It begins with a woman, as these things often do. It was not her shapely figure, all sinuous curves, or her piercing grey eyes seemingly evaluating you, that originally caught your interest. No, that honor fell to the red dress, a thing made of hundreds of red ribbons all woven together and bound close to her flesh, showing little and hiding less. It was strikingly out of place, here on the half empty city bus as you waited for it to creak and groan and crawl across the city. Here, amidst the sour smell of last night's mistakes and today's sweat the red dress did not belong. No one else seemed to notice though, least of all the snoozing old man she stood next to.

But she noticed you. With a finger and a smile she looped a red ribbon around her finger and pulled, a strip of red coming loose, revealing a stripe of her midriff. Without quite knowing how, it is in your hands and she is gone. Life goes on. You step off the bus, you enter your office, you ride the elevator, you walk the halls, you force your face into a smile and you speak the required words of small talk.

Then, of course, you-

> Drink. Just a little of course.
> Steal. Just odds and ends really.
> Work. Just to break up the routine.
> Plot. Just one or two mad fantasies.

>>6260102 (OP)

> Drink. Just a little of course.

>>6260102 (OP)
>Work. Just to break up the routine.
Living that salaryman life

>>6260103
>>6260140

You drink! There's the water bottle filled with vodka of course, the little flask of whiskey, and once you're confident the boss is busy with his mistress the drawer of cheap beer. It's a solid routine, and one that has served you well as you shuffle numbers from one spreadsheet to another. Susan glares of course, but even Susan isn't bitch enough to be a narc, and when her husband abandoned her for the pool boy she discreetly joined you for a time. Water under the bridge now, trying to be better now, attending meetings now. Susan is a god damn quitter, and you, you are a winner.

The red ribbon slides between your fingers, playing from wrist to wrist, always restlessly moving until you finally tie it tight to your wrist. It's not exactly your style. What was up with that woman on the bus? Who the fuck rides the bus dressed like that?

“Rowan? Rowan?” It takes a few long seconds for the voice to worm its way through the pleasant fog. “I need to see you in my office. Immediately.”

You lock eyes with your boss, not balls deep in his assistant. Your eyes flit from him to the can of beer. Well shit. You leave the can on your desk, barely hidden behind a stack of folders and follow him with a sigh, weaving through desks amidst sympathetic and pitying eyes. Well, it's not like this day wasn't coming. You enter the office, closing the blinds at your bosses request and turn to face the music.

The sight of the overweight man lunging with a knife is something of a surprise.

> Dodge! Juke! Find a weapon!?
> Oh fuck run!
> Wrestle for the knife!

> Oh fuck run!

>>6260141
>> Oh fuck run!

We can outrun him

>>6260141
> Dodge! Juke! Find a weapon!?
Ain't no quitter

>>6260141
>Oh fuck run!
No way this fatty is catching us.

>>6260141
>Dodge! Juke! Find a weapon!?

>>6260141
> Oh fuck run!
Intriguing start...

>>6260141
> Dodge! Juke! Find a weapon!?

Where's a good paperweight when you need one?!

>>6260142
>>6260143
>>6260147
>>6260157
>>6260168
>>6260169
>>6260174

You are not drunk enough for this shit. You get the door back open just fast enough for the fat fuck to slam into you and send you both crashing back out, then into a cubicle wall. The knife sends cheap fabric flying as you lurch away and your boss staggers after you. No one notices. No one screams, or stares, or even looks up. You just stare for a moment as your boss puffs.

“Thought you'd get the drop on me? You waited too long!” He lunges again and you bolt, screaming for help. Behind you your boss cackles as he follows, then eighty gallons of water jug slams into your back. Something cracks and you go down. For a moment your ragged breaths match the gurgle of water from the jug as it spills out, soaking first the floor, then you.

“Too slow Rowan!”

Fuck, fuck, fuck! You stagger up, half falling forward into the break room, slamming the door behind you.

Your bosses voice booms behind you. “It's not break time Rowan. One more offense like this and I'll have to terminate you!”

You've always hated the man, but never so much as now. The door rattles as something slams into it, then continues pounding a steady rhythm.

“KNOCK KNOCK ROWAN!”

The door splinters, then shatters and your boss steps in, stupid grin plastered on his face. You shatter a coffee pot into his face, glass and scalding liquid scattering, then as he roars and staggers you swing the broken shards still on the handle for his neck. Blood sprays, then he swings his arm and hurls you across the room, cabinets shattering.

“You worthless...piece...” Your boss points a meaty finger at you, wobbling as blood spills down his neck. “Of...of...” He tilts, then falls like a cake splatting on the floor, his gut slowly expanding outward.

> Make sure he's dead
> Get the fuck out of here
> Check his office? What the hell is going on?

> Get the fuck out of here

>>6260188
Uh...wow. I guess pumping your secretary every day is good exercise?

> Check his office? What the hell is going on?

This is a clear case of self defence. His office has a phone, and the good whisky in the filing cabinet, no doubt. Maybe he was on drugs. Evidence, yes, we need evidence. This can all be explained, nothing supernatural to see here.

>>6260188
> Get the fuck out of here

Do it

>>6260236
>>6260221
>>6260203

“Rough case of the mondays, huh?” One of your coworkers nudges past you and nods at your boss, pool of blood slowly growing. They frown at the sight, then shake it off. You numbly agree, excusing yourself with a mumble, and walk calmly away to the elevator, then more briskly to the stairs after it takes too long, then a light jog down the street. You're at a full sprint before it occurs to you to hurl the broken coffee pot down an alleyway, and by now people are staring, and pointing, and phones are coming out.

Inside, up into your apartment, clothes in a bag, into the shower, out of the shower, empty a bottle of bleach into into the bag, and oh fucking shit fuck just happened!? A case of the mondays? The hell is wrong with your coworkers? You sit on your bed in your underwear staring at the floor for who knows how long. What fucking now?

> Skip town, get on a bus, get out of the state, make up some bullshit about a dead parent
> It's self defense right? Right? Just go to the cops, explain the whole thing, no problem right?
> There's some kind of...censor on everything. A suppressant, a mental block. Your coworkers aren't actually all psychopaths right? Just...go back to the office, play it cool.

> Plot. Just one or two mad fantasies.
Without them life is boring so is the office.

>>6260631
> There's some kind of...censor on everything. A suppressant, a mental block. Your coworkers aren't actually all psychopaths right? Just...go back to the office, play it cool.

Skip town, get on a bus, get out of the state, make up some bullshit about a dead parent

>>6260631
> There's some kind of...censor on everything. A suppressant, a mental block. Your coworkers aren't actually all psychopaths right? Just...go back to the office, play it cool.

>>6260851
>>6260833
>>6260701

Your coworkers. Yeah, something's going on there. They're not psychopaths, not all of them, but they didn't blink when your boss stalked you down the cubicles with a knife. You grind the thoughts through your head and come to a grim conclusion. You've got to drag your ass back into work and pretend this didn't happen. There's some kind of...you shy away from the M word, but there's something keeping people from not freaking out.

With a heavy sigh you throw on fresh clothes and head back to work. Just pretend you went for coffee, right? Your worry is misplaced though, because the entire office is crowded around the breakroom, babbling nonstop. You slip into the milling crowd without notice, catching rumors and speculation about a sheet covered body, the security cameras all being dead, have you seriously just...gotten away with it? Other than the dozen bruises on you anyway.

> Just keep laying low. Let this blow over.
> Search your bosses office, before the cops make a mess of it.

>>6261408
> Just keep laying low. Let this blow over.

>>6261408
> Search your bosses office, before the cops make a mess of it.
He thought we were gunning for him. Why? What's going on? There must be a clue.

> Just keep laying low. Let this blow over.

>>6261408
> Search your bosses office, before the cops make a mess of it.

>>6261417
>>6261431
>>6261531
>>6261548

You move fast, concocting cover stories as you walk to your boss’s office. You rifle through the papers quickly, finding the usual bullshit, then check the computer, still unlocked. At the top of the sent emails:

- Just noticed one of my reports has one, going to take her out.
- usual agreement, you'll get her info if she gets me

And an unsent email, with a timer, detailing your name, home address, and phone number.

> Delete it
> Leave it
> Change it?

Blogpost: Travelling suckkkkks

>>6264912
> Change it. Delete the unsent email, then send one saying that 'we' are going out of town in pursuit of one. Leave it at that, minimalist.

>>6264986
+1, but make a note of the email address to look into it later.