Due to a terrible incident involving five babies and a vacuum cleaner I'm no longer eligible to be employed. That was four years of work down the drain.

Crap.

I carried the last of my office stationery up to my apartment door and sighed. An old cardboard box was the most they were willing to part with for a dunce like me.

How was I supposed to know those babies were super geniuses?

It's not like they had labels on them. And if one hadn't bitten Pete’s ear off, I doubt the corporation would even care.

My box bumped into the door, creasing inwards as the cheap cardboard met wood and peeling paint. A firm kick against the wood sent it banging back into the wall of my apartment, the impact causing flakes of white to fall from the ceiling onto my carpet.

It was probably asbestos. Scratch that. It was definitely asbestos.

After all I'd been through, I hadn't even been able to afford a place to live that wasn't a death trap.

If I died, I'd make sure to haunt my ex-employers so hard they'd put my ghost in the A-tier containment cells. A chuckle escaped my lips at the thought.

I'd thought a lot about what I'd do to the Company.

That wasn’t their name, of course, but the only name I was authorised to know was ‘shut up and get back to work’. So, I called them the Company.

Suing them, or maybe exposing them to the world, were both options I'd considered. They were childish thoughts of revenge, and none of them were ones I'd ever act upon.

The executives at the lower levels of the underground headquarters got really scary when they were mad.

I'd seen one take on a C-tier supernatural being that went rogue. The executive had put his hand up it's—

Well, suffice to say a new set of bagpipes had been made that day. A shiver ran down my spine at the memory. It was horrifying stuff.

So, no. I wouldn't be complaining about my firing.

I slammed the box of my belongings down onto the sole table in the apartment. It was a quaint coffee table with square-shaped glass in the middle and thick white marble legs. Everyone needed a fancy object to spice up their dingy apartment.

My eyes roamed over the only evidence that I'd ever had a job.

A roll of sticky tape that was sushi-themed, a loose stack of blank paper I’d stolen from a printer as I left, a whole host of pens, and a stuffed goose with one wing. I'd like to say I lost the other wing, but that would be a lie. I just couldn't afford the whole goose.

I called him Goosey.

A single pen went into my pocket for later. I knew I'd need one for the new résumé I'd be writing.

Half the information would be redacted.

What would I even say in my job interviews? ‘Hi there, I'm Shane. My previous employers worked with monsters. Don't let them know I told you, or your family might disappear.’

What a joke.

With a heavy hand I flopped back onto the sofa and raked a hand across my hair. Several ivory-black strands fell down onto the carpet, and my eyes widened.

Oh heck, I was already balding. At least it hadn't hit downstairs yet.

“Why so glum, chum?” A voice struck my ears and I jolted, my head shooting towards the entrance of my apartment.

A man leaned against the open door, rippling muscles, and striking grey eyes boring holes into me.

“Pete?” I groaned. “Bloody hells man, I thought you'd be in the Company hospital for the next week.”

He pushed himself off the frame with a smile.

Pete was my best friend. Had been for six years. Ever since university.

“It'll take more than a few flying babies to take me out of commission.” Pete chuckled and walked into the room. “They gave me the good stuff for recovery.”

He tapped the side of his head, and I spotted a change since I'd last seen him. His ear had grown back.

It was a feat of medical science that I wouldn't have believed possible before leaving university to work for the Company. Now, it was just a day like any other.

I was a bit jealous that they'd given him a new ear. I'd gotten half my pinkie bitten off once and they'd told me to walk it off.

Pete had been the one to stand up for me and get my pinkie back. Thankfully it hadn't been fully digested yet.

“You're zoning out again.” Pete’s voice was sharp.

He'd moved from the door to the coffee table without me realising.

“Ah, damn, sorry.” I smacked the sofa. “Heck, I’m a terrible friend. I'm surprised you want to look at me after that mess.”

“Actually, it turned out to be a good thing for me.” Pete smiled and waved his hand.

Across from myself a chair appeared, incredibly plush with real leather upholstery.

“What— They gave you—” I stammered in surprise and the words caught in my throat.

“A pocket dimension small enough to fit in my pocket. The irony isn't lost on me.” Pete flashed me a grin. “For all the hard work I've been doing. Plus, they even gave me a promotion.”

A flash of surprise crossed my heart.

Not only had he gotten a full healing, but also a promotion?

“Who'd you boink?” I raised an eyebrow at him.

He choked as he heard my words, coughing to clear his throat. He plopped down onto the chair and raised a hand, a crystal glass appearing in his fingers.

There was wine inside it.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“I got here on my own merits. Doing the tough jobs that I needed to do.” He tapped the side of his head with his free hand and smiled. “Also, I gave the execs expensive presents on their birthdays.”

Damn. He'd used kindness.

The one thing I wouldn't have thought of when dealing with those psychopaths.

I took a good look at Pete. My long-time roommate and fellow employment sufferer. We’d joined the Company at the same time, so it was hard to believe there could be such a big difference in our lives.

“It doesn't surprise me. You’ve always been the kind of person to shoot for the stars.” I said. “I’m quite happy right here on the ground.”

I chuckled at his expression. It held pure contempt.

The idea of laziness had always been abhorrent to him. I think he'd die if he ever saw my carefully scheduled weekends that consisted of sleeping and lazing about.

“What position? It isn’t in Acquisitions, is it? Those guys always get eaten before their prime.” I frowned.

The Company had several sectors, each equally deadly, but as human E-tier grunts Pete and I only had three paths available to us.

Acquisitions, Armaments, and—

“Clean-up.” Pete’s tone was icy.

Ah, crap on a stick.

I gazed at my friend's cold eyes and then my sight fell down to his hand. There had been a glass before, but now something else was clasped in his fingers.

It was a gun.

“Clean-up.” I repeated his words. “That's a nice gig. No need to come face to face with the monsters.”

“We don't call them monsters. It's rude.” Pete’s expression didn't shift. “Then again, you never were good at your job.”

Ouch.

That one stung.

Clean-up was a simple section of the Company to understand. They didn't want ordinary people getting in the way, but sometimes accidents happened, and people figured out that the Company exists. Sometimes they even saw the creatures the company kept hidden from the world.

That was when they sent in Clean-up.

A single person with a smile on their face to kill off any lingering evidence that the Company missed.

“Is this because of your ear?” I spread my arms out innocently. “I swear those babies had rabies before I got to them.”

My eyes roamed across the room, my heartbeat rising. Pete hadn't shot me yet.

That was good.

“This isn't about the babies.” He pursed his lips. “They don't promote just anyone. Only the best. It just so happens that the best way to show my loyalty to the Company—”

“—is to show them that they're the top priority by killing a friend.” I finished the sentence for him. “Damn. I should have known all those stories about ex-employees were fake. Too many of them visited Disneyland. Half of them were scared of the dark, let alone a rollercoaster.”

“People don't want the truth.” He shook his head. “They want a good story. They get to live after leaving the Company, and everything is fine and dandy for the rest of their lives.

Besides, we don't kill every single employee. Just the ones we think will blab.”

My scan of the surroundings was complete. I hadn't spent four years at the Company without learning how to observe objects of use. Unfortunately, there was literally nothing that could help me.

Goosey the stuffed goose was still on the table, and several pens. But I couldn’t reach for either before Pete would barrage me with bullets.

I was armed with my wits, muscles, and determination.

In other words, I was screwed.

“Get up.” Pete motioned with his gun.

A glimmer of hope passed through me. Not because of his words, but because I'd remembered there was something I could use.

I slide my hand toward my pocket, keeping my gaze on Pete.

“Don't misunderstand.” Pete rolled his eyes at my expression. “Obviously I'm not going to kill you while you're on the sofa. I want it when you're dead.”

“You're a dick, Pete.”

The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them, but I didn't care. He'd known me since we'd been in the same major in university, and yet he was willing to shoot me based on a single order.

“And the Company can suck my nads.” I added.

A look crossed his eyes that I recognised. He thought of me as a small man. Not because of my height, but because of my lack of ambition. I'd had a job in a corporation that had its hands balls deep in the underbelly of the world. Untouchable and unassailable.

I'd taken my paycheck each month and lived my life like I didn't care. That rankled Pete more than he'd ever admit. I'd known it for years but ignored the signs.

“Yeah, I’m not going to regret this one.” Pete smiled.

Without warning I snapped my hand up, throwing the pen I'd had in my pocket straight at his eyes. Pete raised his hand to block it and winced as the tip pierced his skin. By the time he looked back at me I was halfway over the coffee table, hands aimed at his throat.

A bullet flew past my head and dug into the plaster. The gun had been completely silent.

Bastard.

I thought he'd at least hesitate.

“Trying to survive? This isn't like you.” Pete raised the gun and fired it again.

Pain exploded through my side, but I barrelled forward, smashing into Pete and knocking him off his chair. The gun flew out of his hand, and he grunted in surprise.

Then his eyes widened as I kneed him in the balls.

“You're— a real— pain.” He huffed.

His palms smacked into my head, one smashing against each ear, and I recoiled. The room swam in front of my eyes, and I raised my fist.

Then I was pushed back, my body slamming into the leather chair. My eyes widened as something rose from behind Pete, its shimmering black surface looking down at me.

It was a tendril.

Thick black liquid coalesced into a solid that pushed against my stomach.

“You're an [augmented].” I wheezed.

No wonder the Company wanted him on their side. Finding a human that was compatible with the [augmentation] process was like finding a unicorn that shat gold.

The tendril stabbed my stomach and I gasped.

“You ate one of the monsters? Aw hells Pete.” I gripped the tendril and tried to take it out of me.

It didn't work. The thing was tucked in tighter than a saw blade.

“I can't believe you actually put up enough of a fight to make me use it.” Pete stood up, brushing off his clothes as he rose. “This upgrade makes me at least D-tier. I underestimated you.”

He walked over to where the gun had fallen, the tendril expanding as he moved away from me. He got two meters away before it retracted slightly, its limits reached.

It didn't matter, he already had the gun.

“It's a pity you committed suicide after losing your job.” Pete raised the gun toward me. “I'll be sure to give you a good eulogy and tell your family you loved them.”

A single shot rang out from the pistol, this time as loud as guns usually were.

The bullet slammed into me, but the tendril kept me in place, flesh tearing as the bullet tried to force me one way and the tendril pulled me the other way.

A single whisper escaped my lips, but I wasn't sure what I'd said. I wasn't sure of anything.

Maybe it was the blood loss.

A flurry of footsteps echoed in my ears as others entered the apartment. My eyes drooped as I was surrounded, and there was a thump on the ground.

It was me. My body had fallen, and my mind hadn't realised it.

“Good work Pete.” A mechanical voice screeched against my ears, metallic and raw. “Allow me to formally welcome you to F—"

F—?

My hearing was already failing. I couldn't hear the full word.

“Glad to be here, sorry you have to take out the trash.” Pete’s voice washed over me, and I grimaced.

Something fell beside me. It was an object knocked off the coffee table by one of the Company’s men.

Goosey.

The stuffed, one-winged animal stared at me and I sighed.

I really hadn't had much to show for my time on this planet, but at least I'd gone down fighting. If I had a chance to do it again—

No. There was no use thinking like that.

A smile bloomed over my lips as my eyesight failed. I'd enjoyed my life and that was more than most could say. I heard a final slither of clothing against the carpet as they dragged my body out of my apartment.

Then the world went black.

****

“Shane. Oi. Shane. I know you're fine and can hear me.”

Shane. Right.

That was my name. I remembered now.

I groaned; my eyes unseeing. There was something pushing against them. Heat.

What happened?

Ow. My side.

“Open your eyes Shane, or else we're both screwed.”

Something smashed against my cheek, and I winced. It felt soft. Like a pillow. Then it came again, and again. Each impact sent a crack through the surroundings.

It was slapping the crap out of me.

“Okay, okay.” I spoke.

My voice came out croaky, and I coughed roughly. It hurt me to speak. I opened a single eye and saw a world of red.

Fire and melted stone crackled around me, bathing the air in waves of heat. I'd seen pictures of the hells before, at the Company, and a few of them looked eerily like this.

“It took me a lot of work to get out of that place and I won't have you bollocking it up by gawking at the pretty flames like a moth.”

Something stabbed at my head.

It was a beak.

I brushed it away from my head and bolted up as I realised the situation I was in. Deadly flames licked at solid stone walls, and destroyed machinery littered the ground around me.

A warehouse. One of the underground Company ones.

“What the—” my words cut off.

There was someone in front of me. No. Not someone. Something.

It was Goosey.

The stuffed animal gazed up at me, eyes blinking in consternation.

“Hello old friend.” The goose waved its one wing at me. “We have much to do.”

The memories of my encounter shot through me like the bullets had. The company had cleaned me up and they'd used my best friend to pull the trigger.

“Oh, I see.”

I stared at the stuffed animal.

“I’m dead.”