You may THINK you know what it means to work in an office, but unless you work for All World Compliance, you don’t have a freakin’ clue. These fucklors take the Office Space lifestyle to the nth goddamn degree.
Which is why I’ve opted to infiltrate an after-hours executives only meeting, and figure out exactly how the enemy thinks. I’m currently suspended in a ventilation shaft, a de-celerant cable affixed to my chest harness. (Tom Cruise, hit me up for Mission Impossible Twenty Three, or whatever one you’re making right now.)
Just like T Crew, I’ve got a support guy. In this case, it comes in the form of my loyal buddy and hyperintelligent, 10 lb. Terrier Extraordinaire. His name’s Bitefighter. Ever woken in the dead of night and felt your leg being humped by a canine ninja with mind-boggling nunchuck skills? Fives, bruh—you’ve been paid a visit by Bitefighter.
“Mustache One, Mustache One, this is Man Whore,” I whisper into my comms. “How copy?”
“Roof rowf arfologist,” he whispers back. (Solid copy. Keep your mind on the mission, you giant stupid human.)
“Roger that.” I keep my finger on the LOWER button on my mini-winch remote, and continue descending through the high-rise’s underground hive of subterranean cubicles. A dimly lit grill appears before me. I gently stand on it, then press up against the edges of the wall so that no one sees me. After my eyes adjust to the lighting, I realize I’m right above a boardroom filled with All World Compliance’s highest ranking employees.
“—so Kent Wayne is pretty muscle-y; he’ll be able to supply us with enough steaks, chops, and loin to last us another couple of weeks.”
“Don’t forget the bacon,” one of them chimes in. “Human bacon tastes the best.”
“Thanks for reminding me. So we’ve got Kent Wayne, Jake Portman, and Natalie Silvers queued up for consumption. Those three should provide us with enough entrails and organ meat to appease the demon lord Baal, as well as cater to our twisted need for human flesh. Now on to the matter of third quarter profits. If we cut marketing by twenty percent, that should give us enough wiggle room to—”
They keep talking, but I stop listening; I’m struggling to process what I’ve just heard. They’re gonna EAT me? Human BACON??? What in the actual fuck is—
Then the grill gives way and I tumble downward, stopping a foot above the conference table in a spread-eagle dangle.
“Uh…hi.” I scan the table with wide, frightened eyes.
For a long moment, no one moves.
Chief Financial Officer Ray Sowers shoots a quivering finger at me. “HE HEARD EVERYTHING WE SAID! BUTCHER HIM NOW!”
“NO—DON’T!” But my high-pitched bitch-squeals fall on deaf ears; a wave of flesh-eating Corperati surge up from their chairs and charge toward me.
No options left. I open my eReader to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
My decelerant line snaps in two. I manage a somersault and a half before I land on the table in a compact semi-crouch. A radiant squat rack appears before me, and just as a hand darts out to grab my ankle, I jump into the cage, rack the bar across my back, and start knocking out deep, ass-to-calf squats. At the same time, Chuck Norris appears behind me in form-fitting denim and spots me from the rear, pressing his hips firmly against mine and hooking his arms beneath my pits.
“COME ON, PUSSY!” he roars. “THESE TESTOSTERONE-DEPRIVED FUCKS CAN’T STAND MANLINESS—AIN’T NUTHIN’ MANLIER THAN A DUDE SPOTTING ANOTHER DUDE WHILE HE’S DOING A SET OF HEAVY, GRUNTY SQUATS!”
I find this highly questionable, but there’s no time to argue. The magic squat rack does what it’s supposed to—the horde of attacking executives raise their arms to their faces and hiss like vampires. An instant later, they begin erupting into giant fountains of blood and gore. I wince and turn away, closing my mouth so I don’t accidentally swallow a mouthful of Gross.
After they’re all dead, I rack the bar. Me and Chuck stand there in silence, looking each other up and down.
“Wanna stare intently at our naked reflections while we knock out supersets of bicep curls?” he asks.
“Sure.” I shrug.
Because that’s manly too…I guess?
Need an extra dose of manliness to fend off an impending attack by your Baal-worshipping coworkers? Never fear!
Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here: Vol. 1 on Kindle. Vol. 2 on Kindle here: Vol.2 on Kindle Vol. 3 on Kindle here: Vol. 3 on Kindle Vol.4 on Kindle here: Vol. 4 on Kindle Echo Omnibus here: Echo Omnibus Echo Vol. 1 & 2 Combined Edition here: Combined Edition If you wanna hear me babble on about anything and everything, and strain my FREAKIN’ BRAIN, then here’s a link to my podcast: Strained Brains! It is on iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, and Google Play! Please give it a listen and a five-star review! Here’s the miscellaneous gear that I use to try and become an uber-human: Optimization, and last but not least, my buddy Jumar Balacy has made a supercool microsite at kentwaynebrain.com! Go check out his computer-based wizardry 🙂 🙂 😀
Hold on! I just got approved to be an Amazon affiliate! If you’re going to buy ANY product from Amazon, and you’d like to support my efforts for absolutely free, then simply click on one of the Echo links I’ve provided—they’ll send you to Echo’s Amazon page—and THEN buy whatever product you wish. Amazon gives me a small referral fee each time this happens! In this manner you can support my books, musings, podcast, zany ads, or my adventures along the noble path known as The Way of The Man Child WITHOUT spending any more money than you were already going to! Should you do this, I vow to send you a silent blessing, causing your genitals to adopt the optimum size, shape, smell, and death-ray attachment of choice that paralyzes your enemies with fear and envy! Entire worlds will bow before your nether parts! 😲💪 😜