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LLAMTECH HEADQUARTERS
Austin, TX 5:02PM CST

Darkness. Tight, smothering, inescapable darkness.

Jackie Garcia gave the slightest hint of fidgeting, hoping to figure out just how much of a predicament she was in tonight. The blindfold always went on first-the mistress liked to keep things a surprise as the evening unfolded. From what she could tell, tonight’s “entertainment” was some sort of straight jacket, as her arms crossed over her chest did little to allow any movement when she tried to lower them. Plush straps coiled around just about every part of her in an effort to affix her to a chair-her chest, torso, thighs, knees, and ankles were all completely still. Leaning forward in the chair showed her that her head was also affixed by a strap.

Miss O’Mara was really going for inescapable tonight, huh?

“How does it feel, cher?” A warm, feminine voice behind her asked.

The aforementioned Juliana O’Mara gently ran a cold hand across Jackie’s cheek-at least, the part of the cheek that was still exposed. About two inches worth of thick muzzle felt wrapped around the immobile secretary’s face, leaving their physical contact somewhat limited.

“Mmhfffhpphhhhh....”

“Comfy? Goooooood..” O’Mara cooed as the sound of her footsteps moved around the blindfolded girl. Jackie had become surprisingly good at sensing her mistresses movement, even when her senses were deprived. Suppose that’s what nearly a year of being the CEO’s personal..*ahem* administrative assistant will do to you. Sure, she was extremely resistant to the arrangement at first, seeing as she was, you know, kidnapped and forced to fill the role-but the perks had been substantial. There were the usual corporate kickbacks-parking, loose attention paid to expenses,luxury accommodations for travel and hotels, and the lovely little office right in front of the CEO’s own. But there was a certain presence she had now-people knew who she was. More over, nobody seemed to say ‘no’ to her, let alone give her grief over anything. If she needed a conference room open, whatever engagement that previously had it was promptly canceled. If the elevator was out of order when she left for lunch, a maintenance tech almost always seemed to be “just passing by” who could fix it. Everyone was just too damn polite when she entered a room. It was incredible.

Of course, the reason for her notoriety was not a mystery to her. Apparently, most secretaries for Miss O’Mara barely lasted longer than a few months. Which was a shame for those girls, because if all you had to do was play along with the twisted BDSM games of one of the most powerful individuals in the tech industry, this job was having it made.

Jackie realized the vaguely “Fifty Shades”-ish nature of that last thought, but shrugged it off as she felt the straps on her jacket tighten. O’Mara’s nails rode through her pet’s raven hair, a soft inhalation of her scent being heard behind her.

“Mhhhhffmhhhhhhh....” Jackie moaned playfully.

“Oh, you know you’re my favorite, pretty girl..” The CEO whispered, a hint of a smile in her voice. “No need to put on a show for me...”

Firm hands gripped Jackie’s shoulders from behind the chair as she let out a soft squeal into the muzzle.

“Just kidding, of course. You know I love it when you squirm for me, pet..”

The writhing secretary gently squirmed against her boss as O’Mara’s long arms reached around her prey, chest pressing up against the back of the girl’s head. Her mistress’ warm embrace made the girl feel strange-on one hand, it was like the comfort of being in the arms of a gentle lover one had known for a long time. On the other, a dangerous excitement crept up into her chest-the kind of joyous restlessness you get during the spontaneous first weeks of a relationship, where every touch, every glance, every time they say your name fills your whole being.

God, Jackie loved her job.

Nails playfully dragged along her nylon-clad thighs, moving up to her hips. O’Mara tightened her grip.

“Red nylons, hmm?” The CEO’s fingers danced down Jackie’s legs. “Now, what would be the occasion? That’s not usually one of your colors...”

Jackie moaned playfully into the muzzle, delighting in teasing her mistress.

“No, really, Jackie dear.” O’Mara’s voice had the same sensual purr to it, but she was genuinely curious. “You know I hate surprises. Do you, I don’t know, have a date tonight? Did I miss Secretaries Day?”

The muzzled moans turned a little more confused as Jackie raised an eyebrow. Good lord, was Juliana O’Mara really this clueless? Red nylons, the blouse with snowflakes, and the mistletoe broach?

“Mhhh chhrrmmhhhhsssh mhhhhhgffhh?...”

“Ah, yes. I probably need to remove that. Sorry to ruin the mood, sweetheart.” O’Mara unbuckled the muzzle, and slid off the blindfold.

“It’s Christmas, m’am?” Jackie awkwardly laughed-the kind of chuckle reserved only for retail work.

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s December 10th.”

“Well, Yeah! But you know how it is! It’s all about the lead upto Christmas! The lights, the decorations, the colors, goodwill, and all that!”

“-The same eight songs on the radio since 1955, yes, I’m aware, Jackie.” O’Mara gave a sarcastic smile. “I’ve nothing against Christmas! It just sneaks up on me every year. My brain just continues to think it’s May of 2011, and these holidays just soar by!”

Jackie gave a surprisingly empathetic smile to her boss. “Maybe try slowing down this year? Just get into the spirit of things! It would mean a lot to everyone to see LlamTech really step it up for Christmas. You know how rough a year it’s been-everyone is super into all the holly jolly this time around.”

“Was it that bad of a year? I really hadn’t done much fretting over day to day matters.” O’Mara leaned against the desk in front of the chair rig and cracked a smile. “That’s what I pay you for, isn’t it?”

Jackie gave the retail laugh at first, thinking the remark a joke.

An awkward silence.

“I’m serious, Jackie. Was it a rough year? Did David Bowie die again, or something?” O’Mara thought deeply for a moment, trying to remember the last few months. “I had noticed everyone being a little more dour, I suppose?”

Jackie then realized, oh, god, she genuinely has no idea.

“I recall some fretting over the petroleum market earlier in spring, but it certainly wasn’t anything I lost sleep over. It wasn’t as though our shares really took a hit.”

Suddenly, the CEO stood up to her full height, biting her lip. Something had shifted gears in her head. “Oh, no. Oh no no no no.”

“What’s, uh..what’s the matter, m’am?”

“Jackie, did we ever discuss Project Sigma?”

“I...No, I don’t th-“

“No, of course we didn’t. Too high of a security risk.” She buried her forehead in her palm and groaned loudly. “I Suppose it’s not a big deal anymore.”

“I’m not sure I understand, Miss O’Mara?”

Juliana O’Mara leaned back against the desk and threw her head back, letting out a sigh. “Remember that little flu that was going around in January? We had a vaccine ready to go, and we just..” she tried to explain wildly with her hands in a very Sicilian manner, “uggghh, time just got away from me! Other projects came up, new product lines go introduced, we had that whole debacle with the government of Luxembourg and...and that little bit went to the wayside, and never went public, and we meant to just... I forgot! Oopsie, I suppose. Good thing the whole thing just sort of went away back in March!”

“.....”

“Jackie, sweetie, why so quiet?”

The girl in the straight jacket perked back up, genuinely trying to act as though she didn’t hear that. “Nothing! Just umm..remembered I needed to make a few stops for Christmas shopping!”

O’Mara had already forgotten what they were talking about and crossed over to unbuckle the restraints. “Oh, lord, of course! Off with you then!”

If it was unsettling how fast the restraints came off now, one should see how fast Juliana O’Mara could slap them on. Within seconds, the strait jacket fell loose over the girl’s body, the straps over her limbs already removed. The CEO pulled her secretary to her feet, balancing her as she tottered on her burgundy heels for a moment.

“Jackie-do we usually hold some sort of Christmas....shindig?”

The younger girl straightened her red nylons and looked up at her mistress-a little confused. Was O’Mara really so far removed from everything? Every year, LlamTech poured a disgusting amount of money into the most lavish Christmas, and for some reason Bastille Day, parties imaginable. Had she really not seen all the garland, lights, trees, and, to a lesser extent, tiny French flags all over the place and not thought ‘how much did all this cost’?

“Y-yes m’am! Every year, actually.” Jackie treaded carefully. “Have you-...have you never actually gone to one?”

O’Mara didn’t even acknowledge the question, and instead placed a hand under her chin and began to think to herself. The woman turned towards the massive window behind her desk and looked down upon the sweeping view of the LlamTech campus, all decked in its regular holiday finery.

Holiday finery that, for the first time, she actually noticed.

“You know what Jackie? I think we shall have some extravagant holiday splendor this year. Seeing as we’ve never celebrated it before, I intend to make this the grandest workplace party the world has ever seen!” The CEO turned to her secretary with a flourish, her dress swirling around her. “YOU, my dear, get to be in charge of it! I want you to spare NO expense. Fountains, enormous trees, live entertainment, bartenders EVERY ten feet. LlamTech’s very first annual holiday party will be one for the AGES!”

It wasn’t exactly new for Jackie’s words to be completely ignored by her boss-in all truth she was usually brutally ballgagged or muzzled in her presence, so any semblance of speaking privileges after work hours was pretty neat.

“You can count on me, Miss O’Mara!” Jackie stood up straight, completely unaware of the disheveled nature of her outfit after the night’s activities. She was fully prepared to about face and get to work with her blouse unevenly unbuttoned and skirt riding up. “I’ll make this the most aggressive display of Christmas cheer you’ll ever lay eyes on!”

She was going to make her boss proud. Whatever it took, this years Christmas party would be the most gargantuan, overly-stuffed, frilly, disgusting, raunchy, and simultaneously soft Christmas party there ever was.

“Get at it, kitten.” O’Mara chuckled as she smacked Jackie’s ass out the door. “Remember, spare NO expense. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

It was terrifying to think what would happen if she fucked this up.

.....................................

“Adrianne barred me from the LlamTech Christmas party.”

Two girls sat outside on the patio of the Texspresso Coffee Shop. Sure, it was the middle of December-but Texas had already used up its four days of cold weather for the year the month before. Unamused, defeated, and barred from the mother of all Christmas parties, Ashley Hamrick took a sip of her decaf flat white. Once “Holidays That Don’t Suck” season began with Halloween, the last thing she needed was to be strung out on even an ounce of caffeine. Especially now.

“Yeah, she mentioned that. Honestly, I want to side with you on this Ash- but you definitely did that to yourself. “ Spencer Wallace kicked back in her seat, snug in full winter gear for the frigid 68 degree weather. “Can’t go breakin’ into anyone’s workplace to try and dig up conspiracy theories and expect to be invited back.”

“Spence, don’t tell me you agree with her!”

“Nahhh, I didn’t say you were wrong! I just don’t think you should be expectin’ an invite.” The brunette leaned forward and gave a wry smile. “Fuck those creeps at LlamTech and whatever freaky Frankenstein shit they’ve got going on over there.”

“Except Adrianne.”

“EXCEPT Adrianne.”

Seeing as Ashley’s one “in” to LlamTech had (probably rightfully so) refused to even let her set foot on campus, she would have to find another way in. The commotion from a Christmas party meant that she could get into the labs without much attention being drawn to her. Nobody would be scanning ID cards, or even remembering anyone’s name if the number of bartenders was to be believed. This was her chance to get back into those lower levels and figure out what the hell she saw in the labs all those months ago. Sure, everyone was familiar with the security robots-but this was something far more..sinister. Rows of bloodstained operating tables, surrounded by implements meant to rip and tear the human body. If Ashley hadn’t dealt with some of LlamTech’s more unsavory creations, she could have probably written the sight off as a medical wing that had recently seen some action. Wrestle with enough heavily armed bots with the company’s name on them, though, and you start to be unable to give them the benefit of the doubt.

If she could just get something tangible from those labs-something more than just photos-she could have a real argument that LlamTech was up to something. Her streams and her Twitter had already branded her as a conspiracy spouting lunatic with a penchant for fetish escapades-and she had to do something to turn that around. Nobody was going to capture her this time. She would get into the lab, steal whatever damning evidence she could that proved what she saw was real, and get the hell out of there-security drones be damned.

The two girls sat in silence. Ashley fidgeted in her seat a bit, clearly working up to courage to say something.

“Hey, Spence? I know this might be touchy, but..um..” Ashley crossed her arms, tilting her head to the side as she tried to phrase this. “Yeah, you know what? I’m gonna be straight with this. Can I borrow the gun?”

Spencer’s eyes widened in a way that said the audacity of this bitch!

“Errrm..Well, first off, Ash-can we kinda’ not call it the gun? That sorta’ creates a communal aspect of shared ownership that I’m not all that comf’rtable with.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah-can I borrow YOUR gun. I’m not taking any chances with LlamTech.”

“Hun, it’s a Christmas party that you’re crashing. Please don’t bring a gun, let alone MY gun.”

Ashley planted her palms on the table. “Pleeeeeease, Spence! Killer robots! Security goons! You wouldn’t let me go on an investigation unarmed, would you?”

Spencer rolled her eyes. “You’ve gone on every one so far without packin’ heat, no reason for you to start. “ she took a moment, trying to phrase her next thought gently. “You’re what my dad would call one ah’ those ‘gentle types’. When it comes down to it, I don’t think you’d have the heart to pull the trigger on somethin’-even if it was a soulless monolith on treads that wouldn’t think twice about killin’ ya.”

“That is NOT true! Remember how metal it was when I kicked the shit out of those bots last year to rescue you and Adrianne on Halloween?” Ashley mimed using a chainsaw, “I’m a hardened badass now! I wear leather!”

The leather really only serves to cement your status as a streamin’ fetish model ,Spencer thought, but thought better than to say it out loud.

“You sure are, sweetie.” The southern belle finished her tea. “But remember how much you cried watching ‘The Iron Giant’? Hell, you cried durin’ that ’Sonic the Hedgehog’ movie Jenna made us watch.”

“That’s not fair-I was REALLY happy he found a friend. They were tears of joy, and I refuse to-“

“Point is, Ash, you’re too good of a person! Ain’t nothing wrong with that! In fact, I wish there were more people like you that didn’t have the guts to shoot a robot!”

Ashley stretched her arms over the table, pleeeeeaaading with her her friend.

“Spence, I’m ready for this! I just don’t want this to go so far south that I’ve got no way out.” She held her friend’s hands as if to ask a favor from the Godfather. “Even if it’s got just one round in it. I know you take this seriously, and I PROMISE I won’t use it unless things go very, very, very, very, very, very, VERY sideways. Please.”

Spencer delicately put Ashley’s hands down, a little taken aback by the sudden entreaty. Her friend’s green eyes were pitifully aimed up at her-and despite her reckless track record, she was going to be in danger.

“Let me just state upfront that this is EXTREMELY irresponsible.” She reached behind her back. “But you ain’t gone this far into the belly of the beast before.”

Spencer delicately held her handgun beneath the table-not breaking eye contact with her friend.

“Don’t make me regret this, ya hear? I’m only doing this so you can get what you need and get OUT of there. No more breakin’ into LlamTech after this, yeah?”

Ashley respectfully took the gun and, knowing who was watching, made a a show of checking to ensure the safety was on. “I...sort of.. can’t promise on that last part! But I promise this thing is only a last resort.” The blonde tucked the SR9 into her inner jacket pocket.

“Now don’t you dare pull that thing on another human bein’ unless you intend to use it.”

Ashley gave a Boy Scout’s salute. “I hope I never need it, girl. But you’re giving me peace of mind-and I thank you. Really.”

Spencer nodded quietly-a nod that said ”please don’t making me regret this.”

“While yer’ down there-see if you can’t grab me a souvenir.” The cowgirl got up to leave. “I’ve been reeeaaaallly wantin’ one of those duct-tape cannons I saw on them bots.”

“Shit, for you, Spence? I’ll get three.”

.............................,
LLAMTECH HEADQUARTERS
Austin, Tx 6:11PM CST
Snaking through the LlamTech plaza, Ashley found herself fortunate enough to not recognize anybody in the crowd. It was probably for the better-at best, she’d run into Adrianne who would probably pick her up over her head and throw her out of here and never speak to her again. At worst, her antics at this place could have already moved her past a familiarity with security and had been taken note of by folks higher up the corporate ladder-which definitely would result in anything from a lawsuit to death and/or dismemberment.

On the scale of “Horrible Outcomes for the Night”, it was interesting to note that being apprehended by LlamTech security bots was only a middle-grade fate. Five or six years ago, Ashley might have been intimidated by the prospect. But not anymore. The catch-and-release nature of those things was generally bearable. Sure, the methods of incapacitation-which included full mummification in duct tape, six inch handcuffs, knockout toxins, suppression slime, brute force, and simply tasing-were a little brutal. But once you were caught, their programming treated you the way someone would a lizard in their home-scoop you up, put you outside, and leave. For all their imposing features-monolithic metal bodies, all terrain tank treads, a veritable arsenal of mechanical tendrils, and singular glowing red eyes-these things were relatively harmless.

The IGII robots she’d encountered were really glorified bouncers. She could handle that.

“First law of robotics, right?” Ashley muttered to herself, remembering something Adrianne mentioned when trying to convince her that the machines she worked on were harmless. “A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human to come to harm”

The comfort those laws brought was only temporary-as a quick google search later showed Ash that those laws were made up by a science fiction author who had never created any robots with the capacity to kill. Hell, those wouldn’t exist for at least another sixty years from his time.

Fiction made for poor comfort. If she ever found herself in another life-and-death scenario and someone said “Don’t worry, we’re fine, according to the laws of the universe in Harry Potter as long as we eat chocolate, this thing legally can’t kill us!” she would close her eyes and prepare for oblivion.

Fortunately, this was where “Big Iron” came in. Nothing bad every happened to anybody carrying a gun in fiction. Ashley patted the inside of her jacket to feel the Ruger SR9 neatly zipped inside-her great equalizer for the evening. Spencer might have been reluctant to loan her a firearm for a Christmas party, but dammit, Ashley was going to prove her wrong. If it really came down to it, she would be able to pull the trigger on those tin monsters. She was hard now.

Her internal monologue was shattered by the shrill feedback of a nearby sound check on one of the many stages set up for the evening. Yet another band was getting ready for a set-one of probably seven or eight that had to be going on at the same time on the expansive campus.

Jesus, there’ve been full-on music festivals with less acts going on, Ash thought to herself.

Hell, Disneyland probably didn’t have this level of opulence in any given day. As the blonde finally took a moment to look up, one’s gaze couldn’t go a few feet without seeing a man or woman in full dress attire handing out drinks, various holiday snacks, or door prizes. This was all compounded by an even more lavish display of Christmas decoration the likes of which, again, Disneyland could not even hope to compete with. While most extravagant parties of this nature are content with a singular two or three story tree-the whole campus was adorned with them. Each was wrapped in enormous glass baubles and vibrant LED lights, the kind that sort of stagger in your vision when you walk past them. Garland grew around nearly every lamppost and bit of signage, with gaudy giant ornaments filling up any bit of negative space on the LlamTech grounds. If there was any room left after all that, nearly each corner of cobblestone pathway had yet another six foot tree adorned with the usual tinsel, ornaments, and lights.

God, the whole experience was claustrophobic. Ashley inhaled deeply and tried to take a step back mentally-just trying to feel a little smaller. Trying to feel like she was supposed to be here as she made her way towards the main building. It was going to be about another 300 yards before she got there, and there was plenty of crowd to work through.

FUCK, how many people did this place employ?

The girl smiled as she walked past a worker with a tray dotted with small Christmas cocktails-politely grabbing two tall shot glasses filled with a red drink garnished with holly. She feigned looking for someone, as if the second drink was for a friend-and promptly slammed them both back and discarded the plastic glasses in the bin.
Shaking out her nerves, her eyes moved to the central building-a roughly twenty story glass high rise, topped with a dome that looked almost too much like a dour robotic face-clearly designed by whoever put together the Legion of Doom headquarters. Sitting in front of all that was the central plaza of LlamTech-the final bastion to get through to the building. Security was a little heftier there, if for no other reason than to keep track of who was joining the party inside. People were still moving freely in and out-but there was no doubt somebody was keeping tabs on the attendees.

It’s not like this was a security tech company or anything.

There had to be a way to reduce suspicion as she entered. Since she was dressed in her usual indigo leather jacket and skirt digs, it was going to be a little harder to go for the “FBI on unofficial business” route. The “Health Inspector” routine probably wouldn’t work all that well either. Something had to have a normal appearance at a party this extravagant.

Ashley copped a seat on a nearby bench, catching glances of the scene between pretending to look at her phone. Looking up, she watched the flurry of artificial snow scatter the lights that began to wash the place with a warm glow as dusk fell. The “snow” was piling pretty heavily throughout the festivities-making for quite the lively winter wonderland. It was WHERE it was beginning to pile that really caught her attention, though.

Nearest to her, a white van with a vast assortment of antennae and radar equipment was taking on a small flurry on account of being parked right in front of one of the blowers. “AUSTIN KTEX LOCAL NEWS” was emblazoned in bright graphics on the side. Parked next to this van were several others. “HOUSTON LOCAL 5”, “BATON ROUGE 8”, “LAKESIDE EYEWITNESS 13” and others were all sitting in a row.

“News crews, huh?”Ashley leaned back and casually scoped out the attendees. As she had become more comfortable with streaming her escapades, verbal narrations to herself sort of became the norm. “Not just local, either. Lots of out-of-state crews too. Suppose this whole shindig is big news when you’re looking for something a little less miserable to put on the air.”

Now that she noticed it, the whole place had been dotted with various members of the press. Photographers catching their usual Christmas portfolio pictures, local news broadcasters reporting live from the scene, and any number of nationwide print publications experiencing the scene for themselves, taking notes and conducting interviews to bring back home to tell the story of this whole grotesquely ornate affair.

She had found her “in”.

Looks as though we’re going with the “Peter Parker” route tonight. Ashley grinned softly.

She pulled one of the many zippers on her jacket to retrieve an old badge lanyard. Sure, it was her old “Hot Topic” name badge from when she worked there during High School, but who was looking? As long as you had a badge and a “reason” to be where you were, the plan was flawless, right? Standing back up, she straightened herself out to look as “engaging” as possible. Chin up, notepad out, and a thoughtful expression. She watched the gathered reporters intently, trying to pick up the little bits of authenticity that make the act a little more believable-and prepared for a storied career as a compulsive liar to do the rest.

Ashley’s attention centered in on one reporter-another blonde girl, probably around her age, simply enamored with a tall, dark, and brooding subject she was interviewing. Looking extremely well put together, she wore a black tank beneath a slightly translucent evergreen blouse. Her hair was neatly tied up in a French bun that complemented a smiling freckled face with amorous grey eyes. A red pencil skirt accentuated her long legs, coming down to a pair of burgundy flats with little bows on the tips.

The man before her was one of those old “Sam Elliott” Texas types. Long, deep drawl to his voice that suggested he had dealt with the worst, but a twinkle in his eye that hinted that he had seen the best. The kind that wore weathered leather jackets and old Stetsons to Christmas parties, and loved nothing more than making a beautiful woman feel comfortable, safe, and appreciated.

Ashley usually assumed these men were violent charletans with ulterior motives. Cowboys in Texas were...well, non-existent.

“So you’re telling me this editor a’ yours makes a gorgeous girl like you huff on down here for what? A little holiday office party?” The man dug his thumbs behind an ornate gold belt buckle (of course), and tilted his head forward with a dry smile in a way that only southern gentlemen with large hats do. “Darlin’, I’ve been talking to you for two minutes, an’ I gotta say you’re wastin’ your time. This is a triflin’ affair-a silver-tongued beauty shouldn’t have to waste time talkin’ with slow but well-meanin’ folk such s’myself. Shouldn’t there be a state senator or congressman worth your talents you should be interviewin’? I hear Arturo Morales is hanging round here if you’re lookin’ for big oil boys.”

The girl in the pencil skirt laughed-cocking a warm smile up at the man. “Just so you know, cowboy-I’m totally on to your flattery.” The man grimaced, worried he had hit a nerve with the young lady. Her tone then lightened. “And for whatever reason, I am loving every second of it. I’m sure you tell all that to every girl who comes in from New York.”

“Well, don’t that beat all? Awful long way from home ain’t ya, Miss...?”

“Carter. Becky Carter. Manchester Daily Times. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She held out her hand to shake his, to which the man gently held and kissed it.

“Miss Becky Carter!” The man’s bristled mustache rose with a smile. “The pleasure is all mine. Arthur J. Bellvue, at your service.”

“You seem to be quite the Dixie gentleman, Mr. Bellvue!” Becky wrote his name down, marking everything from his physical description to his little speech inflections. “So much so that an extravagant corporate office party doesn’t seem like the kind of place one would find you at. What exactly brings you to LlamTech today?”

“I assure you it’s ain’t exciting, Miss Carter-I dabble in a little bit of electrical design for these yahoos at LlamTech, so naturally I got an invite. Nothing worth discussin’, really.”

Ashley watched as the man tipped his hat, basically on cue.

Jesus, this guy had to be an actor. Nobody acted like this! The other girl, it seemed, was thoroughly charmed by it.

Idiot.

“Not worth discussing?” the reporter crossed her arms, a little bit of cheekiness coming out. She stepped closer. “I did my research on these guys before coming down-everything from cloud computing to pharmaceuticals is in LlamTech’s portfolio. Only somebody with some some pretty big status around here would say something like that! What exactly is it you work on?”

Arthur J. Bellvue blushed-be it as it may, he might have been just as flustered with Miss Carter as she was with him.

“Well, if you absolutely gotta know, miss-I was one of the engineers that developed their optic camouflage tech.” Bellvue put his hands on his hips before wincing a little-he clearly hated talking about himself at length. “I just thought it was a nifty little bit of tech for being out at the deer lease, and her come all these yuppie tech kids tryin’ to court me to start making it for them.”

Becky’s eyes widened. Optic camouflage? She remembered something like that from playing “Halo” with her friend, Cass. Wasn’t that the power-up that turned you-?

“Invisible? You’re talking about invisible camo? You’re kidding right?”

“Awww, well it ain’t something all that marvelous, Miss Carter! It’s really only useful if yer’ sittin’ completely still. Make a loud noise, and it pretty much shuts off completely, too. Sound waves seem to scramble it pretty good. Suppose that’s probably why I’m allowed to talk about it out loud- the military folks weren’t too keen about somethin’ that’s really only good for shootin’ bucks.”

“I’m just shocked it exists, is all. I figured that would be something you would hear about? That is REAL James Bond stuff. I mean, just since you told me about it I can already imagine all the people that would want their hands on invisibility.”

Marta Alfonsi, for one. Becky thought. The mob queen was untraceable and untouchable from the law as it was-the last thing she needed was the ability to literally disappear. She already had thugs under her thumb like Violet-and that girl could move like something out of a Tom Clancy novel. Unseen and unheard until it was too late. Give her the chance to vanish into thin air?

Becky shuddered. If it was this easy to imagine how much more difficult her life would be, one could only imagine it’s consequences on the rest of the world. Bellvue seemed to notice the reporter’s subtle change in demeanor.

“That sweet honey smile a’ yours went a little sour, Miss Carter. I’m guessin’ you gave some thought as to why we keep that little parlor trick pretty well protected?” The man smiled once more-a soft grin that felt like a warm bear-hug from a favorite grandparent. Becky found it strangely comforting. “Don’t you lose any sleep over it, missy. LlamTech ain’t nothing more than another soulless corporation, but they know a thing or two about responsibility. We ain’t advertisin’ our hocus pocus on the side a’ buildings like those hooligans at Apple do in Dallas. Our legal girls made sure to lock down the rights to the stuff-nobody gets sold nothing without the CEO lady’s say-so.”

It honestly was reassuring. Becky continued to scribble down every word the man said into her notepad-almost unconscious of the action. The gentleman took notice and gently leaned forward.

“I, ah, should probably ask you to, uh, not publish anything about all that. I’m only telling ya all this because...Well,dammit, Miss Carter-you are simply a pleasant conversationalist.” He elbowed her in a good natured tease. “Besides, I like to think I can spot the folks I can trust right off the mark. They usually got a glow about ‘em. And Miss Carter-you’re a hot bed of embers.”

Becky Carter blushed.

“Now, what do ya’ say I get us a couple of eggnogs and you can ask me all the questions ya’ like for your story? I’ll try and make some good headlines for ya’. Maybe introduce you to some of the fat cats that might make for a better story”

’Hot bed of embers’?! Ashley Hamrick, a few feet away, was not as amused. Jesus, she had seen actors at Six Flags that weren’t as scripted! The belt buckle lean, the old southern drawl, the TIPPING OF THE HAT?! It was nauseating. And that idiot reporter from New York was just eating it all up.

Uugggghh.

She did pick up a good “identity”, however. “Manchester Daily Times” seemed as good a cover as any. They didn’t seem to have a news truck here, so that impressionable ditz was probably the only one here with that publication. The front made for a good way to ask questions that would ordinarily get security called on her-and she was going to make the most of it.

Ashley held her head high and made her way to the front entrance. A small congregation of guests were mingling, sipping drinks and laughing over stories from the office. The bands further away from the plaza were a low din from this distance, so an army of hidden speakers blasting ”Hooray for Santa Claus” clobbered the air instead.

It was time to make herself “blend”. Pretend to be in the midst of an interview and nobody will even bother you, right?

Hang up that mistletoe!
Soon you’ll hear ‘ho-ho-ho!

Her eyes picked out a man in his early thirties on his way through the revolving door to the main lobby, adorned with horn rimmed glasses and a Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer bow tie.

On Christmas Day you’ll wake up and you’ll say-

Jackpot. Bow ties always meant good information. Even more importantly, the guy’s LlamTech ID badge precariously hung around his belt from a lanyard-easy pickings if one wanted to swipe it.

Hooray for Santy Claus!

“Excuse me? Sir? Have a moment?”Ashley put as much obnoxious pep into her voice as she could-her best broadcast “talking head” impression.

The man was clearly annoyed-as anyone would be about being hassled by a reporter literally as you’re trying to navigate the obnoxious and inefficient novelty that was “the revolving door”. The snoop squeezed her way right behind him, trying to act as though they were already deep in conversation before entering here. Shoulder to shoulder in the little “pod” of the door, they both stumbled out, nearly tripping over each other.

In the tussle, Ashley yoinked the badge from his belt loop-zipping it into a sleeve pocket without a single eye drawn to it.

“For God’s sake, girl, is this how you pull everyone aside? Pressing up behind them in a revolving door like some maniac?” The man straightened his glasses, then took a breath. “HOW can I help you?”

“Hi! My name is..Eerrrr, uh, Laura..” Ashley’s pause was only for a second, but any longer and she would start to loose credibility to her front. “..Bush, with the Manchester Daily Times! Got a minute for an interview?”

Ashley’s fake smile remained unwavering.

You fucking idiot, how many pseudonyms have you practiced and THAT’S what you go with?

“Laura Bush?”

“No relation!” Still smiling.

“Interesting. Had a girl from that paper talk to me, like, ten minutes ago.” The man straightened his posture. “Must have a pretty large crew coming all the way down to Texas?”

“I just go where I’m told!” Ashley realized she was getting into THEY LIVE levels of chipper. Tone it down. “Anyways, what sort of projects are you working on at LlamTech?”

Coming in swingin’, Ash. Keep it up! she thought.

“What projects am I working on? What kind of a question is that? No ‘what do you think of the Christmas party’? Or ‘what’s it like working here?’” The young man scoffed. “A little forward, I’d say.”

“That’s just how we are at Manchester Daily Times! We ask the HARD questions!”

“Hard questions? Seems like a pretty ambling and pointless question. That other girl was nice conversation-hardly even realized she was interviewing me.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, she’s a fucking peach-listen, what’s your experience with some of LlamTech’s more ‘experimental’ innovations? Obviously, LlamTech’s famous for their leaps in robotics, but you guys seem to have your hands in medicine, food, weapons, transportation, and energy-to name a few. Anything wild you’ve seen on any of those fronts?”

“Yeah..sure..” the man looked around the lobby uncomfortably, hoping to see someone he knew so he could detach from this conversation. “Look, I work in accounts payable. I don’t have any ‘projects’ I’m working on. And the way you’re phrasing these questions? They sound like the sort of inquiries that would get me fired if I answered them. Why don’t you ask the CEO or somebody those ‘hard’ questions? I’m told she’s floating around here.”

Ashley continued smiling, unwavering in the face of ‘please, fuck off’. How was it so easy for that reporter girl? She literally just struck up conversation with that guy and he was already dropping sensitive company information like he had known her for years!

“The CEO, eh? What’s a girl gotta do to get a hold of her?”

What the fuck was she saying? Get nervous and you turn into 1940’s Lois Lane? Get it together!

“Yeaaaaah...Tall lady. Bright pink hair. Dresses like Voldemort? Can’t miss her.” The man began backing away from the conversation. “Might want to brush up on your tact. Just saying.”

Ashley gave an awkward chuckle. “That’s what we strive for her at the Manchester Daily Times!”

’That’s what we strive for’? Oh, god..

She would have promptly found a wall to go quietly slam her head into if she didn’t feel a looming presence at her back.

“What exactly is it we strive for at the Manchester Daily Times?” came a familiar voice from behind her.

Don’t run. Don’t run. Don’t run. Don’t run. Ashley had to remind herself. Running looks hella suspicious. Just own this.

Stuffing her fight or flight response deep down inside her, she turned around to see that girl from before-clearly not amused. If that cowboy gent from earlier saw “hot embers” in her gaze before, they were definitely freshly stoked. She hated to use such a turn of phrase, but those grey eyes were daggers.

“I don’t seem to recall Mr. Spinner sending anyone else down for this assignment. Are you one of the interns?”

Ashley extended her hand. “As a matter of fact, I am! You must be Becky! I’ve heard sooooo much about you! Didn’t he mention I would be here?”

Becky accepted the handshake, making note of how quickly this “fellow MDT reporter” pulled away.

“Welcome aboard, new girl!” She crossed her arms, making sure the skepticism didn’t show. “So what department does Spinner have you working in?”

Ashley bit her lip. Should have crafted a little more of a backstory before getting in deep, you idiot.

“I’m sort of, you know, all over the place? Being an intern they just move ya around, right?” Ashley rubbed the back of her neck. Hopefully this girl wasn’t smart enough to notice that nervous tick. “Last month I was with..Claire, in the horoscope department.”

“Claire, huh?” Becky did notice that little nervous tick. “Can’t say I’ve met her. Man, when you think you know everyone, right?

“She works from home, for the most part. I’ve only actually met her once.”

“Funny. Well, you’ve had to deal with Maggie, am I right?” She stepped closer. “She at least gave you the MDT welcome, yeah?”

STOP with the name dropping, I DIDN’T PREPARE FOR THIS.

“Aw, who hasn’t?” Ashley stood firm. “She’s great. Showed me around the place, introduced me to everyone. Real sweetheart.”

Ok, she was lying. That was pretty much all Becky needed to know this girl was full of it-Maggie Swift did not once treat an MDT intern as anything more than an annoyance.

“She sure is. I’m sure you still remember her coffee order, right?” This was an MDT rite of passage. Maggie always made sure the interns memorized her elaborate Starbucks request-going so far as to make sure they weren’t on a single assignment until they could prove themselves capable of the task. It was an exhausting little hazing ritual. “I mean, how could anyone forget, right?”

“Yeaaaaaah.” Ashley’s green eyes were twitching just a little bit. This was NOT a good time for pop quizzes.

“Just for old times sake, what is it? It’s been so long since I’ve had to do a coffee run for her.”

“I...uhm...” the imposter was shaking out the nerves. Just say whatever sounds legit with enough confidence and authority and you’re in the clear! This girl probably doesn’t even remember anyway. “Sorry, it’s been a few weeks. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it a quad espresso on ice, in a venti cup, three pumps of caramel, with a splash of cream and two stevia sugars?”

Wow-If nothing else, Becky had to give this girl credit on made-up and over-complicated coffee orders.

Still wrong.

“Hmmm...I guess she must have changed her order since I interned.” Becky once again tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. “She used to always insist on a double flat white, extra foam, extra hot, and made with oat milk-which meant you had to go to the Starbucks NOT by the MDT building, but three blocks away. “

Funnily enough, Maggie never even actually drank this stuff. She was a black coffee gal, through and through.

Ashley maintained a smile-but refused to back down from her answer. Maybe that was part of the test? Confidence was key.

“She must have changed it since you interned. Man, it took me at least three or four tries to get it right.”

Just call me Ash Silvertongue the fake MDT reporter thought.

Becky let out an exasperated sigh. This was getting old.

“For God’s sake, drop the act.” She was done with this nonsense. “How stupid do you think I look?”

Hmmm, clearly Ashley needed to brush up on the ‘ol compulsive lying.

“Truth be told, not at all!” She crossed her arms, examining the well coordinated Christmas number the reporter was wearing. “Your outfit’s killer-really festive. You need to stop being so hard on yourself.”

Becky groaned. “You are NOT with MDT, and you are clearly NOT supposed to be here!”

The real Manchester Daily Times sized up the imposter-keeping a hand ready for the taser in her purse if she needed it. She glanced down at the badge around the imposter’s neck and stifled a laugh.

“Hot Topic? What is that, a regional publication?” Becky examined the girl in front of her. A far cry from the pedigree of journalist she was used to, this girl kept her long blonde hair in a ponytail, with a dash of bangs to the side that must have been irritating as hell to deal with. A purple leather jacket paired with similar black skirt clung to her-with an almost absurd amount of zippers stitched all over them. The outfit was tied off with a tired pair of violet converse.

What was it with Becky crossing paths with girls in converse?

“Alright, jokes aside, who are you with?” Becky crossed arms-hand still ready to quietly tase and subdue. “VICE? Buzzfeed?...Eric Andre?”

Ashley placed her hands in her pockets. “Alex Jones. I’m here with InfoWars,” she responded indignantly.

Becky rolled her eyes. “Be serious with me for TWO seconds! Who the hell are you and WHY are you pretending to be a reporter? Furthermore-give me ONE good reason why I shouldn’t just report you to security!”

The other girl was silent for a moment, trying to formulate another half-assed story about her motives. This Manchester girl already knew she was a hack, but maybe if she stalled for time enough she could slip into a passing crowd and disappear? No, that would just draw attention to her and blow her cover for the main objective. Maybe if she was just honest, she might just let it go? Maybe there was no need to be so secretive about everything?

It suddenly dawned on Ashley what she was thinking. What the hell was it with this Carter girl that made people just want to tell her everything? Even John Wayne back there just casually started divulging sensitive information just on the grounds that he liked her vibe. Fortunately, Ash was no country bumpkin.

She was the wall.

Miss Carter’s endearing and comfortable personality was about to meet Miss Hamrick’s sociopathic tendencies, and there was no way that she was going to back away from her methods now. This reporter girl would have to be an idiot to think that Ashley would just break and-

“Here me out, Vicki Vale. Listen, I’m trying to break into this place. LlamTech is NOT all Christmas lights and Michael Bublé songs. There’s things going on her that you wouldn’t believe. So I’m laying low and acting natural to get into the research wing. But I need you to keep SHUT about that.” She breathed, still stretching the strain in her palm. “Human experimentation. Military grade weapons. There’s a whole lot more being built here than just security cameras and spy drones. But I’ve got to fucking PROVE it somehow.”

It was unlikely that anybody had spilled the beans on anything so quickly.

Becky Carter straightened her blouse and checked her leather watch, trying to act like she wasn’t wrestling with the idea of believing this girl’s story.

Maybe it was best to give a little more resistance and see just how much nonsense she was full of.

“Yeah, sure thing. Why don’t we go to security and let them know that you’re definitely not supposed to be here. Let them escort you out? How does that sound?”

Ashley gritted her jaw and looked over her shoulder, then back to the reporter. “Britta, Becca, Bessy, Britannia, or whatever your name is, listen-I am BEGGING you not to do that. Look, I know that I SOUND crazy right now, but this company probably knows who I am. I honestly can’t tell you how many times I’ve been apprehended by security here. I’ve been knocked out, locked down, tied up, and strapped more times than I can count. If LlamTech is doing even a tenth of what they’re rumored to be up to,” she swallowed, clearly actually nervous, “they will get rid of me without a second thought. People disappear here. The CEO has had a new, cute little secretary every few weeks up until recently-and the previous one is never seen again. I’ve seen lab tables below this building-real haunted house, gristly shit. This company is building something ugly-and I know you and everyone else think I’m some crazy, tin-foil hat conspiracy theorist-but I’ve seen it with my own eyes. And if for nothing else than my own pride, I’ve got to get to the bottom of why they seem to be cutting people open in their basement. I know you’ve got no reason to believe me, but I’m literally putting my life at risk here. These people build terminators. Missiles. Unmanned drones. Bioweapons. They’re not to be messed with.”

Becky Carter’s glare remained incredulous. This girl was very clearly unhinged to a certain degree. But there was something in her entreaty-something so very genuine. There was an investigative spirit, a steel heart! An insatiable thirst to-

Snoop.

Becky cringed at her own inner monologue. She hated that word. But try as she might to avoid it, she knew what it meant. How long did it take her to convince her friends that she had to be the driving force behind bringing Marta Alfonsi to justice? How many people called her a crazy, over-indulging reporter who should mind her own business? Hell, how many people were still doing that? She thought of her friend Erin, and her own “Marta”, Dr. Lunas. Of Sara Phillips and Mr. White who, even long after his demise and legacy as a violent career criminal, somehow still had people unsure of who was the “hero” in that dynamic.

That last one gave her pause. Was that how this chapter of her life was going to end, too? When she eventually put Marta Alfonsi behind bars-and finally put an end to her overbearing and lecherous obsession with the reporter-would there still be people who saw Becky as the villain? As some rabid reporter who wanted to ruin an “upstanding socialite’s” career to advance her own? For the headline?

Becky let out a long breath.

This girl didn’t need another enemy.

Description
LLAMTECH HEADQUARTERS
Austin, TX 5:02PM CST

Darkness. Tight, smothering, inescapable darkness.

Jackie Garcia gave the slightest hint of fidgeting, hoping to figure out just how much of a predicament she was in tonight. The blindfold always went on first-the mistress liked to keep things a surprise as the evening unfolded. From what she could tell, tonight’s “entertainment” was some sort of straight jacket, as her arms crossed over her chest did little to allow any movement when she tried to lower them. Plush straps coiled around just about every part of her in an effort to affix her to a chair-her chest, torso, thighs, knees, and ankles were all completely still. Leaning forward in the chair showed her that her head was also affixed by a strap.

Miss O’Mara was really going for inescapable tonight, huh?

“How does it feel, cher?” A warm, feminine voice behind her asked.

The aforementioned Juliana O’Mara gently ran a cold hand across Jackie’s cheek-at least, the part of the cheek that was still exposed. About two inches worth of thick muzzle felt wrapped around the immobile secretary’s face, leaving their physical contact somewhat limited.

“Mmhfffhpphhhhh....”

“Comfy? Goooooood..” O’Mara cooed as the sound of her footsteps moved around the blindfolded girl. Jackie had become surprisingly good at sensing her mistresses movement, even when her senses were deprived. Suppose that’s what nearly a year of being the CEO’s personal..*ahem* administrative assistant will do to you. Sure, she was extremely resistant to the arrangement at first, seeing as she was, you know, kidnapped and forced to fill the role-but the perks had been substantial. There were the usual corporate kickbacks-parking, loose attention paid to expenses,luxury accommodations for travel and hotels, and the lovely little office right in front of the CEO’s own. But there was a certain presence she had now-people knew who she was. More over, nobody seemed to say ‘no’ to her, let alone give her grief over anything. If she needed a conference room open, whatever engagement that previously had it was promptly canceled. If the elevator was out of order when she left for lunch, a maintenance tech almost always seemed to be “just passing by” who could fix it. Everyone was just too damn polite when she entered a room. It was incredible.

Of course, the reason for her notoriety was not a mystery to her. Apparently, most secretaries for Miss O’Mara barely lasted longer than a few months. Which was a shame for those girls, because if all you had to do was play along with the twisted BDSM games of one of the most powerful individuals in the tech industry, this job was having it made.

Jackie realized the vaguely “Fifty Shades”-ish nature of that last thought, but shrugged it off as she felt the straps on her jacket tighten. O’Mara’s nails rode through her pet’s raven hair, a soft inhalation of her scent being heard behind her.

“Mhhhhffmhhhhhhh....” Jackie moaned playfully.

“Oh, you know you’re my favorite, pretty girl..” The CEO whispered, a hint of a smile in her voice. “No need to put on a show for me...”

Firm hands gripped Jackie’s shoulders from behind the chair as she let out a soft squeal into the muzzle.

“Just kidding, of course. You know I love it when you squirm for me, pet..”

The writhing secretary gently squirmed against her boss as O’Mara’s long arms reached around her prey, chest pressing up against the back of the girl’s head. Her mistress’ warm embrace made the girl feel strange-on one hand, it was like the comfort of being in the arms of a gentle lover one had known for a long time. On the other, a dangerous excitement crept up into her chest-the kind of joyous restlessness you get during the spontaneous first weeks of a relationship, where every touch, every glance, every time they say your name fills your whole being.

God, Jackie loved her job.

Nails playfully dragged along her nylon-clad thighs, moving up to her hips. O’Mara tightened her grip.

“Red nylons, hmm?” The CEO’s fingers danced down Jackie’s legs. “Now, what would be the occasion? That’s not usually one of your colors...”

Jackie moaned playfully into the muzzle, delighting in teasing her mistress.

“No, really, Jackie dear.” O’Mara’s voice had the same sensual purr to it, but she was genuinely curious. “You know I hate surprises. Do you, I don’t know, have a date tonight? Did I miss Secretaries Day?”

The muzzled moans turned a little more confused as Jackie raised an eyebrow. Good lord, was Juliana O’Mara really this clueless? Red nylons, the blouse with snowflakes, and the mistletoe broach?

“Mhhh chhrrmmhhhhsssh mhhhhhgffhh?...”

“Ah, yes. I probably need to remove that. Sorry to ruin the mood, sweetheart.” O’Mara unbuckled the muzzle, and slid off the blindfold.

“It’s Christmas, m’am?” Jackie awkwardly laughed-the kind of chuckle reserved only for retail work.

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s December 10th.”

“Well, Yeah! But you know how it is! It’s all about the lead upto Christmas! The lights, the decorations, the colors, goodwill, and all that!”

“-The same eight songs on the radio since 1955, yes, I’m aware, Jackie.” O’Mara gave a sarcastic smile. “I’ve nothing against Christmas! It just sneaks up on me every year. My brain just continues to think it’s May of 2011, and these holidays just soar by!”

Jackie gave a surprisingly empathetic smile to her boss. “Maybe try slowing down this year? Just get into the spirit of things! It would mean a lot to everyone to see LlamTech really step it up for Christmas. You know how rough a year it’s been-everyone is super into all the holly jolly this time around.”

“Was it that bad of a year? I really hadn’t done much fretting over day to day matters.” O’Mara leaned against the desk in front of the chair rig and cracked a smile. “That’s what I pay you for, isn’t it?”

Jackie gave the retail laugh at first, thinking the remark a joke.

An awkward silence.

“I’m serious, Jackie. Was it a rough year? Did David Bowie die again, or something?” O’Mara thought deeply for a moment, trying to remember the last few months. “I had noticed everyone being a little more dour, I suppose?”

Jackie then realized, oh, god, she genuinely has no idea.

“I recall some fretting over the petroleum market earlier in spring, but it certainly wasn’t anything I lost sleep over. It wasn’t as though our shares really took a hit.”

Suddenly, the CEO stood up to her full height, biting her lip. Something had shifted gears in her head. “Oh, no. Oh no no no no.”

“What’s, uh..what’s the matter, m’am?”

“Jackie, did we ever discuss Project Sigma?”

“I...No, I don’t th-“

“No, of course we didn’t. Too high of a security risk.” She buried her forehead in her palm and groaned loudly. “I Suppose it’s not a big deal anymore.”

“I’m not sure I understand, Miss O’Mara?”

Juliana O’Mara leaned back against the desk and threw her head back, letting out a sigh. “Remember that little flu that was going around in January? We had a vaccine ready to go, and we just..” she tried to explain wildly with her hands in a very Sicilian manner, “uggghh, time just got away from me! Other projects came up, new product lines go introduced, we had that whole debacle with the government of Luxembourg and...and that little bit went to the wayside, and never went public, and we meant to just... I forgot! Oopsie, I suppose. Good thing the whole thing just sort of went away back in March!”

“.....”

“Jackie, sweetie, why so quiet?”

The girl in the straight jacket perked back up, genuinely trying to act as though she didn’t hear that. “Nothing! Just umm..remembered I needed to make a few stops for Christmas shopping!”

O’Mara had already forgotten what they were talking about and crossed over to unbuckle the restraints. “Oh, lord, of course! Off with you then!”

If it was unsettling how fast the restraints came off now, one should see how fast Juliana O’Mara could slap them on. Within seconds, the strait jacket fell loose over the girl’s body, the straps over her limbs already removed. The CEO pulled her secretary to her feet, balancing her as she tottered on her burgundy heels for a moment.

“Jackie-do we usually hold some sort of Christmas....shindig?”

The younger girl straightened her red nylons and looked up at her mistress-a little confused. Was O’Mara really so far removed from everything? Every year, LlamTech poured a disgusting amount of money into the most lavish Christmas, and for some reason Bastille Day, parties imaginable. Had she really not seen all the garland, lights, trees, and, to a lesser extent, tiny French flags all over the place and not thought ‘how much did all this cost’?

“Y-yes m’am! Every year, actually.” Jackie treaded carefully. “Have you-...have you never actually gone to one?”

O’Mara didn’t even acknowledge the question, and instead placed a hand under her chin and began to think to herself. The woman turned towards the massive window behind her desk and looked down upon the sweeping view of the LlamTech campus, all decked in its regular holiday finery.

Holiday finery that, for the first time, she actually noticed.

“You know what Jackie? I think we shall have some extravagant holiday splendor this year. Seeing as we’ve never celebrated it before, I intend to make this the grandest workplace party the world has ever seen!” The CEO turned to her secretary with a flourish, her dress swirling around her. “YOU, my dear, get to be in charge of it! I want you to spare NO expense. Fountains, enormous trees, live entertainment, bartenders EVERY ten feet. LlamTech’s very first annual holiday party will be one for the AGES!”

It wasn’t exactly new for Jackie’s words to be completely ignored by her boss-in all truth she was usually brutally ballgagged or muzzled in her presence, so any semblance of speaking privileges after work hours was pretty neat.

“You can count on me, Miss O’Mara!” Jackie stood up straight, completely unaware of the disheveled nature of her outfit after the night’s activities. She was fully prepared to about face and get to work with her blouse unevenly unbuttoned and skirt riding up. “I’ll make this the most aggressive display of Christmas cheer you’ll ever lay eyes on!”

She was going to make her boss proud. Whatever it took, this years Christmas party would be the most gargantuan, overly-stuffed, frilly, disgusting, raunchy, and simultaneously soft Christmas party there ever was.

“Get at it, kitten.” O’Mara chuckled as she smacked Jackie’s ass out the door. “Remember, spare NO expense. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

It was terrifying to think what would happen if she fucked this up.

.....................................

“Adrianne barred me from the LlamTech Christmas party.”

Two girls sat outside on the patio of the Texspresso Coffee Shop. Sure, it was the middle of December-but Texas had already used up its four days of cold weather for the year the month before. Unamused, defeated, and barred from the mother of all Christmas parties, Ashley Hamrick took a sip of her decaf flat white. Once “Holidays That Don’t Suck” season began with Halloween, the last thing she needed was to be strung out on even an ounce of caffeine. Especially now.

“Yeah, she mentioned that. Honestly, I want to side with you on this Ash- but you definitely did that to yourself. “ Spencer Wallace kicked back in her seat, snug in full winter gear for the frigid 68 degree weather. “Can’t go breakin’ into anyone’s workplace to try and dig up conspiracy theories and expect to be invited back.”

“Spence, don’t tell me you agree with her!”

“Nahhh, I didn’t say you were wrong! I just don’t think you should be expectin’ an invite.” The brunette leaned forward and gave a wry smile. “Fuck those creeps at LlamTech and whatever freaky Frankenstein shit they’ve got going on over there.”

“Except Adrianne.”

“EXCEPT Adrianne.”

Seeing as Ashley’s one “in” to LlamTech had (probably rightfully so) refused to even let her set foot on campus, she would have to find another way in. The commotion from a Christmas party meant that she could get into the labs without much attention being drawn to her. Nobody would be scanning ID cards, or even remembering anyone’s name if the number of bartenders was to be believed. This was her chance to get back into those lower levels and figure out what the hell she saw in the labs all those months ago. Sure, everyone was familiar with the security robots-but this was something far more..sinister. Rows of bloodstained operating tables, surrounded by implements meant to rip and tear the human body. If Ashley hadn’t dealt with some of LlamTech’s more unsavory creations, she could have probably written the sight off as a medical wing that had recently seen some action. Wrestle with enough heavily armed bots with the company’s name on them, though, and you start to be unable to give them the benefit of the doubt.

If she could just get something tangible from those labs-something more than just photos-she could have a real argument that LlamTech was up to something. Her streams and her Twitter had already branded her as a conspiracy spouting lunatic with a penchant for fetish escapades-and she had to do something to turn that around. Nobody was going to capture her this time. She would get into the lab, steal whatever damning evidence she could that proved what she saw was real, and get the hell out of there-security drones be damned.

The two girls sat in silence. Ashley fidgeted in her seat a bit, clearly working up to courage to say something.

“Hey, Spence? I know this might be touchy, but..um..” Ashley crossed her arms, tilting her head to the side as she tried to phrase this. “Yeah, you know what? I’m gonna be straight with this. Can I borrow the gun?”

Spencer’s eyes widened in a way that said the audacity of this bitch!

“Errrm..Well, first off, Ash-can we kinda’ not call it the gun? That sorta’ creates a communal aspect of shared ownership that I’m not all that comf’rtable with.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah-can I borrow YOUR gun. I’m not taking any chances with LlamTech.”

“Hun, it’s a Christmas party that you’re crashing. Please don’t bring a gun, let alone MY gun.”

Ashley planted her palms on the table. “Pleeeeeease, Spence! Killer robots! Security goons! You wouldn’t let me go on an investigation unarmed, would you?”

Spencer rolled her eyes. “You’ve gone on every one so far without packin’ heat, no reason for you to start. “ she took a moment, trying to phrase her next thought gently. “You’re what my dad would call one ah’ those ‘gentle types’. When it comes down to it, I don’t think you’d have the heart to pull the trigger on somethin’-even if it was a soulless monolith on treads that wouldn’t think twice about killin’ ya.”

“That is NOT true! Remember how metal it was when I kicked the shit out of those bots last year to rescue you and Adrianne on Halloween?” Ashley mimed using a chainsaw, “I’m a hardened badass now! I wear leather!”

The leather really only serves to cement your status as a streamin’ fetish model ,Spencer thought, but thought better than to say it out loud.

“You sure are, sweetie.” The southern belle finished her tea. “But remember how much you cried watching ‘The Iron Giant’? Hell, you cried durin’ that ’Sonic the Hedgehog’ movie Jenna made us watch.”

“That’s not fair-I was REALLY happy he found a friend. They were tears of joy, and I refuse to-“

“Point is, Ash, you’re too good of a person! Ain’t nothing wrong with that! In fact, I wish there were more people like you that didn’t have the guts to shoot a robot!”

Ashley stretched her arms over the table, pleeeeeaaading with her her friend.

“Spence, I’m ready for this! I just don’t want this to go so far south that I’ve got no way out.” She held her friend’s hands as if to ask a favor from the Godfather. “Even if it’s got just one round in it. I know you take this seriously, and I PROMISE I won’t use it unless things go very, very, very, very, very, very, VERY sideways. Please.”

Spencer delicately put Ashley’s hands down, a little taken aback by the sudden entreaty. Her friend’s green eyes were pitifully aimed up at her-and despite her reckless track record, she was going to be in danger.

“Let me just state upfront that this is EXTREMELY irresponsible.” She reached behind her back. “But you ain’t gone this far into the belly of the beast before.”

Spencer delicately held her handgun beneath the table-not breaking eye contact with her friend.

“Don’t make me regret this, ya hear? I’m only doing this so you can get what you need and get OUT of there. No more breakin’ into LlamTech after this, yeah?”

Ashley respectfully took the gun and, knowing who was watching, made a a show of checking to ensure the safety was on. “I...sort of.. can’t promise on that last part! But I promise this thing is only a last resort.” The blonde tucked the SR9 into her inner jacket pocket.

“Now don’t you dare pull that thing on another human bein’ unless you intend to use it.”

Ashley gave a Boy Scout’s salute. “I hope I never need it, girl. But you’re giving me peace of mind-and I thank you. Really.”

Spencer nodded quietly-a nod that said ”please don’t making me regret this.”

“While yer’ down there-see if you can’t grab me a souvenir.” The cowgirl got up to leave. “I’ve been reeeaaaallly wantin’ one of those duct-tape cannons I saw on them bots.”

“Shit, for you, Spence? I’ll get three.”

.............................,
LLAMTECH HEADQUARTERS
Austin, Tx 6:11PM CST
Snaking through the LlamTech plaza, Ashley found herself fortunate enough to not recognize anybody in the crowd. It was probably for the better-at best, she’d run into Adrianne who would probably pick her up over her head and throw her out of here and never speak to her again. At worst, her antics at this place could have already moved her past a familiarity with security and had been taken note of by folks higher up the corporate ladder-which definitely would result in anything from a lawsuit to death and/or dismemberment.

On the scale of “Horrible Outcomes for the Night”, it was interesting to note that being apprehended by LlamTech security bots was only a middle-grade fate. Five or six years ago, Ashley might have been intimidated by the prospect. But not anymore. The catch-and-release nature of those things was generally bearable. Sure, the methods of incapacitation-which included full mummification in duct tape, six inch handcuffs, knockout toxins, suppression slime, brute force, and simply tasing-were a little brutal. But once you were caught, their programming treated you the way someone would a lizard in their home-scoop you up, put you outside, and leave. For all their imposing features-monolithic metal bodies, all terrain tank treads, a veritable arsenal of mechanical tendrils, and singular glowing red eyes-these things were relatively harmless.

The IGII robots she’d encountered were really glorified bouncers. She could handle that.

“First law of robotics, right?” Ashley muttered to herself, remembering something Adrianne mentioned when trying to convince her that the machines she worked on were harmless. “A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human to come to harm”

The comfort those laws brought was only temporary-as a quick google search later showed Ash that those laws were made up by a science fiction author who had never created any robots with the capacity to kill. Hell, those wouldn’t exist for at least another sixty years from his time.

Fiction made for poor comfort. If she ever found herself in another life-and-death scenario and someone said “Don’t worry, we’re fine, according to the laws of the universe in Harry Potter as long as we eat chocolate, this thing legally can’t kill us!” she would close her eyes and prepare for oblivion.

Fortunately, this was where “Big Iron” came in. Nothing bad every happened to anybody carrying a gun in fiction. Ashley patted the inside of her jacket to feel the Ruger SR9 neatly zipped inside-her great equalizer for the evening. Spencer might have been reluctant to loan her a firearm for a Christmas party, but dammit, Ashley was going to prove her wrong. If it really came down to it, she would be able to pull the trigger on those tin monsters. She was hard now.

Her internal monologue was shattered by the shrill feedback of a nearby sound check on one of the many stages set up for the evening. Yet another band was getting ready for a set-one of probably seven or eight that had to be going on at the same time on the expansive campus.

Jesus, there’ve been full-on music festivals with less acts going on, Ash thought to herself.

Hell, Disneyland probably didn’t have this level of opulence in any given day. As the blonde finally took a moment to look up, one’s gaze couldn’t go a few feet without seeing a man or woman in full dress attire handing out drinks, various holiday snacks, or door prizes. This was all compounded by an even more lavish display of Christmas decoration the likes of which, again, Disneyland could not even hope to compete with. While most extravagant parties of this nature are content with a singular two or three story tree-the whole campus was adorned with them. Each was wrapped in enormous glass baubles and vibrant LED lights, the kind that sort of stagger in your vision when you walk past them. Garland grew around nearly every lamppost and bit of signage, with gaudy giant ornaments filling up any bit of negative space on the LlamTech grounds. If there was any room left after all that, nearly each corner of cobblestone pathway had yet another six foot tree adorned with the usual tinsel, ornaments, and lights.

God, the whole experience was claustrophobic. Ashley inhaled deeply and tried to take a step back mentally-just trying to feel a little smaller. Trying to feel like she was supposed to be here as she made her way towards the main building. It was going to be about another 300 yards before she got there, and there was plenty of crowd to work through.

FUCK, how many people did this place employ?

The girl smiled as she walked past a worker with a tray dotted with small Christmas cocktails-politely grabbing two tall shot glasses filled with a red drink garnished with holly. She feigned looking for someone, as if the second drink was for a friend-and promptly slammed them both back and discarded the plastic glasses in the bin.
Shaking out her nerves, her eyes moved to the central building-a roughly twenty story glass high rise, topped with a dome that looked almost too much like a dour robotic face-clearly designed by whoever put together the Legion of Doom headquarters. Sitting in front of all that was the central plaza of LlamTech-the final bastion to get through to the building. Security was a little heftier there, if for no other reason than to keep track of who was joining the party inside. People were still moving freely in and out-but there was no doubt somebody was keeping tabs on the attendees.

It’s not like this was a security tech company or anything.

There had to be a way to reduce suspicion as she entered. Since she was dressed in her usual indigo leather jacket and skirt digs, it was going to be a little harder to go for the “FBI on unofficial business” route. The “Health Inspector” routine probably wouldn’t work all that well either. Something had to have a normal appearance at a party this extravagant.

Ashley copped a seat on a nearby bench, catching glances of the scene between pretending to look at her phone. Looking up, she watched the flurry of artificial snow scatter the lights that began to wash the place with a warm glow as dusk fell. The “snow” was piling pretty heavily throughout the festivities-making for quite the lively winter wonderland. It was WHERE it was beginning to pile that really caught her attention, though.

Nearest to her, a white van with a vast assortment of antennae and radar equipment was taking on a small flurry on account of being parked right in front of one of the blowers. “AUSTIN KTEX LOCAL NEWS” was emblazoned in bright graphics on the side. Parked next to this van were several others. “HOUSTON LOCAL 5”, “BATON ROUGE 8”, “LAKESIDE EYEWITNESS 13” and others were all sitting in a row.

“News crews, huh?”Ashley leaned back and casually scoped out the attendees. As she had become more comfortable with streaming her escapades, verbal narrations to herself sort of became the norm. “Not just local, either. Lots of out-of-state crews too. Suppose this whole shindig is big news when you’re looking for something a little less miserable to put on the air.”

Now that she noticed it, the whole place had been dotted with various members of the press. Photographers catching their usual Christmas portfolio pictures, local news broadcasters reporting live from the scene, and any number of nationwide print publications experiencing the scene for themselves, taking notes and conducting interviews to bring back home to tell the story of this whole grotesquely ornate affair.

She had found her “in”.

Looks as though we’re going with the “Peter Parker” route tonight. Ashley grinned softly.

She pulled one of the many zippers on her jacket to retrieve an old badge lanyard. Sure, it was her old “Hot Topic” name badge from when she worked there during High School, but who was looking? As long as you had a badge and a “reason” to be where you were, the plan was flawless, right? Standing back up, she straightened herself out to look as “engaging” as possible. Chin up, notepad out, and a thoughtful expression. She watched the gathered reporters intently, trying to pick up the little bits of authenticity that make the act a little more believable-and prepared for a storied career as a compulsive liar to do the rest.

Ashley’s attention centered in on one reporter-another blonde girl, probably around her age, simply enamored with a tall, dark, and brooding subject she was interviewing. Looking extremely well put together, she wore a black tank beneath a slightly translucent evergreen blouse. Her hair was neatly tied up in a French bun that complemented a smiling freckled face with amorous grey eyes. A red pencil skirt accentuated her long legs, coming down to a pair of burgundy flats with little bows on the tips.

The man before her was one of those old “Sam Elliott” Texas types. Long, deep drawl to his voice that suggested he had dealt with the worst, but a twinkle in his eye that hinted that he had seen the best. The kind that wore weathered leather jackets and old Stetsons to Christmas parties, and loved nothing more than making a beautiful woman feel comfortable, safe, and appreciated.

Ashley usually assumed these men were violent charletans with ulterior motives. Cowboys in Texas were...well, non-existent.

“So you’re telling me this editor a’ yours makes a gorgeous girl like you huff on down here for what? A little holiday office party?” The man dug his thumbs behind an ornate gold belt buckle (of course), and tilted his head forward with a dry smile in a way that only southern gentlemen with large hats do. “Darlin’, I’ve been talking to you for two minutes, an’ I gotta say you’re wastin’ your time. This is a triflin’ affair-a silver-tongued beauty shouldn’t have to waste time talkin’ with slow but well-meanin’ folk such s’myself. Shouldn’t there be a state senator or congressman worth your talents you should be interviewin’? I hear Arturo Morales is hanging round here if you’re lookin’ for big oil boys.”

The girl in the pencil skirt laughed-cocking a warm smile up at the man. “Just so you know, cowboy-I’m totally on to your flattery.” The man grimaced, worried he had hit a nerve with the young lady. Her tone then lightened. “And for whatever reason, I am loving every second of it. I’m sure you tell all that to every girl who comes in from New York.”

“Well, don’t that beat all? Awful long way from home ain’t ya, Miss...?”

“Carter. Becky Carter. Manchester Daily Times. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She held out her hand to shake his, to which the man gently held and kissed it.

“Miss Becky Carter!” The man’s bristled mustache rose with a smile. “The pleasure is all mine. Arthur J. Bellvue, at your service.”

“You seem to be quite the Dixie gentleman, Mr. Bellvue!” Becky wrote his name down, marking everything from his physical description to his little speech inflections. “So much so that an extravagant corporate office party doesn’t seem like the kind of place one would find you at. What exactly brings you to LlamTech today?”

“I assure you it’s ain’t exciting, Miss Carter-I dabble in a little bit of electrical design for these yahoos at LlamTech, so naturally I got an invite. Nothing worth discussin’, really.”

Ashley watched as the man tipped his hat, basically on cue.

Jesus, this guy had to be an actor. Nobody acted like this! The other girl, it seemed, was thoroughly charmed by it.

Idiot.

“Not worth discussing?” the reporter crossed her arms, a little bit of cheekiness coming out. She stepped closer. “I did my research on these guys before coming down-everything from cloud computing to pharmaceuticals is in LlamTech’s portfolio. Only somebody with some some pretty big status around here would say something like that! What exactly is it you work on?”

Arthur J. Bellvue blushed-be it as it may, he might have been just as flustered with Miss Carter as she was with him.

“Well, if you absolutely gotta know, miss-I was one of the engineers that developed their optic camouflage tech.” Bellvue put his hands on his hips before wincing a little-he clearly hated talking about himself at length. “I just thought it was a nifty little bit of tech for being out at the deer lease, and her come all these yuppie tech kids tryin’ to court me to start making it for them.”

Becky’s eyes widened. Optic camouflage? She remembered something like that from playing “Halo” with her friend, Cass. Wasn’t that the power-up that turned you-?

“Invisible? You’re talking about invisible camo? You’re kidding right?”

“Awww, well it ain’t something all that marvelous, Miss Carter! It’s really only useful if yer’ sittin’ completely still. Make a loud noise, and it pretty much shuts off completely, too. Sound waves seem to scramble it pretty good. Suppose that’s probably why I’m allowed to talk about it out loud- the military folks weren’t too keen about somethin’ that’s really only good for shootin’ bucks.”

“I’m just shocked it exists, is all. I figured that would be something you would hear about? That is REAL James Bond stuff. I mean, just since you told me about it I can already imagine all the people that would want their hands on invisibility.”

Marta Alfonsi, for one. Becky thought. The mob queen was untraceable and untouchable from the law as it was-the last thing she needed was the ability to literally disappear. She already had thugs under her thumb like Violet-and that girl could move like something out of a Tom Clancy novel. Unseen and unheard until it was too late. Give her the chance to vanish into thin air?

Becky shuddered. If it was this easy to imagine how much more difficult her life would be, one could only imagine it’s consequences on the rest of the world. Bellvue seemed to notice the reporter’s subtle change in demeanor.

“That sweet honey smile a’ yours went a little sour, Miss Carter. I’m guessin’ you gave some thought as to why we keep that little parlor trick pretty well protected?” The man smiled once more-a soft grin that felt like a warm bear-hug from a favorite grandparent. Becky found it strangely comforting. “Don’t you lose any sleep over it, missy. LlamTech ain’t nothing more than another soulless corporation, but they know a thing or two about responsibility. We ain’t advertisin’ our hocus pocus on the side a’ buildings like those hooligans at Apple do in Dallas. Our legal girls made sure to lock down the rights to the stuff-nobody gets sold nothing without the CEO lady’s say-so.”

It honestly was reassuring. Becky continued to scribble down every word the man said into her notepad-almost unconscious of the action. The gentleman took notice and gently leaned forward.

“I, ah, should probably ask you to, uh, not publish anything about all that. I’m only telling ya all this because...Well,dammit, Miss Carter-you are simply a pleasant conversationalist.” He elbowed her in a good natured tease. “Besides, I like to think I can spot the folks I can trust right off the mark. They usually got a glow about ‘em. And Miss Carter-you’re a hot bed of embers.”

Becky Carter blushed.

“Now, what do ya’ say I get us a couple of eggnogs and you can ask me all the questions ya’ like for your story? I’ll try and make some good headlines for ya’. Maybe introduce you to some of the fat cats that might make for a better story”

’Hot bed of embers’?! Ashley Hamrick, a few feet away, was not as amused. Jesus, she had seen actors at Six Flags that weren’t as scripted! The belt buckle lean, the old southern drawl, the TIPPING OF THE HAT?! It was nauseating. And that idiot reporter from New York was just eating it all up.

Uugggghh.

She did pick up a good “identity”, however. “Manchester Daily Times” seemed as good a cover as any. They didn’t seem to have a news truck here, so that impressionable ditz was probably the only one here with that publication. The front made for a good way to ask questions that would ordinarily get security called on her-and she was going to make the most of it.

Ashley held her head high and made her way to the front entrance. A small congregation of guests were mingling, sipping drinks and laughing over stories from the office. The bands further away from the plaza were a low din from this distance, so an army of hidden speakers blasting ”Hooray for Santa Claus” clobbered the air instead.

It was time to make herself “blend”. Pretend to be in the midst of an interview and nobody will even bother you, right?

Hang up that mistletoe!
Soon you’ll hear ‘ho-ho-ho!

Her eyes picked out a man in his early thirties on his way through the revolving door to the main lobby, adorned with horn rimmed glasses and a Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer bow tie.

On Christmas Day you’ll wake up and you’ll say-

Jackpot. Bow ties always meant good information. Even more importantly, the guy’s LlamTech ID badge precariously hung around his belt from a lanyard-easy pickings if one wanted to swipe it.

Hooray for Santy Claus!

“Excuse me? Sir? Have a moment?”Ashley put as much obnoxious pep into her voice as she could-her best broadcast “talking head” impression.

The man was clearly annoyed-as anyone would be about being hassled by a reporter literally as you’re trying to navigate the obnoxious and inefficient novelty that was “the revolving door”. The snoop squeezed her way right behind him, trying to act as though they were already deep in conversation before entering here. Shoulder to shoulder in the little “pod” of the door, they both stumbled out, nearly tripping over each other.

In the tussle, Ashley yoinked the badge from his belt loop-zipping it into a sleeve pocket without a single eye drawn to it.

“For God’s sake, girl, is this how you pull everyone aside? Pressing up behind them in a revolving door like some maniac?” The man straightened his glasses, then took a breath. “HOW can I help you?”

“Hi! My name is..Eerrrr, uh, Laura..” Ashley’s pause was only for a second, but any longer and she would start to loose credibility to her front. “..Bush, with the Manchester Daily Times! Got a minute for an interview?”

Ashley’s fake smile remained unwavering.

You fucking idiot, how many pseudonyms have you practiced and THAT’S what you go with?

“Laura Bush?”

“No relation!” Still smiling.

“Interesting. Had a girl from that paper talk to me, like, ten minutes ago.” The man straightened his posture. “Must have a pretty large crew coming all the way down to Texas?”

“I just go where I’m told!” Ashley realized she was getting into THEY LIVE levels of chipper. Tone it down. “Anyways, what sort of projects are you working on at LlamTech?”

Coming in swingin’, Ash. Keep it up! she thought.

“What projects am I working on? What kind of a question is that? No ‘what do you think of the Christmas party’? Or ‘what’s it like working here?’” The young man scoffed. “A little forward, I’d say.”

“That’s just how we are at Manchester Daily Times! We ask the HARD questions!”

“Hard questions? Seems like a pretty ambling and pointless question. That other girl was nice conversation-hardly even realized she was interviewing me.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, she’s a fucking peach-listen, what’s your experience with some of LlamTech’s more ‘experimental’ innovations? Obviously, LlamTech’s famous for their leaps in robotics, but you guys seem to have your hands in medicine, food, weapons, transportation, and energy-to name a few. Anything wild you’ve seen on any of those fronts?”

“Yeah..sure..” the man looked around the lobby uncomfortably, hoping to see someone he knew so he could detach from this conversation. “Look, I work in accounts payable. I don’t have any ‘projects’ I’m working on. And the way you’re phrasing these questions? They sound like the sort of inquiries that would get me fired if I answered them. Why don’t you ask the CEO or somebody those ‘hard’ questions? I’m told she’s floating around here.”

Ashley continued smiling, unwavering in the face of ‘please, fuck off’. How was it so easy for that reporter girl? She literally just struck up conversation with that guy and he was already dropping sensitive company information like he had known her for years!

“The CEO, eh? What’s a girl gotta do to get a hold of her?”

What the fuck was she saying? Get nervous and you turn into 1940’s Lois Lane? Get it together!

“Yeaaaaah...Tall lady. Bright pink hair. Dresses like Voldemort? Can’t miss her.” The man began backing away from the conversation. “Might want to brush up on your tact. Just saying.”

Ashley gave an awkward chuckle. “That’s what we strive for her at the Manchester Daily Times!”

’That’s what we strive for’? Oh, god..

She would have promptly found a wall to go quietly slam her head into if she didn’t feel a looming presence at her back.

“What exactly is it we strive for at the Manchester Daily Times?” came a familiar voice from behind her.

Don’t run. Don’t run. Don’t run. Don’t run. Ashley had to remind herself. Running looks hella suspicious. Just own this.

Stuffing her fight or flight response deep down inside her, she turned around to see that girl from before-clearly not amused. If that cowboy gent from earlier saw “hot embers” in her gaze before, they were definitely freshly stoked. She hated to use such a turn of phrase, but those grey eyes were daggers.

“I don’t seem to recall Mr. Spinner sending anyone else down for this assignment. Are you one of the interns?”

Ashley extended her hand. “As a matter of fact, I am! You must be Becky! I’ve heard sooooo much about you! Didn’t he mention I would be here?”

Becky accepted the handshake, making note of how quickly this “fellow MDT reporter” pulled away.

“Welcome aboard, new girl!” She crossed her arms, making sure the skepticism didn’t show. “So what department does Spinner have you working in?”

Ashley bit her lip. Should have crafted a little more of a backstory before getting in deep, you idiot.

“I’m sort of, you know, all over the place? Being an intern they just move ya around, right?” Ashley rubbed the back of her neck. Hopefully this girl wasn’t smart enough to notice that nervous tick. “Last month I was with..Claire, in the horoscope department.”

“Claire, huh?” Becky did notice that little nervous tick. “Can’t say I’ve met her. Man, when you think you know everyone, right?

“She works from home, for the most part. I’ve only actually met her once.”

“Funny. Well, you’ve had to deal with Maggie, am I right?” She stepped closer. “She at least gave you the MDT welcome, yeah?”

STOP with the name dropping, I DIDN’T PREPARE FOR THIS.

“Aw, who hasn’t?” Ashley stood firm. “She’s great. Showed me around the place, introduced me to everyone. Real sweetheart.”

Ok, she was lying. That was pretty much all Becky needed to know this girl was full of it-Maggie Swift did not once treat an MDT intern as anything more than an annoyance.

“She sure is. I’m sure you still remember her coffee order, right?” This was an MDT rite of passage. Maggie always made sure the interns memorized her elaborate Starbucks request-going so far as to make sure they weren’t on a single assignment until they could prove themselves capable of the task. It was an exhausting little hazing ritual. “I mean, how could anyone forget, right?”

“Yeaaaaaah.” Ashley’s green eyes were twitching just a little bit. This was NOT a good time for pop quizzes.

“Just for old times sake, what is it? It’s been so long since I’ve had to do a coffee run for her.”

“I...uhm...” the imposter was shaking out the nerves. Just say whatever sounds legit with enough confidence and authority and you’re in the clear! This girl probably doesn’t even remember anyway. “Sorry, it’s been a few weeks. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it a quad espresso on ice, in a venti cup, three pumps of caramel, with a splash of cream and two stevia sugars?”

Wow-If nothing else, Becky had to give this girl credit on made-up and over-complicated coffee orders.

Still wrong.

“Hmmm...I guess she must have changed her order since I interned.” Becky once again tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. “She used to always insist on a double flat white, extra foam, extra hot, and made with oat milk-which meant you had to go to the Starbucks NOT by the MDT building, but three blocks away. “

Funnily enough, Maggie never even actually drank this stuff. She was a black coffee gal, through and through.

Ashley maintained a smile-but refused to back down from her answer. Maybe that was part of the test? Confidence was key.

“She must have changed it since you interned. Man, it took me at least three or four tries to get it right.”

Just call me Ash Silvertongue the fake MDT reporter thought.

Becky let out an exasperated sigh. This was getting old.

“For God’s sake, drop the act.” She was done with this nonsense. “How stupid do you think I look?”

Hmmm, clearly Ashley needed to brush up on the ‘ol compulsive lying.

“Truth be told, not at all!” She crossed her arms, examining the well coordinated Christmas number the reporter was wearing. “Your outfit’s killer-really festive. You need to stop being so hard on yourself.”

Becky groaned. “You are NOT with MDT, and you are clearly NOT supposed to be here!”

The real Manchester Daily Times sized up the imposter-keeping a hand ready for the taser in her purse if she needed it. She glanced down at the badge around the imposter’s neck and stifled a laugh.

“Hot Topic? What is that, a regional publication?” Becky examined the girl in front of her. A far cry from the pedigree of journalist she was used to, this girl kept her long blonde hair in a ponytail, with a dash of bangs to the side that must have been irritating as hell to deal with. A purple leather jacket paired with similar black skirt clung to her-with an almost absurd amount of zippers stitched all over them. The outfit was tied off with a tired pair of violet converse.

What was it with Becky crossing paths with girls in converse?

“Alright, jokes aside, who are you with?” Becky crossed arms-hand still ready to quietly tase and subdue. “VICE? Buzzfeed?...Eric Andre?”

Ashley placed her hands in her pockets. “Alex Jones. I’m here with InfoWars,” she responded indignantly.

Becky rolled her eyes. “Be serious with me for TWO seconds! Who the hell are you and WHY are you pretending to be a reporter? Furthermore-give me ONE good reason why I shouldn’t just report you to security!”

The other girl was silent for a moment, trying to formulate another half-assed story about her motives. This Manchester girl already knew she was a hack, but maybe if she stalled for time enough she could slip into a passing crowd and disappear? No, that would just draw attention to her and blow her cover for the main objective. Maybe if she was just honest, she might just let it go? Maybe there was no need to be so secretive about everything?

It suddenly dawned on Ashley what she was thinking. What the hell was it with this Carter girl that made people just want to tell her everything? Even John Wayne back there just casually started divulging sensitive information just on the grounds that he liked her vibe. Fortunately, Ash was no country bumpkin.

She was the wall.

Miss Carter’s endearing and comfortable personality was about to meet Miss Hamrick’s sociopathic tendencies, and there was no way that she was going to back away from her methods now. This reporter girl would have to be an idiot to think that Ashley would just break and-

“Here me out, Vicki Vale. Listen, I’m trying to break into this place. LlamTech is NOT all Christmas lights and Michael Bublé songs. There’s things going on her that you wouldn’t believe. So I’m laying low and acting natural to get into the research wing. But I need you to keep SHUT about that.” She breathed, still stretching the strain in her palm. “Human experimentation. Military grade weapons. There’s a whole lot more being built here than just security cameras and spy drones. But I’ve got to fucking PROVE it somehow.”

It was unlikely that anybody had spilled the beans on anything so quickly.

Becky Carter straightened her blouse and checked her leather watch, trying to act like she wasn’t wrestling with the idea of believing this girl’s story.

Maybe it was best to give a little more resistance and see just how much nonsense she was full of.

“Yeah, sure thing. Why don’t we go to security and let them know that you’re definitely not supposed to be here. Let them escort you out? How does that sound?”

Ashley gritted her jaw and looked over her shoulder, then back to the reporter. “Britta, Becca, Bessy, Britannia, or whatever your name is, listen-I am BEGGING you not to do that. Look, I know that I SOUND crazy right now, but this company probably knows who I am. I honestly can’t tell you how many times I’ve been apprehended by security here. I’ve been knocked out, locked down, tied up, and strapped more times than I can count. If LlamTech is doing even a tenth of what they’re rumored to be up to,” she swallowed, clearly actually nervous, “they will get rid of me without a second thought. People disappear here. The CEO has had a new, cute little secretary every few weeks up until recently-and the previous one is never seen again. I’ve seen lab tables below this building-real haunted house, gristly shit. This company is building something ugly-and I know you and everyone else think I’m some crazy, tin-foil hat conspiracy theorist-but I’ve seen it with my own eyes. And if for nothing else than my own pride, I’ve got to get to the bottom of why they seem to be cutting people open in their basement. I know you’ve got no reason to believe me, but I’m literally putting my life at risk here. These people build terminators. Missiles. Unmanned drones. Bioweapons. They’re not to be messed with.”

Becky Carter’s glare remained incredulous. This girl was very clearly unhinged to a certain degree. But there was something in her entreaty-something so very genuine. There was an investigative spirit, a steel heart! An insatiable thirst to-

Snoop.

Becky cringed at her own inner monologue. She hated that word. But try as she might to avoid it, she knew what it meant. How long did it take her to convince her friends that she had to be the driving force behind bringing Marta Alfonsi to justice? How many people called her a crazy, over-indulging reporter who should mind her own business? Hell, how many people were still doing that? She thought of her friend Erin, and her own “Marta”, Dr. Lunas. Of Sara Phillips and Mr. White who, even long after his demise and legacy as a violent career criminal, somehow still had people unsure of who was the “hero” in that dynamic.

That last one gave her pause. Was that how this chapter of her life was going to end, too? When she eventually put Marta Alfonsi behind bars-and finally put an end to her overbearing and lecherous obsession with the reporter-would there still be people who saw Becky as the villain? As some rabid reporter who wanted to ruin an “upstanding socialite’s” career to advance her own? For the headline?

Becky let out a long breath.

This girl didn’t need another enemy.