21

Office Space

Controlling my speed is impossible when going straight down. I flash back to the last
time I attempted something this moronic, essentially riding my bicycle down a near-vertical
incline on a dare. Nearly the same thing, and just as idiotic, except without dynamite.
Somehow, when I reach the bottom, it goes better now than it did then, and I’m able to direct
the path of the bike to some kind of curvature in the ground. The jolt shoots up my spine, and I
tell myself I’ll be feeling that tomorrow morning, assuming I live that long. Still, I haven’t
exploded, so that’s a plus.
The inertia rockets me across the open lot and through the front of the building in under
ten seconds, but there are shapes moving inside. I lean over and let the bike skid to a stop
against the back wall, the armor I’m wearing protecting me as I slide then roll to a standing
position and take cover behind what used to be a desk. The shapes from earlier return, tan and
pale-skinned cannibals, meaty and well-fed. They cluster around the bike, sniveling and
snarling, not wanting to get too close to it since it’s still running (though not for much longer).
There isn’t time to wait for them to leave – the detcord fuse is still burning, ticking down
the seconds until this whole place goes up. There are five mutants; arrows take out the first
two as I advance, and by the time they realize what’s happening, I’m on them with my katana
flashing through the air, severing heads and arms, aiming for the necks of the animals so that
they make as little noise as possible. I collect my arrows and make for the stairway, hoping to
never see this room again since it will mean my demise if I do.
The map of the building still clings to the wall by the open, yawning mouth of the
elevator, and it says that the fifth level is all offices and cubicles of varying sizes. It looks to be
the most structured floor of the entire place, and if it’s still intact enough, I’ll be able to find my
way around without too much hassle. I decide to start there; the map, torn from the wall, is
rolled up and stuck into a slot somewhere on my person, and I head for the stairs. There are
noises coming from above, and the sides of the square staircase don’t afford much in the way
of foresight as I ascend. If I happen upon one of them and they take me by surprise, I’m at a
severe disadvantage. Fortunately, the sun has started to set, and the light is casting long
shadows, making hiding a lot easier.
I duck to the side and become as small as possible when three cannibals come down the
stairs, half-crawling, half-tumbling. The third one stops right before they pass; she sniffs the air,
a snarl seeping from her lips. When she turns her head and looks right at me, my sword cuts a
clean arc through her chin and she gargles as she falls back. I kick her in the sternum and she
flies down the stairs, taking her two pack mates with her. Before they have a chance to see me,
my legs race up the stairs to the second floor.
The stairway to the third floor is blocked, but the elevator shaft is wide open, the doors
having been torn off by something unfathomably strong. The cable for the car dangles in the
air, and I peer over, seeing the crushed components of the vertical vehicle long ago smashed
safely in the basement below. With my sword stowed in its sheath, I jump out and grab on,
using my momentum to swing to the far side and begin my climb.
The third-floor doors are closed, but the fourth- and fifth-floor openings are above me,
and I aim for the big, faded, yellow number “5”. The climb isn’t arduous, but I pass the closed

1
doors and something sends a shudder through me. It takes me a moment to realize that the
shudder is actually a deep, bass rumble coming from somewhere above. I pause, hearing
noises from cannibals and something akin to very human screams. I flinch, my foot slips, and I
dangle by one hand gripping a pipe coming out of the wall, seeing a small piece of metal go
tumbling down the shaft. The screams cause me to press on, but then there’s that rumble
again. It’s reminiscent of a lion’s growl, but deeper, more nasally, and it shakes the elevator
shaft, along with my confidence.
As if in response to this noise, one of the mutants, uttering subservient, nasally tones of
his own, launches himself into the shaft from the fifth floor. He clambers down quickly with
more knowledge of this shaft’s handholds and footholds than any human will ever have, and
he’s basically upon me when he realizes I’m here. He does a double-take from the other side of
the shaft, and I fake a lunge upward to get him to leap at me. He falls for it, and my boot finds
his face, sending him down the shaft as well. The unpleasant auditory of his impact with the
basement tells me he won’t be a problem anymore.
As my climb resumes, the rumble gets louder and louder, and the screams become
more and more inhuman. The smell begins to drift down through the shaft, the smell of hot
blood, and I rack my brain, trying to remember the last time I caught a whiff of this particular
odor. Right when the fifth floor is almost in view, the loudest scream yet makes me wince, and
the rumble becomes a bellow. The floor shakes above me with impossibly heavy footsteps, and
there are more shrieks.
I reach up and tug on another pipe, but this one wrenches free with a loud, metallic
sound, and a yelp escapes me in spite of my best efforts to keep my mouth shut. The pipe
drops and clangs off the side of the shaft, and there’s a familiar scampering from level five. I
duck back down and make for the fourth-floor doors, but not fast enough to avoid being
spotted by a pack of mutants from upstairs. Their screeches summon their vast horde of
mutant cannibal brothers and sisters, and they plunge down the shaft after me.
I leap out onto the fourth floor, pulling out my lighter and a bottle from my belt. I light
the cloth and give it a second to get bright, the view of the flames causing the first mutant
down the shaft to pause and retreat, blocking the way for the others after him. When he finally
gets up the courage to turn around and release the floodgates, the Molotov cocktail goes right
into the elevator shaft. The liquid fire splashes all over the area, coating the doorway in flames.
Two or three cannibals on fire fall past, like flares being tossed down a big hole to see how deep
it is. I light another cocktail, knowing that they’ll go back up the shaft and start coming down
the stairs, and when their pale shapes skid into view, I hurl that one as well. The larger male in
front takes the brunt of this one, and his flailing tosses fiery globs of oil and alcohol onto the
others around him.
A third cocktail spreads the yellow-orange tongues across the staircase, separating the
mutants from me from that route as well. However, now both paths up are blocked; there has
to be another way to make it to the next floor. They’re coming up behind me, so I swing with
the long blade of the katana and open one of them up as he pounces. He cries out and falls
back, two more coming up on either side. The male side-steps my swing, then lands a blow that
I block with my forearm. Even with the armor, it hurts like crazy, and the female tries to grab
me. I jab my sword at her to keep her at bay, and she slips on the floor, trying to stay out of
range. I spin and take off the male’s forearm as he reaches for me again, and with my other

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hand I grab the female by the hair, yanking hard. She screeches as I pull her head back, but her
noises stop when I plunge the sword into her chest, then rip it out and cut the one-armed male
in half with a single, smooth motion.
I’m nearly ready to charge up the stairs, but the moment I’ve been awaiting/dreading
comes upon me like a fast-moving storm. I hear his footsteps before I see him, and by then it’s
too late to defend myself from the shoulder of Scar-Face as he rams into me, sending me flying.
My body slides along the floor and comes to a stop in the middle, looking up as the faces
surround me, watching me struggle to rise. The giant alpha stands before me, the horrid, rage-
filled face that haunts my nightmares staring back at me as my lungs beg for air.
My vision swims with stars for the briefest of moments, and I’m shocked that I don’t feel
the pain of superhuman-powered hands around my throat or head. After once then twice
failing to climb to my feet, I notice that there’s a large crack in the armor, with a smaller web of
fractures denoting the location of the impact across my side. No wonder it feels like my torso
has been crushed. Judging from the pain that movement produces, at least one or two ribs are
broken.
When I attempt to take my stance against him and the surrounding crowd of his kind,
my stomach is filled with a churning sense of nakedness at the loss of my katana, which he now
holds in his right hand. He looks it over for some time, an expression of fascination and
satisfaction sapping my self-assurance. He runs his hand along the thick scar that crosses his
stomach, there because of the blade he now holds. Then he looks across the fifteen-foot space
between, grips the ray-skin-wrapped handle tightly, and he smiles.
It’s a cruel, malicious smile, full of a seething, “I’m-going-to-enjoy-killing-you” brand of
loathsomeness. This is personal for him, just as it is for me. He leans back and roars, whipping
the others up into a frenzy as they snarl savagely from the sidelines.
I suck in one more gulp of air and steel myself against the deep, shooting pain in my
side, standing to my full height and pulling out my short sword. It’s about half the length of the
katana, but I have years of skill and practice on my side. By the way he’s holding the weapon,
it’s clear that he’s never used a blade before. He’s a brute – albeit a seven-foot-tall brute with
super-strength, but there’s no substitute for training and willpower. I have plenty of both, plus
armor. All that’s left is outmaneuver him until I can strike the deathblow and reclaim my
sword. He’s going to pay for taking Ines.
“Alright, you bastard,” I sigh, cracking my neck. “Let’s do this.”
He doesn’t need to hear me say another thing. He leaps, his powerful legs carrying him
effortlessly through the air and over to me, where he swings down at an angle. Attempting to
block would be suicidal, so I dodge his swing and slide in behind him. He swings at me again,
but I parry it and move in, only to narrowly miss having his fist rammed into my face. I’m only
barely able to nick his arm, and not in any sort of vital way. All it does is make him madder. I
retreat from his ferocious onslaught, dodging when possible, blocking when necessary. His
swings are clumsy, but not nearly as unskilled as I thought they’d be. I lose a piece of armor on
my arm from not being quite fast enough – the power behind his swings will carve me like a
Thanksgiving turkey if they actually connect.
In an effort to try something unexpected and catch him off-guard, I dodge a swing, then
flip my sword into a reverse grip and duck under his next strike, moving past him and dragging
my sword along his ribs as I go. The metal digs into him, drawing blood, and he howls, yet more

3
angry. With all my might, I let out a yell and drive my leg back in a kick that lands in the center
of his back and knocks him forward. He topples over, but manages to stay half-standing, going
down to one knee as I attack. I’m thwarted when he swings back, forced to block again, and he
steps up, flailing at me. But I can’t stop – I have to keep at him while I have the advantage.
When I come forward, trying to get in a shot at his neck or chest, he vanishes from my
sight, and there’s searing pain on my injured side. Looking down, I see blood leaking from my
torso, one moment before my view of the world turns upside down. I’m flying through the air,
and there’s an intense pain in my back before I hit the wall beside the fiery elevator doorframe.
I put two and two together and stand up, staring at Scar-Face in horror. He holds the katana in
a reverse grip, my maneuver copied with the flare of an expert. That’s when I also realize that
the more we fight, the more his stance matches mine.
“My God!” I gape, my life beginning to flash before my eyes. “You are still in there…!”
Scar-Face steps toward me, flicking my blood from the blade onto the floor. It’s exactly
what I did to him back at the police station, a hellish mirror. There’s only one way out of this. It
was supposed to be a last resort, but that moment is here now, so I don’t think twice about it. I
drop my short sword and reach behind me, pulling out both pistols from my belt and aiming
them at Scar-Face.
He sees them in my hands moments before I open fire, and his reflexes save him. He
leaps straight up into the ceiling, and the bullets pass beneath his feet and enter his kin. The
sudden barrage of gunfire scatters the mob of mutants, which enables me to stand, firing both
barrels until they’re empty. Bodies drop across my field of vision, the few mutants that do
decide to take me head-on at this moment making for easy headshots.
I’ve lost track of how much time has passed since I left that ticking bomb in the lobby, so
I really need to get moving. The mutants are starting to regroup, and when I reach down to
grab another cocktail, there are only two left – the other three on me have been smashed. I
eject the spent magazines, reload, holster the pistols, and grab my short blade, charging across
the melting tiles and up the stairs, hurling one of the two remaining cocktails behind me to
cover my tracks.

--------------------

The double-doors to the fifth-floor offices are intact except for the holes where the glass
windows were. With a blade in one hand and a firearm in the other, I kick open the door. Two
scrawny ones attack, but a double-tap to each of their skulls takes care of them. One of them
continues twitching after he goes down, so I give him another round just to be safe. At the
forefront of my mind are the deep, monstrous bellows I heard while I was in the elevator shaft.
At any second, I expect to see some huge, disgusting blob step into view, trying to formulate a
plan on how to deal with something like that. Other than that, I’m ready for anything.
Or so I think. The further into the office space I go, I start to see just how little idea I
have about what I’m up against. The first four floors were simply abandoned and had the
wasteland look about them, but this level is seeded with soil combined with all manner of junk
brought in from the outside, half-buried beneath the vegetation growing everywhere. It’s
almost like a cultivated garden, and there’s even a tree growing out one of the windows. On
top of it all is a thin layer of some kind of organic, milky slime oozing from several places, and

4
this slime seems to function as a sort of glue, holding pieces of office junk and other junk
together to form strangely shaped chairs. The smell of blood, both old and new, is everywhere,
as are pools of the stuff. As I pass through this chamber of terror, there’s an extremely
foreboding sense of being entirely underprepared for any of it.
That’s when I see the first woman. She’s lying in one of the chair-slings, visibly
pregnant, covered with a thin blanket made of rags, mercifully unconscious, with old, dried
bodily fluids on the floor all around her. The seats are made in such a way that leaves her
reclining back, knees bent, feet apart, and it reminds me of…
“Oh, God…” I mumble in horror for the second time. My memories flash back to time
spent in the hospital as my older sister was having her first child, walking past a birthing room
that was being cleaned. The reclined seat, the holster position, all of it has been organically
recreated and placed all over this floor. Looking around, more of these ill-fated females come
into view, and my vomit-inducing suspicions are confirmed. This is a breeding chamber.
“Ines…!” All my motivations for coming here evaporate. Oh, God, please don’t let her
be here! But where else would she be?
As stealthily as possible, I somehow manage to hold back my bile from exiting my throat
and creep around to the different women, who range from peach-toned skin to various
inhuman shades of pale and dirt-brown. The vast majority of them have blood not only around
their legs and waists, but also around their mouths and necks. It doesn’t take a leap to figure
out what’s being done to them. As I go, one of them is clearly in the end stages of her
transformation. Her vocal utterances are more akin to the rasping, grating huffs and growls of
the mutants. Her human teeth lie around her, some still sitting on her chest, having been
pushed out by the newer, sharper, pointed ones that grew in their place. I wonder how many
of those squishy, larvae-shaped offspring she’s produced for these beasts, how much human
flesh they had to force down her gullet before she finally grew to understand what was
happening to her. At what point do these women lose their sanity and descend into the
animalistic instinct that is destined to overtake them? When do they move from being force-
fed and punished for vomiting it back up to watching the clock, looking forward to each and
every morsel brought their way in abundance?
And the women here are clearly well-fed. I’ve seen starving cannibals out and about,
but these women, the prisoners and slaves made at least in part responsible for the
continuation of the species, are kept healthy and strong, a few of them even a little chubby.
“Help…me…”
The voice startles me, and my finger almost squeezes the trigger when I point it at the
face a few feet to my right. The eyes are a misty, hazy white, and the voice is the same scratchy
sound, except uttered as intelligible words. She’s right on the brink.
“Save…me…” She pronounces the syllables with intense effort. Her mind is cloudy,
straining to translate even the basest feelings into the simplest of verses. Whatever she once
was, she’s been reduced to something far less now.
“I…I don’t…I can’t help you…” I stutter, feeling unfathomably inadequate.
Her eyes close and she takes a ragged breath, clutching her protruding middle.
“Kill…me…” she breathes.

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 I’m torn. Of all the situations where a mercy-killing is in order, I struggle to decide if this
is one of them. So many arguments fly through my mind, and I suppose there is really no good
option here. There is only a choice between more or less pain.
I opt for less pain, and that’s why I quietly cut her throat. With her dying embers, she
wordlessly thanks me and passes on with relief.
My body tingles all over, and I stare at her corpse for an undetermined length of time. I
don’t have a clue if I just acted in mercy or murder for the life (lives?) I’ve taken. Then, the
thought of Ines drags me back to this nightmare, and I move on.
The other women (the ones who are conscious) are becoming aware of my presence.
The stronger ones are starting to react and call out, and I know that will draw even more
attention.
“Ines?” I ask as they all reach out to me, begging me to save or spare them. “Ines?” My
eyes sweep the area – five, no, seven, no, twelve women. There are at least fifteen women
being housed here, and the majority of them are clearly in the mid-stages of gestation.
“Hey!” I hear a strong voice call above the din of moans and pleas. “Get me out of
here!”
It’s the short-haired blonde woman who was brought in a little over an hour ago. She’s
been stripped down to rags and fastened to her holster just like the rest, covered in the slime,
the remains of her forced meal clinging to her lips, cheeks, and chin.
“Hurry up and cut me loose!” she demands expectantly.
“Where’s Ines?” I ask, approaching cautiously, keeping my eyes open for threats in
every direction.
“I don’t know who that is,” she tells me. “Just get me out of this thing.”
“I’m here for Ines,” I tell her, surprised at my own dispassionate focus.
She looks at me for a moment, her strength and determination melting into
desperation.
“Please…” she begs in a cracked voice. “Please, I…I can’t…I have to get out before he
comes back. I don’t want to…I can’t do that again…please, I’m begging you…I’ll help you find
Ines, just get me out of this thing.”
She screams, trembling, yanking on her organic bindings so forcefully she nearly tears
her shoulders from their sockets. I reach out to steady her, my short blade digging into the
hardened slime. It splits apart like muscle or rope, several fibers at a time, until she is finally
able to pull her wrists free. She reaches down and begins to tear into the material holding her
ankles, even though it can’t be pulled apart by hand and some of her fingernails break off. I
have to hold her hands away while I cut her free.
No sooner is she liberated than I hear the dreaded bellow, and this time it’s right around
the corner. It’s followed by a low gurgle and accompanied by heavy, squishy footsteps. The
woman looks at my face with a wordless apology before running as fast as she can in the other
direction, toward the exit. With no other option, I let her go and take cover in a dark, dank
shadow between two pregnant women, pulling my hood down over my face.
The thing approaches noisily on two huge legs, and the women react to its presence in a
daze. One is eagerly waiting for more of what it offers, the other shivers in dread. Most of its
visage is hidden from me as I curl up in the tightest ball I can, my fingers tapping the trigger of
my pistol. If it sees me, there’s no telling what I’ll have to do to survive.

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 The slime drips from somewhere above, and I see several small tentacles moving around
between the women. The two elephant-shaped feet and legs that carry this massive, hulking
monstrosity around shift to and fro as it goes back and forth, tending to each of its victims in
turn. An arm drops to its side, a huge, thick limb ending in only a few fingers surrounding a
protruding spike of bone at least as long as my forearm.
Slowly, cautiously, I peer up from beneath my hood. Somehow, I’m grateful that most
of this hellish thing remains hidden from view, but I do manage to make out what passes for a
head barely jutting up between its meaty shoulders. Multiple tiny holes for ears on either side,
a single vertical mouth stretching from top to bottom, with wide nostril slits on either side. No
eyes.
The nose-faced beast sniffs deeply, and my heartbeat increases by a factor of five. My
muscles tense for the inevitable showdown that will likely lead to my death, but then the
creature’s senses draw it to the casing where I had just freed the blonde woman. It plods over,
and I hear its slimy limbs feeling its way around. The sound of the enraged roar shakes my
bones, and the ripping noise as it tears things apart around it in a blind rage informs me that my
survival continues to be based on staying very still.
Then, a scream from downstairs. The blonde must have reached the fourth floor and
encountered hostility. The giant beast stops for a moment (listening, I suppose), and just as I
am about to lean over and peak to see what it’s doing, it’s mighty legs thunder past me with
bewildering speed, carrying this thing onward to recover its escaped, unassimilated captive.
I don’t wait another second before I quickly but quietly leap from my hiding place,
following my flashlight out and around the corner. This next room is bordered by windows, and
it’s more sparsely populated than the last one, with four more victims held here. One of them
has completed the transformation, and she snarls at me as I enter. Before she can call out for
her guardian, my sword relieves her of the ability to speak.
One of the other women lifts her head and looks at me, dazed just like the rest. Her
head lolls back to stare at the ceiling before I can get a good look at her, so I move closer.
Butterflies flood my gut when her dark hair spills out over her bare shoulders, and I reach over,
tilting her head toward me.
“Ines…” I squeak, tears dropping from my face to hers.
She takes in labored breaths, trying to focus. Whatever they’ve done to her has been
exacerbated by a head wound, which has crusted over in the time she’s been here.
“M…Matt…” she sighs. “Oh, Matt…”
My hands are already at work to free her, and my eyes dart over my shoulder, expecting
to see her mutated warden approaching from behind. Once she’s loose, I pull her up by her
arms and wipe the smeared mess from her face with my coat. I wrap my arms around her and
hold her tightly, burying my nose in her slime-soaked hair as I work to compose myself. She’s
alive! Ines is alive, and I’m here with her! Even if we don’t make it out of this, at least we’ll
have been together here at the end.
But until I know for sure that this is the end, I’ll assume I packed all these weapons for a
reason.
The bellowing giant’s footsteps resound down the hallway, the only way out. Its loud
sniffing noises grow ever-closer as it makes its way toward our position. The goo-secreting
tendrils make a slapping sound against the walls.

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 Turning and looking at the window behind Ines’s seat, the large, gaping hole in it
foretells our escape. Whipping around and reaching into my backpack, I only hope that I can tie
fast enough to get us down before I’ve been chewed up and spit out.