I've been summoned by HR, after all this time.
Funny thing? I know exactly why.
I just landed this job — nothing fancy, but it keeps food on the table.
"You may come in," Tara says. Her expression is unreadable — the kind of face that could tell you you're fired or that you've won the lottery, without changing a muscle.
Luck and I? We've never been on speaking terms.
Yesterday, after my first shift, I was just walking to my car. Wrong place. Wrong time.
And what do I see? The attractive HR lady herself — skirt up, blouse down — riding the school principal into what I can only describe as a near cardiac arrest. The car bouncing like it's on the main stage at a county fair.
I actually felt bad for her son. Kid's a good guy. Probably takes after his father — whoever that is. Could be half of Manhattan.
But as the car kept shaking, something hit me.
I had two problems.
Small problem: the principal that lioness was mounting? I know his wife.
Big problem: the car suddenly stopped shaking so much, because those predatory cat eyes of hers had just locked onto me.
And that's why…
"Take a seat, please. Oh, and close the door behind you."
I'm sitting in her office now, one hour after my shift.
"My kid asked me about you today," she says casually. "He really liked you after your first interaction."
That's the opener? After yesterday's Olympic performance?
"Oh, he's a cool kid. Takes after his… f— mother."
She smiles and leans back. "I must admit, you caught me… barehanded."
"Caught you? Doing what? There are a billion reasons a woman would be in her boss's bouncy car in a secluded area…"
What the hell did I just say?
"Oh stop it," she says. "We both know I was fucking his brains out."
She pushes her chair back — slow, squeaky — then stands, walking toward me like she's auditioning for a perfume commercial.
"Listen, Josh, we can both try to ruin each other's lives here… but we've had such a good start. So how about we make… a small arrangement?"
She stops close enough for her perfume to register as a workplace hazard.
"I'm in your debt," she whispers, her voice low, husky. "So tell me — what do you want me to do for you? Nothing is out of line."
I lean back in my chair. "You're gorgeous, no lie… but I like a girl who's genuinely interested in me, not someone who's doing me a favor."
She bursts out laughing. "You? Ha! You're balding. And my pussy has a hundred-grand yearly income entrance fee — you wouldn't get in if you lived a million years. But… I'm not really in a position to argue. So…
She tilts her head, smiling. "What do you say?"
I try to open my mouth, but her butt had already slammed into my lap.
The sound echoes in my skull.
Bang.
Not her voluptuous booty smashing into me.
But a gavel.
Next thing I know, I'm sitting in a courtroom, explaining to that damned judge that I am innocent.
Place is packed wall-to-wall — strangers whispering, the air thick with judgment. The jury's faces are pinched and furious, like I've personally kicked their puppies.
At the front, the judge glares down at me with the kind of skepticism usually reserved for politicians and used car salesmen.
"So," he says, voice sharp enough to cut glass, "you're telling this court that your sexual actions toward Miss Tara were consensual… and not a clear attempt at assault?"
I glance over at Tara. She's perched on the bench in full tragic performance mode — fake tears glistening, her shoulders trembling like she's auditioning for a daytime drama. It's the kind of shaking you'd expect from someone with a medical condition, not from a supposed victim.
I clear my throat. "Your honor, I assure you — she was ravaging me. Then she led me to a corner with a camera, specifically so she could pretend to be abused."
The jury doesn't blink. The room is dead silent except for the squeak of a pen.
And then I see him.
Tara's kid.
Standing at the back, eyes blazing, his hands clenched into fists. There's a glimmer of tears, and each one might as well be a dagger aimed right at me.
"Kid, I'm telling the truth" I say, "sorry, but that's how I met your mother."
The words hit the air and instantly feel wrong.
The crowd gasps in unison. Hands fly to mouths. Somewhere, a woman drops her purse.
Wait… okay, that came out wrong.
"Silence in my courtroom!" the judge roars, slamming the gavel. "You dare make jokes in such a situation? You have no heart! Assaulting a woman, then taunting her son?"
I open my mouth to protest, but he's already shaking his head in disgust.
"This court finds you guilty. Maximum sentence: twenty years. No bail. This matter is concluded!"
Bang.
Fuuuuuu—
A door slams behind me, jolting me back to reality — or whatever's passing for it now. Metal clanks. I'm in a cell.
And there's a shadow behind me.
A very large, very muscular, very bald shadow.
I turn my head just enough to see him — his build, the kind that makes you wonder if his parents were bricklayers… or just bricks.
He's standing far too close, wearing nothing but a smile… and a full erection.
A guard strolls past, reading from a clipboard like this is just another Tuesday.
His keys jingle as he unlocks the cell.
"C-48. Shower time. Let's go."
A hand the size of a dinner plate lands on my shoulder.
It squeezes — firmly enough to make my socket reconsider its career choices — and pushes me forward.
From the way he's pressing against me, I'm pretty sure he's excited for shower time.
We pass cell after cell, inmates leaning out to whistle, cheer, or offer unsolicited advice about "relaxing my jaw."
The big guy starts rubbing my hair like I'm a cat he's about to adopt.
Worry paints my face so clearly, Michelangelo could've carved it in marble.
"Soaps have always been overrated in a shower," I say, my voice shaking. "Ain't that right, Anton?"
He chuckles — deep, rumbling — and squeezes my shoulder harder. "That's not my name. It's Viktor. And I like soaps… especially when they fall on the floor."
Smack.
He slaps my ass like he's testing a melon for ripeness. His smile is wide, toothless in patches.
"Viktor," I say through clenched teeth, "if you ever get out of this prison, I want you to find a woman named Tara… and do to her exactly what you're about to do to me. Okay, buddy?"
"Only if she's as pretty as you."
Fantastic. I'm officially flirting my way into an assault.
He herds me into the shower block — steam rolling out, tiles glistening.
And that's when I see him.
A man already standing there.
Tall. Elegant. Different.
A leather coat draped over him from head to toe, looking like he wandered in from a completely different genre.
"I'm assuming you're here to watch?" I ask. "Well, it doesn't matter."
My panic is obvious now. Viktor starts stripping — methodically, like he's unwrapping a Christmas present.
"You know something, Viktor?" I blurt, words tumbling out faster than I can think. "A year ago, I was a lazy ass. I'd sit in my room all day, playing Elderborne 5, a game that was released on every platform known to man, milked into oblivion by this Tom Bowels guys. Then my girlfriend told me she'd leave if I didn't start working on our future."
I laugh — hollow, desperate. "So I quit gaming for her. Started busting my ass. And what did that get me? Huh?"
Viktor is naked now.
He starts on my clothes.
"I'm single. Imprisoned for something I didn't do. And about to get railed by a two-meter-tall Mexican!"
I glance at the coat guy. "What the hell are you here for, Tony? At least give us some privacy!"
He doesn't flinch. Calm, unblinking, he says, "That's not my name. And you have been summoned, Rothnyr."
"Roth-who? Summoned where? I don't care if it's the fucking abyss — I'll go. Now."
"Are you certain?" His voice is level, almost bored. "It's a completely different realm… though one you are already familiar with."
Viktor plucks the soap from my carrier, stares me dead in the eyes… and smacks it to the floor.
Clack.
"Pick it up. Don't use your knees."
My head snaps toward the leather-coated man.
"Tony! Take me to that realm. Now."
I bend slowly, painfully, every muscle screaming danger.
Behind me, I can feel Viktor assuming the stance.
"Very well then, Rothnyr," the tall man says evenly. "But the ritual takes a few seconds."
"I don't have a few seconds, you piece of—"
Viktor's hips pull back like a goddamn wrecking ball.
I can hear the wind-up.
"Tonyyy!!!" I scream.
"I told you," he says, voice maddeningly calm, "that's not my name."
Viktor lunges forward—
—and I leap straight up, every nerve in my body detonating.
My eyes snap open.
I'm standing in a cave.
Cold. Wet. The air reeks of rot.
Around me: a circle of blood. Ten goat heads. One heart — human, if my nightmares are accurate.
Have I just been… fucked into oblivion?
I push myself to my feet. My thighs can't touch without shooting lightning up my spine.
Every step reminds me of Viktor's… enthusiasm.
"Always wanted to cross anal off the bucket list, but not like this. Not on the receiving end. Not by a fucking Viktor!"
The cave twists ahead. I limp toward a doorway.
"Tara, I swear — I will come back from the dead and haunt your ass."
I stop mid-step.
Wait.
"If I'm dead… why does my ass still hurt?"
I round the corner, eyes scanning the dark.
"If I'm not dead… then where the fuck am I?"
Then, he hears it.
A coffin.
It bursts open like a cheap party trick gone wrong — lid clattering to the ground hard enough to make his teeth ache.
What the…?
A hand, bony and pale, claws over the coffin's edge. The rest follows, dragging itself into the dim light: bones wrapped in scraps of cloth, like a thrift store mannequin that's been through several wars and one bad divorce.
The smell hits next. Rot, damp earth, and—
Still somehow better than Viktor's balls.
It lets out a sound halfway between a roar and a shriek—like the principle's wife--after she got wind of his affair.
Josh freezes.
No…
That sound.
That rusty clank of armor. That disgusting, wet burp. And then… those eyes.
Blue. Glowing. Like two LEDs powered by pure hatred.
No, nope. It's just some weird zombie.
It can't be—a.
Josh staggers back, shaking his head.
Shit, that's a Bone Walker.
Which means--
You've got to be shitting me. I'm in fucking Elderborne?!