Office Roulette (standard:Flash, 1253 words)
Author: discopants	Added: Jun 13 2005	Views/Reads: 3132/2063	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
It's time to deal with those irritating colleagues. Warning-don't try this at work!

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

months about installing metal detectors at the entrance but had been 
haggling over the cost- typical that saving a few pennies was more 
important than the safety of their staff. 

I stride into the conference room, bringing an address from the regional
manager to a premature close. 

“What's going on?” he asks. 

“I just though I'd pop my head in to see if I could get the recognition
and respect I deserve.” 

“This is hardly the time for that...” 

“Au contraire,” I reply, adding “Bet none of you knew I spoke French,”
producing my gun at the same time. If only I had a video camera to 
record the look of absolute terror on their faces. 

“So this is what's going to happen. One of you is going to get shot dead
today.” 

For once, none of these people who usually had so much to say could
muster a word between them. 

“Now, remember your numbers, everyone- Tim, you're one, Jane two, Tony
three, David four, Norman five, Richard six. This is the fun bit coming 
up now.” 

I walk over to the regional manager and handed him a die. “Roll the die.
The number you roll dictates who dies. If you refuse to roll it, then 
you'll be the one to die.” 

“This is ridiculous,” he objects, although not very authoritatively. 

I raise the gun to the level of his head and press the barrel against
his ear. He takes the die in his hand. 

“Hold on a minute,” I instruct him. “We need to get the right level of
tension going.” I simulate a drum roll on the table with my free hand 
and survey everyone briefly. “And the person who's going to be shot 
dead tonight is...” 

The regional manager throws the die right on cue. 

“A four,” I announce. “Who was that- David, I think.” I walk over to
him, wondering whether I should do an ominous dance of death as I do 
so; I decide that that would be a touch over the top and so decide 
against it. 

“I'm not worth it,” David tells me. By now, he's sweating so much that I
wonder for a moment if he's going to keel over anyway. 

“I know that,” I tell him. I point the gun at him and smile. “David,
this was your life.” 

Jane begins to scream; Richard joins in almost immediately. I pull the
trigger. 

Everyone is silent. I slide the gun onto the table. “It's an imitation.
Panic over.” 

With that, I leave the room, the adrenaline still pumping through my
veins, and I wonder how I might replicate this feeling. 


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