armrests of her chair as she clung desperately to her fleeting consciousness.

Julie was up, swinging her blade. There was a scuffle. Blood and violence and shouting. Perhaps Julie escaped. Rachel was barely able to register any of it. She was too consumed with her own predicament. Her mind told her that her injuries were mortal, but it was difficult to comprehend. Nearly impossible. “Okay,” Rachel said again, her voice a whisper. It was an effort to soothe the overwhelming panic and existential terror swirling fiercely inside her. This is wrong. This is all wrong. I can't die at the office. For reasons beyond any rationality, Rachel suddenly decided to stand up. Pushing herself out of her chair, she was alarmed at how little strength there was in her legs.

The dying accountant barely managed to stagger around the corner of her desk before sinking to her knees. She looked down at herself and understood with terrifying certainty that this was the end. The damage was irreparable. So many things vital to her existence were ruined. Heart, lungs, liver, stomach, all smashed and pierced and wasted. Rachel collapsed on her side, wheezing and gasping for breath. Julie was gone. Her killers were gone. She was all alone and dying on the floor. Is this a dream? Surely this is a dream.

She thought of all the times she had died in her dreams and woke up in her bed, relieved to discover that it wasn't real. A part of her tried to convince herself that's what was happening. This wasn't real. Except it was. She knew it was, no matter how badly she wanted to be deceived.

I'm not supposed to die. I have over $100,000 in my account. I want to go to Cancun. I'm supposed to sip margaritas on the beach. Not this. I can't believe it. I can't...

__________________________________________________________________


"Hey, Jules, what are you up to?" Jessica watched the peppy teen come skipping into her office, the smile on the girl's face casual, carefree and bright. It was the type of cheerfulness only teen girls could muster.

Julie's voice was high-pitched and girlish. "Nothing much. Just gonna start a fresh pot." Jess watched with mild interest as Julie grabbed a clean filter, scooped some coffee grounds into it, and placed it in the coffee maker. Her movements were almost graceful, but with enough youthful awkwardness to infuse in them a charming innocence. Jadedly she wondered how long it would take for Mr. Jensen to steal that from the girl.

In a way, she supposed, he already had. The girl was working here, wearing that tight little crop top, knowing damn well that Mr. Jensen was watching. Knowing damn well the money in this place was as crooked as it comes. It reminded Jess of her first days in the office. She hadn't been quite as young as Julie, but she had been perhaps as green. What had it been, two months before she abandoned her God-fearing morals and put Mr. Jensen's cock in her mouth?

The physical similarities between Jess and Julie were easy to note. They both had that pale, creamy complexion and rare combination of colored eyes and dark hair. Jess's hair was darker, black instead of brown, and her blue eyes were a lighter shade that Julie's. Jess's chest was fuller and her waist trimmer, granting her the more conventional beauty, although she had to admit Julie definitely had the better ass.

And there was something else, something almost intangible about Julie's attractiveness. At first glance, she appeared relatively unremarkable, but the longer you looked at her the harder it was to look away.

It was Julie who first heard the noise from the common area, and as you'd expect from any fool-hardy, hot-blooded teenager, she promptly slipped out the door and ran headlong into the fray. Jess stayed behind, glued to her seat. The ominous thuds, the strained wail that sounded less like Zoe and more like a lamb in a slaughterhouse, the muffled scuffling; Jess was only twenty-five but she was old enough to have learned caution.

Rather than follow Julie into the lion's den, she picked up her cell phone and and tried to dial Mr. Jensen. To her horror, she had no service. What a time to be stuck in SOS mode. More thumps were followed by what she was sure was Julie grunting, and then the sounds carried to Rachel's office next door. Jess took that as her cue. She had to act if she wanted to get out of this.

Silently rising from her chair, the young office manager stepped lightly to her door, which was still ajar, and peered through the crack. More thumps next door, and now it was Rachel uttering one of those awful, pained, dying sounds. Convinced the coast was clear, Jess moved stealthily into the common area. She looked across the room at the exit. It couldn't be more than thirty steps. Thirty steps was all that separated her from safety. From life.

The first few steps were careful, slow, and quiet. As the commotion behind her intensified, Jess felt the need to hurry. Her steps became more urgent. Before long she was running. There were more thuds and more grunts from Julie. This time there was also a shriek of pain from a man. Jess ran faster. She was perhaps two thirds of the way there, twenty steps from her office, when she felt the first impact between her shoulder blades. She saw the explosion of crimson erupt from her left breast, and now it was her turn to make the awful whimpering sound.

Her legs suddenly felt rubbery, her shoes filled with lead. Two more thuds and Jess went down. She wasn’t even sure how it happened. There was a moment of disorientation and then the floor hit her in the face. For some stupid reason she tried to crawl. She tried to drag herself the rest of the way to the exit. Of course it was pointless. Her heart was smashed - ripped apart by molten metal. She couldn’t even scream. Her mouth opened wide but a choked gasping sound and a torrent of blood was all that escaped her lips.

Ten steps. I was ten steps away. I should have ran sooner. Faster. Just ten fucking steps. It was maddening. She was single, intelligent, beautiful, healthy, in the prime of her life and making a six digit income through cushy employment. Everything was going her way. Now she was dying on the floor in a pool of her own blood.

A boot nudged her in the side and flipped her onto her back. Through hazy tears she saw a man looming above, the expression on his face possibly pity, possibly regret. He seemed to be deciding whether or not she required another bullet. After brief consideration, he decided against it, walking away and leaving her to her fate. Jess managed to lift her head just enough to look at her chest. Her proud, plump bosom was drenched in blood, and she saw what the man must have seen. The spurts of blood were uneven, erratic, and rapidly dwindling. Her heart, what was left of it, was stopping.

Jess lay back and stared up at the ceiling. Ten fucking steps. The killer wasn't even here for her, she was certain. She'd done nothing to deserve this. Mr. Jensen was the criminal, not her. Ten steps away. Ten steps short of a lifetime.
__________________________

Sitting on the toilet, Becky's mind began to wander. Her thoughts first drifted to Rachel. She imagined the thin accountant naked, fondling her plump, round breasts. What would it feel like to have those breasts pressed against her; to bury her face in them? A warmth stirred down between her thighs and her fingers slid inside herself.

Then she began to picture Zoe, the trim, fit, athletic girl on her skateboard. Zoe skating in the buff, the wind pulling her hay-colored hair and whipping it around her soft shoulders. Flat, toned abs twisting and contorting as she skated, the muscles in her perfectly sculpted legs taut. Those pillowy, pouty lips curling into a smile. What she wouldn’t do to taste that girl's cooch.

Next, she began to think about Julie, the other intern. That shifted the warmth between her legs to something much more intense. Her fingers began to move in a frenzy. Julie was straight, but she was still in high school, like Becky. Maybe she was still open to experiment, still figuring things out. They started at the company together. They shared a bond.

In Becky's mind, Julie was slowly sliding that tight t-shirt she wore up over her head, her pert little titties springing free. Topless, the Julie living in Becky's imagination now lowered the zipper on her jeans and shimmied her way out of them, wiggling cutely as she slid the denim down her soft, pale skin. This figment of creation, this vision of perfection, pulled a strap-on dildo from thin air and fastened it onto her crotch, then smiled slyly and began walking towards Becky.

The two girls embraced, pecking at each other and sucking face. The fictitious Becky held Julie close, leaned back, spread her legs, and accepted the full length of Julie's rubber phallus. While the two girls bumped hips in Becky's fantasy, the real life Becky furiously pumped her fingers in and out of her snatch. The building precipice of pleasure edged closer. In her ears, Becky wore AirPods, and the sounds of Phil Collins drowned out her surroundings. Her whole world consisted of the epic drum solo, Julie’s hot body pressed against hers, Julie’s exquisite face staring into her own, and the pounding in her pussy driving her crazy with ecstasy.

Because of this she was blissfully unaware of the shots and the shouts and the scuffling outside of the restroom, her coworkers fighting for their lives while she pleasured herself. She didn’t hear Julie, the real Julie, come blustering through the lavatory doors. It wasn’t until Julie bashed open the stall Becky occupied that she was aware of the other girl’s presence. And what a surprise that was. Becky had half her hand buried in her twat, the blue-eyed beauty fucking her in fantasy land, and then that very same girl with the cerulean eyes crashed into her stall, covered in blood.

Becky flushed bright red and pulled the AirPods out of her ears. “Julie, what the fuck?”

“We gotta get outta here,” Julie answered. “They’re gonna kill us. They’re killing everyone.”

“Who’s killing everyone? Jesus, Julie, is that your blood? Are you shot?”

"Yep," was all Julie said, her voice airy and flippant, bizarrely out of place given her apparent condition. Even more surreal was when Julie jumped up, grabbed the top of the stall on both sides, and swung her legs up in the air like an Olympic gymnast on the parallel bars. The balls of her feet smashed into the grating in the ceiling above, and the vent yielded to Julie's strength. Her momentum carried her into the ventilation duct, and before she disappeared the wounded teen called, "Come on."

Utterly bewildered, Becky wondered if this might have all just been a lust-induced hallucination. If not for the grating lying on the floor and the spatters of blood leading out of the stall, she could have believed none of it was real. She was still sitting there, her fingers in her snatch, when a strange man appeared in front of her and pointed a pistol at her chest. Her brown eyes were wide, and she only managed a squawk before the gun bucked. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat and the gun bucked again.

Becky winced and tried to swallow. Something was making it very difficult to breathe. The gun kicked a third time, and Becky felt a giant ball of phlegm force its way up her trachea, but when she coughed it out, instead of mucus she saw a spray of scarlet. With a grimace, she wiped her lips with the back of her hand and said, “Eww. This is like, giving creepy.”

She stood up on wobbly legs, pulled her pants most of the way up, and brushed past her shooter without even really looking at him. In her mind she was leaving. She was getting in the elevator, riding it to the ground floor, walking through the lobby, out the front door, and getting in her yellow Dodge Charger. She was going home. It didn't work out that way though. After just a few steps she collapsed on the bathroom floor. She lie there, staring at the off-white tiling, struggling to draw breath through lungs that no longer seemed to work properly, and wondering how this happened.

I didn't even get to come. I was close. So close. My last orgasm was what, like, two nights ago? Last night I wasted all my time talking to Lalo. I don't even like Lalo. What a stupid way to spend my last night. What a stupid way to die.

________________________________________________________________________

Making coffee was one of the more mindless, menial tasks Julie performed at the office, but it was simple enough. In all honesty, it was one of the few things she did that actually benefited anybody, and she took joy in it. The rich smell of the coffee grounds reminded her of Saturday mornings when she was a kid, when her dad always had a pot brewing. The gurgling of the water was soothing, like waves crashing into the beach. Julie smiled to herself and almost hummed a tune as she went about her work.

Erica was right when she said this wasn't a real job. Once the coffee was brewed, Julie would probably fap about for the next sixty to ninety minutes, but that didn't bother her. What was important were the connections she was making and the skills she was learning. Shit, Zoe really had something going with her social media accounts. If she got big enough, she'd need business savvy people supporting her, and Julie would be one of those people.

It was easy to imagine. As the views piled up, the follower count increased, the likes and comments rolled in, Zoe would need sponsors. She'd need strategic partnerships. She'd need to invest her earnings and start her own brand. New lines of business and passive incomes would secure her financial future. Skateboarding videos on TikTok would only take her so far, and by her late twenties or early thirties their appeal would be dwindling. Julie already had ideas about how to help her friend navigate those negotiations, but as she listened to the drip of the coffee maker, she heard a ruckus that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

Those noises, three succinct pops, sounded suspiciously like gunfire, although it seemed as if it was coming from the other side of the door and it was quieter than Julie would have expected. The sound that followed was unmistakable - Zoe. The girl was hurt; in trouble. Julie's instincts told her she needed to hide. She should find a hole to crawl into and stay there until whatever this was passed her by, but she couldn't do that. She had always fancied herself a hero. Brave. Bold. She was not a coward and her friend needed help.

Her grip was soft and gentle as her tiny hand moved to the door handle, and she eased it down, mindful of the mechanisms catching and the hinges rotating. Her movements were delicate and the door to Jess's office opened silently. Stepping on the balls of her feet, Julie slipped through the doorway, moving towards the danger. Two men stood near Zoe's desk, both armed with pistols, and neither gave any indication they noticed her entrance. If Julie could get close enough, she felt confident her jiu-jitsu and capoeira training would give her the advantage.

Her advancement was stealthy, as she stayed low and made not even the slightest sound, and she heard the men discussing Zoe's belly. One of them was describing it, a fondness and affinity in his voice, but then he pulled the trigger and shot the very object of his affection. The groaning, agonized sound that escaped Zoe's lips broke Julie's heart. How could they be doing this to her? To what end? Julie hurried her movements, nearly ten paces from the scene when the man who was not shooting called the other man a sadist, and demanded he finish the job.

Julie nearly cried out in protest. Instead her friend stammered out a single word, "Wait," but the reply was immediate, and it was not compliant with her request. Two rounds slammed into the teen girl's chest, and Julie knew it was over. Zoe was lost. Torn between continuing to press forward and a hasty retreat, Julie hesitated. She was nearly within striking distance, but Zoe would not hold the gunmen's attention much longer. Before Julie could make her move, the decision was made for her.

The taller of the two men, the one who hadn't been shooting, spotted her. His reaction was swift, and Julie knew she had no chance of mounting an offensive strategy now. Ducking and running, she heard another of those awful popping sounds and felt the impact in her ribs on her left side. No fucking way. I've been shot. I've actually been shot. Gritting her teeth, Julie ignored the pain and kept running. The door to Rachel's office was closer than Jess's, so that was her target. As she reached it she felt another stab of pain in the back of her right thigh.

With a grunt Julie pulled open the door and staggered inside. Rachel was sitting behind her desk, day dreaming, and her attention was immediately drawn to the wounded teen. Slamming the door shut behind her, Julie blurted out, "They're killing her!"

Rachel's response was idiotic, "Are you okay?"

Julie spared a glance at the sticky blood coating her left side and the grotesque exit wound in her right thigh and grimaced. Of course I'm not alright, you dunce, she thought, holding back a giggle, but aloud she said, "I've been shot. So no."

Rachel's eyes widened at that revelation, and the conversation somehow grew even stupider. "Who shot you?" she asked.

Julie ignored the question for the time being. There were more pressing matters than continuing this pointless discussion, as her piercing eyes searched the room for something she could use to defend herself. The paper slicer caught her attention, and she practically leaped in that direction. "You know, I didn't catch their names," she muttered, unable to restrain her sarcasm.

"Who are they killing?" Rachel asked, and the inane inquisition persisted.

All of us if we sit here talking about it like a bunch of dildos, Julie thought, but this time she did not let her inner thoughts win and she only said, "Zoe. I think she's dead." Her strength surprised her as she tore the blade from the paper slicer and tested its fortitude.

Rachel continued with her buffoonery, answering with fatuities such as, "Zoe? Dead? No. She can't be," and "Julie, we need to get you to a hospital."

Julie returned to the door, knowing that her best chance would be to catch the gunmen in close proximity as they entered the room. Her melee weapon could only trump their ranged weapons if she was up close and personal. Waiting just inside the doorway, Julie looked at Rachel with poorly masked disdain. If the woman had any sense she'd be on her feet, trying to help.

"I'm calling 9-1-1," the befuddled accountant told no one in particular, and Julie watched her stare at her cell phone in perplexity.

Silly bitch probably forgot the number, Julie thought, nearly giggling again, but before she could laugh a bullet punched through the wall behind her and sliced through her abdomen, exiting the left side of her belly in a spray of gore and viscera. No fucking way. Another bullet quickly followed the first, this one a little higher up, and Julie's reaction was expeditious. She threw herself to the floor just before another shot ripped through the drywall where she had stood. That one would have probably got my heart, she thought grimly.

The door flew open and the gunmen entered, but with Julie on the floor and shot four times, their attention was focused solely on Rachel. They probably thought Julie was dead. "I've called the cops," Rachel told them, showing them her phone, and they blasted the stupid thing right out of her fingers. Rachel's screams quickly turned to gurgles as the men riddled her with bullets. "Oh. Oh. Okay," Rachel said when the shooting stopped, her voice high-pitched and strained.

Julie meanwhile had risen to her feet behind the men, and she swung her blade at the neck of the shorter gunman, feeling a sick satisfaction at the thud of the impact. When she yanked the slicer free from the man's flesh, an arc of crimson sprayed the air followed by a shout of alarm, and then the other man turned to face her. He was met with a blade to the right shoulder, but he grabbed Julie's weapon and kicked her in the stomach, disarming her and sending her sprawling backwards.

That was Julie's cue to make her escape. She flipped onto her hands and knees and scurried for the door, but just before she made her way out of the office she heard the suppressed retort of one of the pistols and felt a tightening in her right buttock. Her hands, slick with her own blood, slipped out from underneath her and she had to bite her lip to keep from screaming. Another shot sounded, and Julie felt the slug punch into her lower back and rip through her vitals before exiting her upper abdomen and smashing into the floor.

Gripping the door frame, she pulled herself out of the room and away from the line of fire. Once she was back in the common area Julie scrambled to her feet. The main exit was too far, and the space she'd need to clear to reach it was too open; too exposed. Her boss, Jess, was already attempting it, and she was only a third of the way there. Surely the healthy woman nearing escape would draw the gunmen's ire, and not the badly wounded teen stumbling deeper into the office complex.

Ten feet farther along the wall she was hugging, a hallway branched off to the restrooms. There was an air duct in the ceiling above one of the stalls, which meant it wasn't the dead end it might seem. Julie clutched tightly at the exit wounds in her belly, trying to hold her guts in and not think about the damage dealt to her internal organs. I'm sure they can stitch me up. Modern medicine is a... fucking marvel. I'll be fine. Just gotta get outta here. As she hung a right she heard the shots behind her, and she was sure Jessica was meeting her end.

"I’m sorry, boss. I almost had them," Julie whispered as she hobbled into the women’s restroom. The stall she needed was occupied. Becky. Without bothering to knock, Julie kicked the door where the locking mechanism was housed and watched it swing inward. The expression on her colleague’s face almost made the entire ordeal worthwhile. Becky sat on the toilet with her fingers in her pussy and her cheeks the color of beets. It was all Julie could do to not break down laughing.

Becky pulled the AirPods from her ears and stammered, “Julie, what the fuck?”

“We gotta get outta here,” Julie answered coolly, struggling to suppress a grin. “They’re gonna kill us. They’re killing everyone.” Saying those words aloud dampened her gaiety, but only slightly.

Becky was dumbfounded. “Who’s killing everyone? Jesus, Julie, is that your blood? Are you shot?”

Again Julie found herself stifling a giggle. It was remarkably similar to her earlier conversation with Rachel. Someone really needs to ask these guys for their names, Julie thought giddily. Am I delirious? She felt oddly chipper and breezy given the grimness of the situation. "Yep," is all she said, and then she hoisted herself up and swung her feet at the ceiling. Gymnastics was not a sport with which she had any familiarity, but she was a gifted athlete and her martial arts training had honed her body control. Add in the threat to her life and her overwhelmingly powerful self preservation instincts, and she executed the move flawlessly. Her tennies knocked away the grating and her momentum carried her into the duct.

"Come on," she called after Becky, but she didn't wait around to see if the girl would follow. Once inside the conduit, Julie rolled onto her stomach and began pushing herself backwards with her elbows. It was a balancing act between moving quickly and moving quietly. There was no doubt her pursuers would know where she went. Her only hope was that they wouldn’t know where she was headed or where she was at any given moment, and given their size, it was unlikely they would follow her.

From somewhere down below came the sound of more of those awful gunshots, and she heard Becky mutter something unintelligible. Julie now understood she was the only one left with a chance at surviving. Continuing undeterred, she felt the wall to the north disappear down by her feet, and she pushed herself around the bend. There should be about forty feet to the next vent, which would drop her into the lobby. As she crossed that distance, she allowed herself to hope. There were no sounds or signs that the gunman knew where she was.

After what felt like an eternity, her sneakers brushed against the grating. From this position, she did not have enough leverage to simply kick the partition out from the ceiling. Contorting her body, she continued to scoot backwards until her entire weight was resting above the opening, she then rolled onto her back and placed the balls of her feet against the top of the ventilation duct and pushed with every drop of strength she could muster. The structure gave way beneath her and she dropped twelve feet to the office floor.

The impact nearly knocked the wind from her lungs, but she was able to absorb some of the blow with her shoulder. After a moment of disorientation, she pushed herself to her knees and looked up to see one of the gunmen standing directly in front of her. "Oh shit," she murmured.

"Hello Julie."

"Hi," she answered, and then with a cute giggle she added, "Uh... what's your name?"

The man shot her in the left breast and Julie barely flinched. Curious, he asked, “You want to know my name?”

Peering at the new hole in her chest, Julie felt her lung filling up with blood. Hoping to clear some of the gathering moisture, she coughed, blood spattering from her lips. Then, with a grimace, she swiped at her mouth and looked up at the man with wide eyes. "I mean... you know my name. And it’s just... everybody kept asking me who’s killing everyone. Well, Becky and Rachel I mean... I guess they’re dead now."

The man nodded. "And you’ll be dead soon too." He shot Julie again, in the ribs below her left breast this time.

Julie gasped, the air tasting like battery acid. Her sanity teetered on the edge of an abyss, and she felt herself slipping. "Fuck, man. I really don’t wanna die you know?" There was a steadiness in her voice that impressed even herself. "I almost thought... maybe... I thought I was gonna make it. Like I'm the main character 'n' shit, right?" The man shot her just beneath her left collar bone. Julie's eyes widened slightly and she looked down at herself before actually managing to chuckle. When her gaze returned to the man she said, "Guess I'm just an NPC, huh?"

"You are remarkable, Julie. If I didn't memorize the schematics and blueprint of the building, going through the ventilation ducts might have worked." The man's voice carried a tone of genuine admiration, but he shot her again, in the gut this time, just to the right of her navel.

"Oooo, ahh," Julie groaned and grunted before saying, "Gut shot, huh? Didn't you call bro a sadist... for shooting Zoe in the belly?" There were now four holes in her abdomen, and she was beginning to feel dizzy and nauseous from the blood loss, but she forced herself to remain upright and look at the man who was killing her.

"Luke," the man told her. "My associate's name was Luke, or so I was told." The man shot her in the midsection again, a little farther right than the previous shot. "You killed him." He gave her a look that was difficult to read. "If your swing was a few inches higher you'd have killed me too."

Then I'd be a hero, Julie thought. I'd have saved Jess and Becky and I'd be on my way to the hospital with a thrilling, courageous tale that I'd be telling for the next seventy or eighty years. That was somehow more painful than the eleven bullet wounds in her body. Just a few inches higher. That's how close she came. "Luke the sadist," Julie muttered. "Poor Luke. We'll miss him." She managed to grin, amused by her own wit, as she looked up at the man and watched him shoot her again. This bullet struck her just above and to the left of her navel, shredding more of her intestines before exiting her back.

"My name's Sergio, but I'm using the name Manny for this job."

Sitting back on her heels and putting her right hand on the floor to steady herself, Julie pressed her left hand against the latest hole in her midriff and examined it, fascinated by the blood spurting out of her body. When her eyes drifted upwards again she said, "Sergio. Pleased to make your... acquaintance." She then watched helplessly as Sergio shot her again and again and again and again. Her right breast was peppered with three rounds, and the last one punched through the soft flesh beneath her sternum.

Slowly Julie sunk backwards until her shoulders touched the floor. Her mouth opened wide but she made only small, pained gasps and grunts. My lungs are deflating. I'm drowning in my own blood. My organs are failing. I'm bleeding out. I'm dying. I'm fucking dying. Oh shit. Oh God. Oh fuck. Oh fucking fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fucking fuckity fuck. I'm fucking dying. Through a mouthful of gore she sputtered, "Shoulda... shoulda gone... to the... park."

Her dazzling blue eyes flitted around wildly, taking in the final scene of her tragically short existence. The office. The fucking office. She was going to die here, under these shitty florescent lights, in this shitty room where she wasn't even getting paid, when she could have been drinking and partying and playing basketball with her friends. She remembered the promise she had made earlier in the day to Erica and Brenda. I guess I won't be buying that keg after all. Sorry, girls. I don't fucking believe this shit. I don't... I can't... I...