"Humpf," she groans, struggling to open her eyes. "I'm so hot. So sleepy. Need water."
"Hey! Dude!" I call out to the man with a gun. "Can we get some water?"
The man with a gun walks over; stands there, eyes peering through the holes in his balaclava. He lifts the fabric up over his mouth, hacks, and then spits in my face. He laughs and turns his back on me.
My colleagues shy away from eye contact, as Carol sighs.
I'd freed my wrists from the handcuffs hours ago, and held my composure. The mechanism was relocked but I could pull my hands free in under a second if needed.
That's the thing about working in an office; surrounded by implements of death. You just need to know how to use them.
I inch out from under the table, and raise my arms up over my head. Clamped between my fists is a chain of paperclips.
Progress evidently wasn't being made. Time for me to act.
I stand and hook the chain over his head, across his neck, and pull with all my strength. He doesn't even have time to whimper, but he does thrash about, risking alerting the others.
From my pocket I pull a paperclip shiv - three paperclips lengthened out and twined together - and thrust it into his right ear. He goes limp as the lights go off in his brain, dropping his gun. The rest will be a piece of cake.
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