“Trevor, you were always such an asset to the team. Your quarterly figures were always at the top of the pack, and I always knew that if I had only one man to go to, YOU would always be my “go to” man.” Hollister glared at Trevor as they sat in the board room, and yet his glare and his hard words seemed to make little impact. “I don't know how you could let me down like this.”
Hollister slowly walked in a circle around Trevor, staring at the carpeting in the board room as he circumnavigated the conference table. He thought of the many times that the two of them had sat together in this very room, plotting marketing strategy and sales goals. How could his top man have gone and done this? How could everything have changed so quickly?
Hollister loosened his tie just a bit and walked in front of Trevor again. “My friend, I really hate to do this,” he said. He wondered if Trevor knew what was coming, but it would make no difference – the corporate world is unforgiving, a true dog-eat-dog environment if ever there were one.
Hollister quickly drew his 9mm and snapped two fast rounds into Trevor's forehead. The grey, partially decomposed head let out a short groan as it tumbled backwards from where it had been propped up, rolled off the edge of the table, and plopped into the leather chair that his body had formerly occupied over so many seasons. Hollister reholstered his sidearm.
“That'll teach you to eat the regional vice-president, you bastard.” Trevor wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Infection or not, we have to meet our quarterly goals.” He was speaking to an empty room at this point, he realized. He tightened the knot of his tie, smoothed his hair, and walked out of the board room. He needed to go and speak with Josh up in accounting.
I wonder if zombies have Casual Fridays?
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