1."Well here's your problem," I pat the workstation sitting on the office drone's desk, "it appears the monitor's been gutted out and now there's a severed human head right where all the important wire-y stuff should be."
The monitor is aged beige plastic, bulky as the TV set in your grandmother's bedroom, with the human head stuffed inside bulging eyes and howling silent.
"Uh-huh," the office drone shrugs, tapping away on their phone in dollar store casual Friday khakis. It's almost 3:30 before the weekend and they've checked out sometime before lunch.
"Did you recently open any suspicious e-mails?" I ask testing the absence of a screen by waving my hand inside the monitor's frame just to the side of the screaming severed head.
"No," the office drone shrugs, hits send on their phone, rolls eyes, "maybe. I don't know."
"Yeah," I shake my head and curious lean across the desk to turn on the workstation speakers.
There's a crackle followed by the distinct wail of someone whose soul is being devoured by giant centipedes from another dimension. Just underneath that you can hear agonized prayers in foreign languages as some old timey carnival tune pipes off a calliope.
I turn off the workstation speakers and leaning up from the desk peer out over the rows of gray interlocking cubicles. "Excuse me," I shout through cupped hands, "but does anyone else have a chopped off but still very much alive human head inside their monitors?"( Collapse )