Anarchy at the TV Station

BANG. BANG.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

I squinted through the haze, trying to make out the shapes. I was in bed, but it wasn't mine. Wasn't even my apartment. I was at my friend's place.

BANG. BANG.

Fuck, who was banging on the door? I had a hangover bad enough to cancel out last night's bender.

BANG. BANG.

I slipped out of bed and tried to compose myself. Took a deep breath, looked in the mirror. I had a few days worth of stubble coating my face. In the best light, I was a redhead, but my eyes were bloodshot. I looked like I had a ton of lines on my face, but only because I'd had a few too many drinks last night. I could pass for twenty-five, but I looked closer to thirty.

BANG. BANG.

I walked over to the window and pulled back the curtains. It was pitch black outside. Had I slept that long? My head was still killing me.

BANG. BANG.

Shit. I stumbled down the hallway, scratching my head and yawning. I glanced over at my friend's bedroom door. Still closed. He was probably sleeping off whatever he got up to last night, too. I opened the door, and suddenly everything came rushing back.

"Ms. Suzuki!" The two men in suits caught me off guard. One put his hand on my shoulder, pushing me back into the apartment. They shut the door behind them. "We need to talk."

I shook the man's hand off me. "Where's my bag?" I asked. It had my laptop inside. They grabbed it when they came by yesterday. They told me they'd return it after I gave them the footage.

"We need to talk first," one of them said. "And then you can have your bag back."

I sighed. Maybe they finally realized they were wrong to take it. "Fine. What do you want to talk about?"

The two men stared at me.

"So we can talk now?" I said.

They continued to stare.

"You want to talk about the broadcast?" I asked.

They nodded.

I looked at them for a moment. "Well, I'm not gonna talk about anything until you give me my bag."

The first man nodded. "Fine." He reached into his coat and pulled out a gun.

I glanced over at my friend's room. Should I try to wake him?

"We'll take the bag with us, too," the second man said.

My heart thumped in my chest. I took a step back. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

"And your computer, too," the first man said. "We'll extract the footage from it."

"Look, I-"

He waved the gun at me. "No talking. You're going to walk over to the window, open it, and climb out. We'll follow you. If you say anything, or try anything, we'll shoot you. Understood?"

I nodded.

"Now move."

I moved to the window. I was on the third story. I opened it and climbed out. I stood on the fire escape platform, my feet dangling over the edge. The two men followed me out and stood beside me.

"Okay, put your hands above your head."

I did as they asked, and they bound my hands together with zip ties.

"Good. Now jump."

"What?"

"Jump or get shot," the first man said.

I looked down. About ten stories, I thought. Yeah, I wasn't jumping.

"Fine." The first man aimed his gun at me.

"Wait!" I shouted. "I'll jump!"

"Jump," the second man said.

I jumped, and they watched me fall. I landed on a car, breaking both my legs and my left arm.

"Oh, shit," the first man said. "That didn't go well."

"At least she's gone," the second man said. "Now let's get her bag and laptop and get out of here."

They walked over to the broken body of Ms. Suzuki and each took an arm. They dragged me back to their car and tossed me in the trunk. They locked me in, and then headed off.

"We did good work today," one of the men said.

"Yes we did," the other man replied. "And now we have a nice drive home."