Time for the penultimate snip of Gutsy Gus.
I . II . III . IV . V . VI
Gus looked up from his terminal, squinting down at the office. There were fewer people in the office than usual, even for the graveyard shift. Everyone who
was there was busy at their desks. There was no speaking, no joking, just ceaseless typing.
"Kind of quiet in here, huh?" Gus asked the woman at the desk to his right.
She made no response, clicking frantically. The screen showed a parade of PRT case files and threat assessments, each one being laboriously saved to backup files on a removable drive.
Gus cleared his through. "Everyone sure is busy. Is it that observer, Miss. Whatsit--Pryce? Is it a shakedown?"
The woman ignored him, continuing her backups.
"Well!" Gus gave an annoyed snort and sat back at his desk.
His latest collar had gone completely unremarked. No fake congratulations, no hollow compliments for the easy take-down. Paul didn't even seem to be around.
If there was government scrutiny on the department, then that could explain it. Nobody wanted to be overheard sabotaging teamwork for a cheap laugh.
"If they're doing an audit, you ought'a tell me!" Gus said. There was no reply.
He shook his head angrily and unlocked his desk drawer, a suspicion growing in his mind. It'd be just like Paul to get the others to keep him in the dark, let his often poor paperwork get him in trouble with no warning. He pulled a pile of folders from the drawer and started going through his files for the last week.
Glitterman's file was all in order. So was Mindiac's, paperwork always had to be spotless on Thinker arrests. He'd only just finished processing Buster so the details were fresh in his mind. He slapped at his pocket and realized he still had the Containment access card in his pocket, that'd have to go back before the end of his shift.
Most of his work turned out to be in good order, but when he opened the file to review Wilhelm's arrest documents, his eyebrows drew together. Someone had vandalized the documents, doodled all over them.
There were little sketches of hearts all over every page. Some of them had arrows stuck through them, others had Wilhelm's name written in the center. On the back of the last page there was even a sketch of Wilhelm leaning over to kiss Gus' cheek. It was pretty well done, which somehow made it worse.
Gus scowled. His fist closed around the last page, crumpling it into a ball.
Jokes were one thing, gossip and cruel words were ultimately harmless, but this was his official paperwork. If someone had found it, his career would have been on the line.
He gathered up the papers and stood furiously.
"Who did this?" Gus asked, waving his fistful of paperwork at the woman at the next desk.
She ignored him.
"Oh, very mature!" he groused. "Well, we'll see what the director thinks about it!"
Gus turned and marched for the elevator. He could feel his face reddening. He felt angrier than he'd ever been. Even after Janet had left. Even after she'd taken the damn dog.
He went up two floors, then marched down twenty feet of corridor, towards the door that stood alone. He banged his knuckles on the door to the director's office, ignoring the flashes of pain that accompanied the loud rapping. There was an odd sound from inside, a squeaky vocal sound, But Gus wasn't going to be deterred.
He waited only a second before grabbing the handle and pushing against the door. He put all his indignation into the push, and the it flew open, banging against the filing cabinets behind the doorway in the office.
He raised the handful of papers, took in a deep breath to power his tirade, and then choked on it.
The scene that greeted him wasn't what he'd expected. It wasn't what he wanted. It was
wrong.
The first thing to meet his eyes was the director's face. She wore an alarmed, guilty expression. Her mouth was open in a perfect 'o' shape, and her eyes were wide. She was standing at one end of the desk, holding Paul's arms down on the surface with her considerable weight.
Paul was stretched across the desk, his shirt drawn up around his chest, and at first Gus thought had caught them
in flagrante, but two things spoiled that theory.
The first was the white-faced look of terror on Paul's face, his eyes mad and pleading as he looked up at Gus. He'd been the source of the sound, Gus realized, a panicked scream made around a cloth gag.
Gus swallowed hard and looked down at the
other inconsistency, something his mind didn't even want to process.
Standing behind the desk was Miss Pryce, the government observer. In one hand she held a short but wickedly sharp knife, and in the other was an
enormous insect. It looked like a cockroach, if cockroaches ever grew to the size of rats.
The creature squirmed and writhed in the Miss Pryce's grip, a dozen legs twitching, and as Gus watched she slashed casually at Paul's exposed stomach and pushed the crawling insect
into the wound.
Paul screamed, thrashing against the desk and against the director's grip, but only for a second or two. He quieted quickly, becoming placid, then turned calm gray eyes up on Gus.
"Take him," Miss Pryce said, glancing at Gus then turning to the director. "We'll have to waste a unit on him after all."
Gus swallowed the bile rising from his gut, turned on his shaking legs, and ran.
