But you don't stop there. Having hollered wildly into the mic that there was something, repeat something moving down there, the place where the camera is lodged.
Three months you've waited silently in your grubby, slapped-together hovel of a workplace, just waiting for the opportunity to prove yourself.
Even more silently than before, the cold coffee's caffine slowly drifting to your dulled synapses, the adrenaline beginning to rush through your veins.
You softly pad out of your mish-mashed office and down the corridor...
grasping the rubber grip of your pistol, you creep slowly into the room. "Hands up or I'll shoot!" The intruder turns around, hands in their pockets, and as you squirt water at their chest, you know you've made a grave mistake.
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