My boss was speaking, but I wasn't listening. I heard words like ‘family', ‘performance’, and the dreaded ‘synergy’, so I knew it wasn't important. Just nod when the voices stop, and accompany it with a ‘yes sir’ or an ‘I understand’

I've gone through these motions so many times that they've lost all meaning. It didn't even upset me anymore. Just another part of the routine.

A sigh broke me out of my stupor. “…Are you even listening, James?”

My face was locked in a mockery of sincerity “Of course, Sir,”

Timmy stopped speaking, for once. That was a bad sign. Probably. I wouldn't know as I can't recall such an occasion. He just stared at me, and I met his gaze. This continued for an uncomfortably long time, so I got bored and started to look around.

The office changed its decor every time I came up here, which was way too often. Today it was some sort of western chic, with hardwood and lacquer taking up most of everything. He even had a cow-skull hanging on the wall, in perfect enough condition that it just looked fake, even though I knew he wouldn't be so cheap.

I could only assume the interior decorator was contracted for full-time, and had literally nothing better to do but to drag a different desk 30 stories up every damn week.

That's some job security to die for.

Another sigh. “It's pretty clear to me that your mind is elsewhere. I need you to focus.”

I hate that tone, especially coming from the mouth of a 25-year-old. I'm more than a decade older, and he still talks down to me. The worst part is that he doesn't even do it on purpose, that's just what he thinks an authoritarian tone sounds like. Maybe it is, but it's impossible for someone his age to pull it off. Especially for a pasty little redheaded cunt.

“James. Look at me.”

I did what I was told, like the excellent employee I was. “I'm sorry sir. I was just thinking about how much overtime I could make Charlie work before he quits.”

The answer was ‘all of it’. The kid was desperate.

Another sigh. “This sort of behavior is exactly what I've brought you here to discuss. We've talked about your particular approach to ‘teambuilding’ before, and we both agreed that it was ridiculous.”

Did I agree to that? I don't recall. Maybe I should start actually listening every now and then. Hah.

“Sir… I don't understand the concern. My department is the leader in sales," I said. "By a significant margin."

The pasty fuck made a sad attempt at a sagely nod. “It does. I also get several complaints from HR every week, and the turnover rate is obscene. The workload your department handles is ridiculous."

Maybe it was because I was tired, or impatient, or 5 more ‘ridiculous's away from blowing my brains out, but I spoke before I thought. “Since when do we care about people?”

Freckle-fuck-McGee gave me a look of disapproval, which looked somewhat like a baby being denied food. “We've always cared for our employees above all else. It seems you don't understand that.”

I smiled softly. "Is that what your dear daddy thinks?"

I shouldn't poke the baby tiger, but I can't bring myself to care anymore. I'm running out of life.

I'm 40 years old. It's not too late to make a change, not by a long shot, but why bother? My youth is gone. My family left me and my dreams are dead. I've been with this company for half a decade, and my career is about to be cut short because of nepotism and human resources.

I couldn't climb any higher. I had neither the stature, money, or fame. The 1% is a private club. You can be born or lucked into it, and that's it.

I resent that. More than anything. I've put in more effort than anybody, and I've always been denied what I deserve by those with power beyond my means.

The kid leaned forward, crossing his fingers, resting his chin upon them. His tone changed into something I don't quite recognize. "James, I'm not so naive to think this is some kind of daycare. People come here to work, and we work them hard. But you? You abuse them. Out of spite."

My hands clenched into fists. "I hold them to the same standards as I hold myself."

He nodded. "Yeah, and you abuse yourself too. I feel for you, James, but I've given you plenty of chances to stop being so destructive."

I looked out the window, gazing over New York, the city I hate most in the world. The decision was made before I even stepped into the office today, and walked past the oceans of faceless, hopeless drones. All he was doing now was some pathetic attempt at psychoanalyzing, or maybe making him feel better about destroying what little life I had left.

Today, I think I'm finally going to kill my- what the fuck is that?

“…You're fired, James. Pack your..."

The insufferable twit finally stopped making noises, for he too was distracted by what was going on outside the window.

The sky was blood-red. Not ‘beautiful sunset’ red, but ‘I’m reasonably sure the sky is hemorrhaging blood' red. Clouds swirled into nothing, and the bright light of the sun was overshadowed by…something. Something large, crimson, and rapidly approaching the earth. The sky grew hazy and dark, casting the skyscrapers in unnatural shadow.

I could hear screaming already. I never understood the point, in scenarios like this. Screaming is an evolutionary reflex to alert nearby people of danger, but I'm pretty fucking sure everybody noticed. So, sheesh, face your impending doom with some dignity.

The exact opposite of my dear boss, who was currently panicking, trying to dial 911 and somehow missing the numbers through his shaking hands. It…obviously wouldn't go through. What would they do anyway, shoot the planet-sized, world-destroying entities dog?

The ground started shaking as it loomed ever closer. The red grew deeper, darker, and I'm pretty sure I could see the sky splitting apart.

Yep, we're all going to die, but that didn't mean I could just stand there. I had to do something, anything!

So I bashed Timmy upside the head with the cow-skull.

He hit the ground, phone clattering beside him, ringing uselessly. He touched his bruised skull on reflex, and blood came back.

“Wha-what…” he stuttered. “James, stop!”

I did no such thing. I mounted him, adjusting the skull so that I held it by the horns, and brought it down on his face. His nose snapped with a satisfying, crisp sound, and a bit of the bone around it cracked, giving way ever so slightly. Blood, snot, and teeth splattered against the floor.

He tried to grab for my face, but I ignored his pathetic attempts and wordlessly brought it down again. And again. And again. And again. And again. He screamed, begged, pleaded, but I don't even remember the words.

I stopped for a moment, panting with adrenaline and exertion. Timmy was unrecognizable, but he was breathing. Barely, breaths rasping through a ruined jaw. He wasn't speaking or struggling anymore.

It was louder, now, and the earth was shaking even more. An ominous hum seemed to settle into my bones, and the red sky cast a fitting light on the blood-covered office. Everything was red, my hands even more so.

I came to myself. I don't think I even realized what I was doing until this very moment. I suppose this is what they call ‘snapping’.

At least I waited until it didn't matter anymore.

Let's be honest, before the end. It's not hatred. It's jealousy. Timmy did nothing wrong. Hell, he's better than many people in his position, at his age. All his problems with me are well-founded. I'm a menace, a nightmare manager that everybody under me despises.

Timmy looked up at me, face battered, emotions warring through him. So much stimuli in just a few minutes. He's still in shock, not quite understanding what's going on. There's only one thing he's sure of, one emotion that breaks through the panicked haze.

Fear.

He's innocent and so very young. I'm indisputably the bad guy. My feelings, my history, my reasons don't matter. This is murder, premeditated. Not even the end of the world can justify it. I should stop here, leave it at aggravated assault and accept the end of the world with dignity.

The skull came down once more, and I roared as I used my muscles more than I have in a long time. Timmy's head cracked like a watermelon, and gore, bone shards, and brain matter ruined the floor.

The end of the world couldn't justify it. But I'm willing to bet it could hide the evidence.

I could hear roaring, now, over the rush of my own blood in my ears. I finally spared the window another glance and was almost bemused at what I saw.

The entity in the sky was, for the lack of a better description, a giant fucking cosmic eye, looking down on the earth. I could see winged creatures circling in the distance, and hear them even closer. I heard screams of fear and agony from below, and even within the building.

Definitely the end of the world. Pretty open and shut case, this. Good riddance.

I wish I could say that I ran into one of the mysterious monsters I've yet to see and fought it to the death, or watched the world be consumed by never-ending flames, or maybe even leaped out the window and ended it on my own terms. But none of those happened.

The eye blinked.

And that was it.