ThatTiredTypewriter

Happy new year and late happy holidays. It's been some time since I've posted here but I've been wanting to do more writing projects for my various OCs. This has gone through many drafts but I'm somewhat happy with how this came out.

(This is my first short story I've written in a long while so apologies for any grammatical errors, I had the brain worms to start being creative again)

“Starting log. Probably not the smartest thing I could do with my time but I’ve picked up worse habits from my old job. So long as I don’t record anything important I won’t be breaking any taboos, won’t have anyone I don’t want knocking on the office door. Anyways I’m recording this and leaving this here in case things got way over my head. If you’re from the office just leave this job ain’t worth it, if you’re the person that killed me congratulations and enjoy your fancy new toys. I’m not explaining how they work to you. Anyways this is Grettir, signing off.”

With a click she sets the recorder on the chair in the entrance, idly chewing on the matchstick in her mouth. With a deep breath and a low sigh she began stepping through the hallway, heavy boot steps echoing through the hall alongside the faint sounds of a saxophone. She knew to enjoy this moment, the brief calm before the storm. Her dirty olive colored coat swaying behind her and brushing up against the large object braced on her back. If one wasn’t paying attention enough they could assume that it was the case to a cello or some other large instrument. Dirt, dried blood, and burn marks could be seen across her gray suit pants and shirt. Her grayish blue hair had been tied back into a long ponytail, dusty blue eyes glancing to the door in front of her. 

Grettir’s footsteps had finally been drowned out by the jazz echoing out from the other side of the door. She repeated the instructions to herself as she stopped at the door. “Take a left from the back exit, through the backstage entrance, and make your way to the man beside the closet.” Pushing her way through the double doors she followed her instructions, a few idle glances landed on her but no one made an effort to stop her. A few feathers with an evening to burn through couldn’t care less about some band member who came in late. Oh if only they knew. The dressing rooms were mostly empty, all the band members were already on stage performing for the evening. The only people here were Grettir and a man propped up against a set of drawers next to a door tapping his foot in time with the music. She stepped up to the door and the man placed a hand on the door handle as if to block her and cleared his throat. 

“Clearance?”

His tone was direct but aggressive, he was a tall man with a neatly cut suit. His black hair slicked back. He looked down at Grettir with a look of annoyance, he clearly wasn’t expecting this sudden disturbance.

She pulled a paper from her coat pocket and held it out to him. “This enough clearance?”

He unfolded the paper and scanned through it before unlocking and opening the door with an annoyed grumble. The door opened into an elevator, she stepped through and the man followed her in making sure to close the door behind them. There were two buttons on the elevator, one labeled E and the other labeled B. Below the buttons was a small black square. The man pulled out a badge and placed it against the black bar, waiting for a click before pressing the button labeled B. 

The trip down was long and quiet, Grettir didn’t mind the quiet but it was clearly starting to annoy the man even more. He pats around in his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, taking one out and holding it out to Grettir. She looks down and pushes his hand away.

“Sorry I don’t smoke.”

“Care to give me a light?” He looked at the matchstick she had in her mouth.

“Nah, this is the only one I got. I’m sure you can light it yourself like a big boy.”

With another grumble he pulls out a lighter. “You a part of the new band?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you play?”

“Drums.”

He shoots a confused look at the thing on her back. “Weird case for some drums.”

“What about it?”

“Don’t you usually keep drums in a box?”

“Yeah.”

Grettir’s short answers were eating away at the man’s patience, making this long elevator trip feel even longer. Grettir simply wanted to ride out this silence in peace and the man finally seemed to get that. 

The sounds of the elevator took her back. Going down deeper and deeper, putting on her old uniform, picking up her clipboard and recorder before walking through the halls. She would pass by so many faces both familiar and new before reaching her department, reluctantly ready to meet the same old group of people she had grown so accustomed to. She’d do her work and then head back to her assigned room where she would repeat that process. Her moment of recollection was cut short by the quick crackle of a walkie talkie from the gentleman next to her.

“Alright the band’s all ready, go ahead and lock up and make your way down here.”

“The band’s ready? But I got the drummer right here?”

“The drummer? Look it's probably just some feather trying to sneak in. Shoo them away and-”

Whatever was left of the response was swiftly cut off by the loud crack of Grettir’s club connecting with the man’s head. He was on the floor in an instant, blood beginning to pool beneath him. A low sigh escaped the woman as she reached for the object on her back and took it out, unfolding the tower shield as she readied herself. With a light ding the elevator finally reached its stop, the set of doors sliding open. A new voice chimed in, another man.

“That was fast, guess they just decided it wasn’t worth it?” 

His response was met by the sudden impact of Grettir’s shield pressing him tight against the wall, he strained against the shield but Grettir wasn’t budging. “This place got a map?” 

“What? I- who are you?” Another quick shove dazed the man for a moment.

“Map. Does this place have a map?”

“Alright alright, you want me to draw it out for you or what?” 

With an annoyed click of her tongue she backed off, she had her answer. The poor man only had a brief moment to recover before he met a similar fate to his friend in the elevator, her club cracking against the side of his head and his limp body slumping to the floor. She probably could have had the man draw her a map or forced him to be a guide but she knew from experience that was both a bad idea and unreliable. People forget things under stress or lead her around in circles to waste time for their friends to show up. After all it was the first thing she taught new fixers at her office; the enemy will do just about anything to get back an advantage, don’t give them that chance. With the heavy sounds of boots she walked down the halls of the underground facility, unlike the halls above these were much more cramped. Enough room for someone to walk by you but nothing more than that. She was used to it and preferred this type of environment for her jobs. Gave her an excuse to work alone. 

As she made her way through the twists and turns of the facility she found herself occasionally scraping her club against the metal walls. It was a simple weapon, a smooth handle with a bit of cloth wrapped around it and at the top the club was lined with several bumps. It was small but in close spaces like this that was an advantage, less chances for her to hit the walls. For members of the Trench Office small weapons like this were practically mandatory, some of the more confident fixers would take larger weapons but most of them didn’t last long. With most jobs being taken alone you didn’t have anyone to cover your back in case your weapon got caught on the wall or even worse you had no room to pull the thing out. It’s like she always told new fixers that got lucky enough to accompany her “small things like this are easy to conceal and let you turn small spaces like this into your advantage.” Though she was sure she could count the amount of times she told someone that on one hand. 

After following a couple arrows she turned the corner and was met with three more well dressed people gathered around some double doors, they were talking about something to each other but Grettir had tuned it out. Small talk usually wasn’t too important to whatever job she was doing. One of the three noticed the woman with the tower shield casually approaching them. 

“Did you get lost girly?”

No response.

“You hear me? You ain’t supposed to be down here.”

She stopped, still no response.

The person angrily stepped towards Grettir, cracking his knuckles. “I said you’re not-”

Grettir didn’t let him finish, quickly stepping forward and jamming the tip of the club into his stomach before bringing it down on the back of their head as they doubled over in pain.

Snapping out of their confusion the other two stepped into action, one pulling out a machete while the other spoke into their walkie. “We have trouble, someone managed to get in here. Might need to send some folks over to help.” 

The other person rushed her, stepping over the crumpled body of their comrade and attempting to bring the machete down on her. She took a step back and held her shield forward letting the blade bounce off of the hard metal shield. With her new found opening she rushed forward, slamming the tower shield against the person and knocking them off balance. Before they had a chance to regain their balance Grettir’s club had already connected with the person’s jaw, knocking them into the wall. As the second guard's body slid onto the ground Grettir walked towards the third.

“They’re not coming.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“No one’s coming to help you.”

Despite the blood stains across her body her tone was very casual, like it was simple small talk between herself and someone at a bar.

“You had the advantage here, you just fumbled it. Besides with halls like these not like they could send that many people to help.” 

She looked down at the other two bodies, using her foot to open up their jackets and give them a quick look. “Got a key for this door?”

“What?”

“This door here.” She tapped the door with her club causing the person to flinch. “Got a key for it?”

“How did you-”

“Key?” She didn’t even give them a chance to ask their question, cutting them off.

“No, we were about to-”

All the guard heard was an annoyed grumble from Grettir before she swiftly struck them across the head with her club. “For how fast they took over the place you’d think they’d have a better handle on things, they really did just take over the first place that was mostly unprotected. Probably didn’t pay for any sort of office to protect them.”

She propped up her shield against the nearby wall and placed the tip of the club against the lock of the door. Grettir shielded her eyes and looked away as a small click was heard followed by the sound of metal piercing through metal. Another click and a quick moment later a small blast came out from the end of her club, pushing the door open with force. This was the other specialty of many Trench Office fixers, small combustion devices built within most of their weapons which could be used for both combat or breaching purposes. Most weren’t capable of producing continuous flames, but heated metal and the occasional sparks that the weapons generated could easily cause a chain reaction of fire in small spaces like this. 

Grabbing her shield, Grettir stepped through the now unlocked door. The room was dark, a couple of desks with paper scattered around on them and some bookshelves placed along the walls. She walked up to one of the desks, parsing through the stray documents until she found what she needed to find. A file with some loose papers barely hanging out of it. Her face twisted into that of annoyance as she saw the logo on the file, if it were up to her she would just walk away now and tell the person that the file was gone but they were paying a good amount of money for this job and her office needed it. Stowing the file away in a compartment on her shield she turned to leave. Maybe it was the brief moment of distaste from seeing the file she was sent to retrieve or the small amount of overconfidence she had from taking out the previous guards but she wasn’t prepared for the sudden sharp pain she felt walking out of the door as someone’s fist connected with her head. In a daze she stumbled back a bit to try and get a clear view of her attacker. All she could make out was a robust figure as they tried to say something to her, probably something along the lines of “who sent you?” or “what office are you from?” Questions she had heard plenty of times before. She felt around her lip where she was punched and noticed the matchstick she had kept in her mouth must have been knocked out by the punch. 

“Dammit.” She mumbled to herself, standing up a bit more straight before trying to rush down the man. She tried a quick overhead swing to the skull but this person was ready, lifting an arm so it took the brunt of the hit before he responded back with a swift left hook to her gut. In her fuzzy state she wasn’t going to be fast enough to try and stop this man’s blows, this was a losing fight and she needed a way to turn the tide. With a step forward she tried to drive the top of the club into the person’s stomach only for him to catch it with his right hand. Clicking the button on the handle the spike hidden in her club shot out, skewering through the man’s hand. She wedged the shield between the two and gave him a hard shove with all her weight, blood splashing against her and her shield as the weapon was dislodged from his hand. Taking this moment she ran off where she had originally come from, the person’s voice echoing through halls as he shouted. “She’s here! Cut her off at the elevator!” Turns out she was wrong about them sending help.

The good thing was that the blow from earlier hadn’t messed with her memory, the bad news was that she had a few new roadblocks in her way. She was hoping this would be a relatively quiet job but it’s never that easy, guess this will just be another mess she’ll have to clean up. Some well aimed thwacks with her club dealt with most of the people in her way and the ones that put up more of a fight became well aware of how heated metal felt. Her shield took most of the attacks aimed at her, some managed to get some lucky hits in but a few cuts and bruises were never enough to put her out of commission. Retracing her steps she knew she was just about to hit the home stretch, one last corner and it was a straight dash to the elevator. With the heavy sound of boots hitting the floor and another loud thwack of her club clearing away another goon she turned the corner. “Shit.” The man from earlier had made it ahead of her, bloodied hand wrapped tightly in his jacket while the other brandished a blade. He was positioned dead center in the hallway and Grettir could hear more people quickly approaching behind her, an extended one on one fight was a death sentence and the man knew it. There was only one idea she had and she hoped it would work.

Bracing her full weight behind her shield she charged forwards, gritting her teeth as she set herself on a straightforward course through the man in front of her. The man did his best to push back against her charge but he was losing ground, slowly getting pushed towards the elevator. Just as it looked like he was finally about to completely stop Grettir the sound of something piercing through metal could be heard followed by a click. A loud blast rang through both of their ears as Grettir’s club expelled its heat pushing him away with a rush of heat and flames.  Once she had gained the upper hand she charged forward once more, making her way into the elevator and pinning him against the wall with her shield. One final swing with her club ended the man. She quickly pressed the button and watched as the doors behind her closed and she could feel the elevator slowly rising.

Slumped against the wall she slid down, letting go of her shield and letting it rest against the wall next her. She gave a cursory glance at the two corpses next to her before looking to her shield, a hole could be seen where her spike had pierced through. The area around it glowing with heat as it cooled off. A simple fix but one her companion wasn’t going to be too happy about. She rummaged around in her coat pocket and pulled out a book of matches, reaching to pull a match out only to find none left. “You really had to get that cheap shot at me, did you?” A few more deep breaths and she pulled herself up, folding up her shield and placing it on her back. Her club had cooled down enough that she could stow it away safely. The rest of the ride up was silent once more, another quiet moment alone with her thoughts. Grettir’s eyes closed for a moment, her chest slowly rising and falling with each steady breath. She once again found her mind drifting, thoughts going back to that moment. She could hear the sounds of panic once more, dimmed hallways flanking her, her radio crackling with the frantic conversations of several people. The noises steadily growing louder and louder until finally she shouted. “Shut up for a damn second and let me breathe!”

Silence once more. 

As her eyes opened she finally noticed that the elevator was lit with the light of the backstage. That same silence hung in the air as she noticed the concerned eyes of several musicians. She pulled herself up and sighed. “You had a bit of a rat problem, consider it dealt with.” Swiping the badge from one of the bodies she sent the elevator back down as she stepped out, crushing it beneath her boot so that no one could think of using it to go back down. “If you have any complaints feel free to send them to the Trench Office, I’m sure they’ll love to hear them.” A statement she has uttered many times. Her footsteps echoed through the quiet backstage, the concerned gazes carefully watching her. She didn’t seem to pay them any mind, it was something she was used to by now. The rest of the walk home was as uneventful as things could get in the city, boots crunching in the snow as she walked towards her office tucked away in District 25. She pulled out her tape recorder once more. 

“Starting log. Grettir once again speaking. The job’s done, got your damn file. Take them and leave the rest of the payment wherever you want and if I see you step into my office again I’ll make sure it’s the last office you’ll ever step in. I’m not doing your damn dirty work again.”