I followed Amy through the hall, each doorway breached, checked and cleared. We took turns to rotate, guns over our shoulders, all angles inspected.

  "I heard something, one o'clock," Amy whispered.

  I nodded and rotated my gun in sync, peeking out of the maze to see a cardboard cutout of a man. Paint splotched on his face and body, the sign worse than wear.

  But more notable was his finger pointing at a nameplate.

  "HR - 10 points", I sighed.

  Barbara, in the back, yawned.

  "Are we in a movie or something?"

  I lowered my gun and frowned at Barbara's full cover football armour.

  Where the hell had she gotten that from?

  "clear" Amy shouted.

  The detective slowly advanced down the hall, her calls more like nagging from a distance.

  But as I was about to follow up, Barbara slithered closer.

  "Did you train in the police or something?" she asked. "You're all at home with this, pew pew."

  She gestured rather dramatically, pointing her invisible gun fingers around corners like some cosplay detective thriller.

  "Don't worry, miss," Barbara said in a low voice. "Officer Grey is here to save you."

  I sighed.

  "Army dropout."

  Barbara's eyes shot wide, "Wait, wait! Have you, like, shot someone?"

  I grunted and turned back towards the detective.

  "I suggest you get ready for combat," I said.

  I held up a metallic ball.

  "This might as well be real warfare.

  I, on the other hand, upped the pressure on my paintball gun, running it hot. It would give me fewer shots, but they hurt like hell.

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  I pocketed the metal one.

  Barbara smiled.

  "Oh my, didn't expect you to be the serious type," She moved even closer this time, her perfume as thick as ever. "So what did you talk to Amy about? I thought you might have killed her by now."

  "Grayson," Amy called.

  Her voice echoed down the hall, her crouched shadow barely visible, watching ahead for threats.

  "Nothing," I said.

  Barbara was surprisingly taken aback, but I didn't care, so I left her behind. I still didn't know what their relationship was, but it was clear Barbara expected me to kill her already. I don't like being manipulated.

  My heels clicked towards the opening, and before I could mutter a word, Amy silenced me with a finger.

  "here" she whispered.

  She passed Barbara's earphone. Connected to Steve, apparently.

  I put it on and heard Dorathy yelling.

  "Untie me, you bastard, I'm going to discipline you so hard, you might get sacked," she wailed.

  I cleared my throat, and a buzz entered the line.

  "ah sorry Grey, I didn't have any tape for her mouth."

  I just pretended I didn't hear anything I didn't want to be liable for.

  "Do you have something to share?" I ask.

  The clicks and buttons of his keyboard bang in my eardrum, until-

  "As I told Amy, there is a bulk of production forces in the non-smoking area."

  I peeked over the window ledge, watching as the chatting managers were idly playing cards. I could estimate to be about a dozen of them.

  "Maybe they are guarding something," Steve said.

  It was too hard to know for sure why Edward would station this many in one location. unless...

  "Could you-" I started.

  But before I can finish.

  "One distraction coming right up!" Barbara shouted.

  "Barb, Stop!" Amy shouted.

  I nearly jumped myself, only to watch Barbara hop out the window and land with a crash of dust.

  The manager mid-laugh looked up, cards falling to the ground as they stared in silence.

  "Who the hell are you?" one asked.

  Barbara smiled and pointed her gun.

  "I'm looking for the one who put paint on my swimsuit."

  They looked confused until a gun-shaped bat smashed one in the face.

  "I said, who ruined my swimsuit?"

  A few cried as Barbara began whacking them like moles. Their guns were useless as she gave them a right beating.

  "Who will pay for my dry cleaning?" she shouted. "IT. WAS. DESIGNER."

  She roared like a wild woman, and suddenly, I felt the urge to never get on her bad side.

  And as others joined, their metallic bullets deflected off her body armour like a juggernaut, her smile growing wider.

  "I hope you signed a waiver," she said, knocking one out.

  Amy, meanwhile, had disappeared, the detective sliding and shooting out windows, the managers calling out on multiple enemies.

  "There have to be 20 of them," one shouted.

  I shot that one, square in the forehead.

  Then, as I blasted the stragglers, one crawled away from me like a junior in a senior management meeting.

  "wait wait, not the face," he cried, "I'm in sales."

  I pointed my gun.

  "You signed the injury form, right?"

  The poor boy nodded. So I had to teach him a lesson.

  I switched to full auto, the boy screaming before I even fired.

  He should have lied.

  Then, gazing at the aftermath, I saw the grunts moan in pain, the paint splattering the room like blood.

  Barbara had given up on the gun and started slapping someone.

  "You have it dry cleaned on my desk by Monday."

  Amy had brushed off her shoulder, and her uniform was spotless.

  I looked down at my leg, the paint dribbling, ruining my shorts.

  HR is going to have a field day after this.