Slumdog Assassin

Fingers clicking on the keyboards. Lead scurrying on paper. The occasional sneeze or fart echoing across the hall, penetrating the white-wall work cubicles and reminding the inhabitants that despite the pin-drop silence, there were still fellow employees all around.

Pony had moved to the cubicle next to me via my recommendation; the man with the fluffy sideburns had been hitting on her while she was calling her kids and she found that kind of creepy. So I decided to be a nice fellow and tell her to switch with my cubicle neighbor, Jar Jar.

Just makes my job a lot easier.

The clock ticks by. My hands start shaking a bit. They always start shaking when it comes down to the end. I had done this about a hundred times but it never gets any easier or less nerve wrecking.

I turn my head to look at Pony through the little window in the cubicle wall they gave us to encourage "Employee cohesion". Whatever the hell that means. I could see every strand of her red hair, every lash on her bro