Ethan's laugh echoed in the office, a sound of pure chaos. He looked at the two guards, their faces a twisted mask of confusion, rage, and a dark, dawning lust.
"So? Are you going to fuck her or not?" Ethan taunted, gesturing to the trembling form of Director Hayes on the floor. "Don't tell me you're scared."
The two guards, Miller and Jones, looked at each other. The unspoken question passed between them, a lifetime of shared misery under this woman's heel answering for them. Miller, a thick-necked brute with a cruel scar bisecting his eyebrow, was the first to move. He spat on the floor. Jones, younger but with eyes just as cold, followed his lead. Their hesitation evaporated, replaced by a predatory grimace.
"Have fun, boys," Ethan cackled, his voice fading as he turned. He snatched the full bottle of whiskey from her desk, took a long, deep swig, and walked out of the office, the door swinging shut behind him, leaving them to their gift from heaven.
