Hello folks. Here is the first short story I ever had published and what became the first story in my Slums of Buckhead City collection, "Paperwork". I wrote this right around the time I was getting out of the corpo world and getting into more manual labor on film sets, and my frustrations and anger with how corporations handle severance manifested in several written works including comedy sketches and even a screenplay. This particular story ended up getting picked up for the sadly now defunct publication Write Ahead/The Future Looms in 2021. It was the first time I ever had anything published, and I am still grateful for it.
I hope you enjoy.
Henry Lewis was sweating.
He was sitting in a conference room at the head of a large table, alone, on the thirtieth floor of the GSC building, facing a blank monitor that jutted out of the wall. Another wall was dominated by windows, blinds open to reveal the Atlanta skyline complete with police drones and patrol aircraft hovering effortlessly between an array of corporate skyscrapers. They splayed spotlights across dark buildings below, the white beams contrasting with the evening sky.
The room reeked of cleaning chemicals that left the air tasting thick and artificial. Small robot vacuum cleaners slowly rotated around the edges from loading docks built into wall panels. A black briefcase rested alone on the table.
The briefcase was what made Henry sweat. He had heard about meetings like this before; Human Resources puts out a word, leaves you an empty room, and gives you a loaded present and not many options. It wasn't always this way, but as corporations had consolidated their presence in politics in the early part of the century, they'd managed to sneak in their own versions of police reforms. Now every Fortune 5000 had its own private security force with all manner of law enforcement powers for covering their own turf. The office was now a fiefdom, which included the home offices of billions of employees around the world, and if there was an easy and “honorable” way to do something, the shortcut was preferred.
Henry squeezed his eyes tightly and thought of praying. He was a mousy man, not particularly tall and rail thin, clean shaven and balding despite what the miracle shampoos claimed. And anything involving HR always made him feel smaller.
The monitor across the room blinked to life with an audible snap, and Henry opened his eyes. A woman's face appeared, stern and thin with a pointing jaw and large brown eyes. She wore a blue suit, the expensive kind an executive would wear, and over her left ear was a piece of electronics hardware that optimized communication between languages and cost more than Henry made in a year.
“Hello, Henry,” she greeted without warmth.
“Hello,” he said with a grimace.
“Do you know who I am?”
He swallowed and nodded. The woman on the monitor was Sasha Jefferson, VP of Human Resources. This meeting was somehow worse than he thought.
“And do you know what is in that briefcase?”
Henry slowly let his eyes drift down from the screen to the faux leather of the case. His tongue felt too big for his mouth. “A-a gun.”
Sasha's lips curled into a smile, but her eyes shown cruelly. “Very good, Henry. I see you know this game. Open the briefcase.”
Henry whimpered as he set his hands on the case. With each flip of the latch, he visibly winced. He opened it, revealing a handgun and one loaded magazine. Henry did not speak as he looked up at Sasha.
“Now Henry, I want to be very clear with you. We are doing some cleaning up in your department. Early retirements, layoffs, the usual tools for merging positions and cutting out dead weight. But for you, we have something very special in mind.”
Henry set his hands on the table and braced himself. He expected nothing less than an order to blow his own head off; it was considered the best move to save face for all involved and cut down on paperwork.
“Henry, we want to promote you.”
He blinked. His jaw went slack, and waves of tension ran through his body. Had he heard right? “Pardon?”
“That gun before you is the key to your promotion.” Sasha's smile took on some level of warmth, though her eyes were still cold. “A higher salary, a better title, benefits for your family, even life insurance in case the unthinkable were to happen. Do you understand? We want to move you into management.”
“Oh, well, that's…great. That's great,” Henry managed with a weak smile. His fingers extended over the pistol and patted the pistol's grip. “But then what do I need this for?”
Sasha's face set suddenly with all the rigidity of a stone. “Your previous boss, one Philip Maisley, is deemed for a layoff. You are now tasked with killing him. He is already located on the roof of this building for you to do so.” Just as suddenly, her mouth moved into a humorless smile. “Less paperwork, I'm sure you understand.”
Henry stared down at the gun and slowly nodded. “Ok, so what, I just kill Phil…?”
“Is that going to be a problem?” One of Sasha's perfectly shaped eyebrows raised to accentuate her question.
“Uh, n-n-no,” Henry stammered. He stood up, attempting to be forceful and show resilience, but the effect was considerably more lackluster. Sasha's expression shifted to a wry smile.
“That's great, Henry. An elevator has already been called to take you to the roof. Go handle this for us and secure your future.”
“Right,” he replied. He gently tapped the weapon.
“And I trust you know how to use that thing?”
Sasha's question was unexpected, and Henry jumped in shock. His response was a rapid, “Yes, I know how,” but his voice was as cracked as his nerves.
The stern expression returned to Sasha's face. “Good,” she said and then vanished with an audible click from the screen. Henry found himself alone in the room, with only the gun and cleaning robots for company. He stared at the pistol for a few seconds before carefully picking it up and flipping it over in his hands. The safety was easy to find, and he checked the slide, then loaded the magazine and readied a round. His palms felt sticky against the artificial material of the grip. He wrapped a finger around the trigger, and his stomach did a nosedive towards his feet. It took all his strength not to find somewhere to puke as he contemplated his task.
And then he pocketed the pistol and stepped to the door. It slid open to let him exit, and he wandered nauseously to the small lobby. Just as he had been told, there was an elevator waiting for him, a lone and heavily armed and armored security guard standing beside it. Henry nodded to the guard but got no response; the mask the guard wore completely blocked the face, rendering a machine-like quality to the person ostensibly there for employee safety.
Henry boarded the elevator and pressed the button for roof access. He exhaled loudly as the door shut and tried to steady his hands as the lift began to move. By the time he reached the roof, he thought he'd be all right. This was a simple task, and all he had to do was get it right, human element be damned.
Yet, as soon as he stepped out of the elevator onto the open roof, he saw Philip. The man was gagged and zip-tied to an office chair, the base of which had been visibly cracked and battered to prevent any ability to move around. Phil's eyes were wide with fear, and he had a bloody nose which had dripped down over the gag and onto his shirt; whoever had put him in the chair hadn't done it gently.
The wind suddenly gusted, playing hell with hair and hearing. The roof was exposed to the elements and illuminated by running lights to prevent the nearby hovering vehicles from accidentally crashing into it. A privatized police aircraft, complete with Gold Badge logo, floated nearby but did nothing to focus on the two men at GSC; it wasn't their business, as far as they were concerned. Off in the distance, another office skyscraper's rooftop lit up briefly with an audible crack a few seconds later. Henry wasn't the only person being forced to clean house that night.
Henry squeezed his eyes shut and took a moment to steel himself. “I'm sorry, Phil,” he mumbled as he raised the pistol. Philip strained against his gag and bindings, trying to will his body up out of the broken chair. “For what it's worth, you were a really great boss. I liked working for you, but you know how these things go.” He opened his eyes to find Phil crying, tears openly flowing down his cheeks and mixing with the blood to drip off his chin.
“Aw, geez,” Henry muttered and dropped the gun, looking down at his feet with shame. “I can't believe I have to do this.” He exhaled loudly again. His heart thudded in his chest with rapid intensity. “You know I don't get a choice in this, boss.” His attention turned back to Philip. “I'm really, truly sorry. I mean it.” Philip strained his head forward in his chair, trying to speak through the gag, white teeth stained red where the blood had run over his mouth.
Henry raised the pistol and shot his boss in the head.
The force of the blast whipped Philip's body back and knocked the chair over. Henry stood in silence for a long while, the gun still raised and smoking in his hand. A strange wetness ran down his face, and it took a moment for him to realize he was crying. But HR would be happy, and he had just earned his promotion; he should be thrilled. The heavy wind did nothing to take away the stink of burned gunpowder and sudden death.
It was the sound of the elevator opening behind him that roused him from his stupor. Henry turned and found the space behind him on the roof lined with a squad of security personnel, rifles raised and pointed at him. VP Sasha Jefferson stood slightly behind them, using them for cover.
“Thank you, Henry. You've just earned your promotion,” she said with a cruel smile, though her voice was hard to hear over the roaring of blood or wind that filled Henry's ears. “But unfortunately I must inform you that we have decided to terminate your entire department. Your services are no longer required. We'll make sure your family is compensated with your new level of benefits.”
Henry blinked in confusion. “Wait, what?”
“I'm sorry, Henry, but you know how it is,” her tone was flat. She didn't feel anything at all about it, and they both knew it. “Much less paperwork this way.”
The emotions of the past few minutes, the fear, the sorrow, all of it suddenly gave way to a deep inborn anger in Henry. His body reacted before he could think, to swing the pistol up towards Sasha.
The security team didn't let him finish. They opened fire before he even got halfway. Henry's body spasmed and contorted from the multitude of rounds that impacted into him, driving him back until he tripped and stumbled over Philip's corpse. The blood of the two men mixed together in a large, oozing puddle. Sasha only smirked.
“Well, that went as expected. Commander,” she turned to address the leader of the security team, “write this up the usual way in your report. And see to it that custodial gets these bodies cleaned up promptly; we have more layoffs to perform.”
She was already in the elevator with the doors shutting before the Commander even finished giving her salute. It had been a busy day, and there was still more work to do.
The pilot of the nearby hovering Gold Badge aircraft took a second to glance out at his window at the bodies on GSC's roof before refocusing on the spotlighted neighborhoods below. Whatever it was, it wasn't his problem. Let someone else handle the paperwork.