Corporate
Whore ran toward the stairwell. Her
Lackeys were writhing on the ground and still nowhere near upright. Her blood was sour, diminishing the thrill of
killing Corporate Man.
Corporate
Man dropped down from above, red tie fluttering over his shoulder.
He kicked
her. Hard. A few ribs splintered.
Corporate
Whore flew back, rolled across the rooftop, and sprang forward before Corporate
Man could register that she’d regained her feet. Her attack was wild though, undirected, and
he sidestepped easily. As she rushed
past him he slammed his hand down between her shoulder blades and she hit the
gravely surface in a vicious, skidding belly flop.
All the air
went out of her and something horrible happened in the area of her fractured
ribs.
Corporate
Man grabbed her wrist and picked her up.
It was slick with chemical sweat and he nearly lost his grip.
“I should
kill you,” he said. “But I wouldn’t want
you to miss out on your big withdrawal.”
This put
some fight back into her and she twisted and scratched, trying to free herself
from his grip. Her glance flicked toward
the stairwell door.
“It’s all
you can think about, isn’t it? Your
bonus?” Corporate Man said. He shook his
head and wrenched Corporate Whore’s arm behind her back. “A short term gain at the expense of decent,
hardworking employees. You not only
sully your name, but that of your company.
Employees resent you and clients eventually abandon you over
inconsistencies and downright service failures.
And for what? Nothing. You really are nothing but a junkie whore.”
Corporate
Whore snarled and spit blood. A gurgling
ripped through her midsection and she howled.
The sound was cut off by a horrible retching vomit that stank like a
portable toilet and sprayed like a pressure hose.
“There goes
your dignity,” Corporate Man said. “What
are you left with now?”
Corporate
Whore sucked in a few hoarse breaths and wheezed something inaudible.
“What was
that?” asked Corporate Man.
“Plan E.”
There was a
loud popping sound behind Corporate Man.
Only one of
these heads traveled in a direction that was vaguely towards Corporate Man, but
the distraction was enough for Corporate Whore to make her move. She stomped down on his foot and then threw her
head back, catching Corporate Man’s chin as he bent forward. She spun around and tried to knee him in the
groin, but he was stumbling backward and her blow glanced off his inner thigh.
She raced
toward the stairwell door and yelled, “I’ve got plans within plans, Corporate
Man! Deathtraps everywhere! I take no chances.”
She flung it open and raced
inside. Corporate Man chased after her,
fighting through the pain that flared with every footfall of his left leg. He hesitated at the door, poking his head inside
and then yanking it right back out, just in case she was there. She was not.
She was at the elevator door at the end of the corridor. And it was opening.
“Stop!” Corporate Man yelled and he
charged toward her.
Corporate Whore spun around, eyes
wild, vomit trailing down her chin and chest.
She smirked, tossed a mock salute in Corporate Man’s direction, then backed
into the elevator.
And disappeared.
The scream, when it came, was
delayed, and then truncated by a deep, meaty thud. There was a quiet moment; a
heartbeat or more. Then the elevator
doors whispered closed.
Corporate Man stood frozen in the
hallway, his face betraying the overwhelming confusion he felt. He walked up to the elevator doors, pressed
the down button, and the doors slid open.
There was no car waiting inside, just an open chute, with some greasy
cables trailing down into blackness.
On the wall across from him, spray
painted in that ever familiar shade of green, were the words: Plan C.
