Page 31 of Shrapnel

“Noah, he’s dead. He can’t consent to that.”

“Let’s see that snarky mouth of yours work when I break both your kneecaps, you abominable shit goblin.”

“Can you even reach them?”

“I swear to god, I’m going to rip your tongue off and shove it up your ass.”

“Ohh, who knew you were so kinky?”

Before Noah could turn the fight physically, Elijah clamped a hand over his mouth. His boyfriend swatted at the offensive palm, threatening to bite down but stopping just shy of actually puncturing Elijah’s skin.

“I’ll beta your next two fanfics.”

Jamie paused, his eyes widening in delight. “Deal.”

Noah pulled Elijah’s hand free, turning to stare up at him in horror. “What have you done?”

Owen crumpled his third energy drink of the day and tossed the can into the recycling bin behind him.

Another fallen soldier, he thought as he turned back to his screen.

The shitty chair squealed as he turned, and he felt his eye twitch at the sound. The label on the chair said, ‘Miller Herman Furniture’ which was undoubtedly a front for the tenth circle of hell because no one besides Satan could have designed something so uncomfortable.

It started out fine. Not exactly the most luxurious chair he had ever sat in, but he was young and adaptable.A team player.But as the day went on it slowly slid down until his forehead was level with the desk and he had to reach up to type on his keyboard. No problem. He was resourceful. He could fix that. How hard could it be?

Not that hard, really.

As long as you could get through the booby traps.

The designer—aka Satan’s merry band of demon furniture makers—thought it was a great idea to put this chair together with an off-brand of Allen Wrench that was only available in the southern region of Slovakia.

But that was fine, their customer service was top-notch.

As long as you spoke Czech or Slovak.

So, the official parts for Chair of Satan were a no-go. That’s fine. He could rig something up. That’s what college-educated young people did, right? Owen was nothing if not resourceful. He had put himself through school, managed to survive a gang war unscathed, and landed a job at his dream company. He could do this.

Except that he couldn’t.

The chairbites.

Tab A only went into slot B once it was properly lubricated with the blood of its victims. The metal pipes grabbed and pinched skin with an alarming success rate. He was tempted to call the Weavers and give them a new method of torture.

By the third week at his job, Owen had been soundly defeated by The Chair of Satan and had surrendered. With band-aids around his fingers, he suffered through the terrible lumbar support and change in elevation with as much grace as someone with no seniority in a company could.

But this wasfine.This was what he wanted.

A job right out of school was almost unheard of. Most graduates had to cut their teeth in shitty electronic repair shops and at home tech support until they could finally get a job in game design. Which was why he didn’t pay much attention when he submitted his application. It was more to check a box, say he did it, rather than actually expecting to get the job. Two days later he got the call that he could start ASAP.

Owen knew it would be tough. Everyone started at the bottom. There would be endless days of slogging through code and doing the grunt work for the team. But there were perks—he got his own cubicle and a fancy mousepad from the company’s most famous game.

It was about as far from his terror-filled time with the Weavers as possible. He hadn’t seen, heard, or smelled anyone dying in months. No one had emptied their pockets and pulled out a handful of spent shells mixed with molars (Jamie) or gently laid a hand covered in what he assumed was brain matter on his forehead and asked if he was feeling well (Elijah). He wasn’t locked in a tiny safe house with the oldest man alive, and everyone here blinked with regularity.

This was everything he wanted. Everything he promised his parents he would achieve when he left home.

Owen just thought it wouldfeelbetter.

Wasn’t achieving your goals supposed to be fulfilling? It’s not as if he expected a movie training montage to span over his achievements leading up to his final keystroke or anything, but still. Shouldn’t he be on cloud nine?