Site Director Lois Calder peered under the thin crawlspace beneath the underside of her desk, and thought of the futility of cowering behind the metal, a vain attempt at avoiding the unavoidable. It would have been too small to fully fit underneath, leaving half of her body facing outward, and the desk itself was flimsy. It would collapse in on itself within moments of the drop.
Lois pulled her head back from under the desk, and looked flatly at the terminal, alongside the attached message. She had been supposed to send that same message to everyone in her site, then go and shimmy, pray too, if one were of such faith. Her desk was too small, too flimsy, too cheap to withstand much of anything, how in the hell would an office worker, or the average researcher be able to manage, crawled beneath the folding tables masquerading as high-end workstations? She looked at the email attachment, so close to sending, before again, taking pause to look at it, to fully understand what she'd be sending to everyone who had worked under her.
Lois understood the language used. It was both banal and poetic, written like a speech addressed to a crowd after an assassination. It wasn't far off from the current situation. Lois, as did every member of the council, including whoever or whatever had written the notice couldn't have believed anything in it. It was all compliance and gentle placebo. As her stomach ached, skin molting, Lois defied orders, and deleted the message. Without much, if any time, Lois sent a new message to everyone, just before entering her buick, crawling into the backseat, with the engine gently running. Before she closed her eyes, she took another look at the message, hopefully content in its message.
Director Calder closed her eyes, asleep, chest sunken.
