Metamorphs

Paris and Helen

The fat guy in guard uniform confined in his swivel chair moans and squirms through the duct tape plastered all over him

“Shut up!” My bubblegum–pink haired twin sister hisses at the guy, and then she addresses me, “Paris. How long are you planning to stay there, ‘till the cops arrive?” she says sardonically.

“Yeah, you know, life is so much fun when cops are trying to haul your ass,” I reply annoyed, “Why don’t you do it yourself, you ungrateful little piece of gum.” Sparks fly from the electricity panel, but I ignore it.

Helen continues to look around, tapping her foot on the ground rhythmically while biting her already stubby nails.

“What if someone catches as here?” She asks, peering through the small glass window of the door.

“Say hello and bid them a good day. I’m sure they wouldn’t kick as back to the social workers, ‘cause being polite always works.” I reply sarcastically.

I cut another wire in the control panel and the wall of monitors showing a live a feed of every corner of the building goes static simultaneously.

“Thank God you’re finally done.” Helen mutters in relief. Then she pulls a chloroform bottle and a piece of cloth from her duffel bag. She tips the bottle into the cloth.

The tied guard starts to squirm and yell through his gag.

“Oh shut up.” Helen says as she holds the cloth against the man’s mouth and nose. The guard’s movement slows down until he just into his chair unconscious.

I finish putting away my equipment back into my bag and then I pick up the door key from the table and then we go out.

I lock the door and swing my bag into my shoulder.

“Come on, time’s a wasting, how long will that chloroform last?” I inquire to Helen.

“Well, I pretty much soak up the cloth…probably 30 minutes max.”

“That’s too short.” I complain.

“Well we can prolong it if you want to stay behind and hold the cloth to his mouth.” She suggests.

I sigh, “Never mind, let’s go.”

We emerge into the main corridor of the building. The place is already bustling with employees, so Helen and I start to act like we belong to the place.

We maintain a normal pace, until we reach the emergency exit in the same floor. The moment the retracting door snap shuts behind us, we break into a run.

“What floor is it suppose to be again?” Helen asks as we huff upwards the seemingly endless stairs.

“Well we’re on the ground floor, fifty-two more floors for us.” I reply chuckling. She answers with a groan and a curse.

We already decided against the use of elevators, the lesser people sees us here, the better chance will make it out of here.

On the thirty-second floor, we both collapse on the stairs. My legs are screaming in pain and won’t move if I try to lift it.

“My legs are cemented.” I moan, as grab my bag, pull my water and take a long drag from it.

“I think I’m going to have cramps.” Helen moans too.

After a solid minute, I stand up and pull Helen with me.

“We’ve got to keep moving,” I glance at my wristwatch and curse, “the guard’s gonna be conscious any minute now, or probably he’s already conscious. Come on Helen!”