Grim
Grim sat with his feet on his desk, reading the obituaries--making tick-marks on a sheet at his side-table, a boring but necessary task. “Brad Jones?” he said to no-one. “Who the hell is that?” That name wasn't on his checklist. Damn. That's the third this week. Why the hell are people dying when they are not supposed to?
Grim buzzed his secretary, “Susie, we got another one.” A voice squeaked back through the ancient intercom system, “At le...
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