Story code: ST-000453
Part 1: Ten More Minutes
Claire locked her jaw and stretched her lips into a rigid, close-mouthed smile for the green eye of her webcam. A fresh, tearing spasm ripped through her lower abdomen, driving the breath from her lungs in a silent gasp. Beneath her tailored slacks, a horrifying warmth continued to pool and soak deep into the gray mesh seat of her expensive ergonomic office chair. She dug her fingernails into the underside of her oak desk, anchoring herself against the dizzying wave of agony.
On the monitor, Tomas leaned closer to his own camera, his face a portrait of earnest dedication. He sat thousands of miles away in a time zone twelve hours ahead, determined to prove his worth as the new offshore vendor. His pen flew across a yellow legal pad. He was eager, relentlessly thorough, and completely oblivious to the fact that the woman training him was currently bleeding out from a concealed medical emergency.
Tomas adjusted his headset and stated he needed to go over the data migration protocol one more time just to be absolutely certain he had the compliance steps correct. Claire nodded, unable to trust her voice. Every subtle movement sent another horrific spike of pain radiating through her pelvis. She watched the digital clock at the corner of her screen. Ten more minutes. If she could just hold out for ten more minutes, she could end the Zoom meeting, turn off her camera, and collapse onto the floor.
She shifted her weight a fraction of an inch to relieve the pressure, instantly regretting the action. The slick, heavy sensation of blood spreading across the chair cushion was undeniable. It was seeping through her clothes. If she stood up right now, the dark red evidence would be fully visible on camera. She was physically pinned to the frame, trapped by the unblinking lens and her own desperate need to finish this final handover session without raising suspicion.
Tomas held up his notepad, showing a complex diagram he had drawn of the server pathways. He explained his understanding of the routing process, his tone vibrating with the anxiety of someone whose livelihood depended on securing this corporate contract. Claire forced a thumbs-up into the camera frame. Her hand was shaking so violently she had to drop it back to her lap immediately, curling her fingers into a tight fist against her leg.
Sweat broke out across her forehead and upper lip. The overhead fluorescent lights of her home office seemed to strobe, pulsing in time with the pounding in her ears. She needed to focus. She needed to drive the cursor to the top of the screen and stop the screen-share, but her vision was blurring at the edges. Tomas paused his explanation and leaned closer to his screen, his brow furrowing slightly. He noted aloud that she looked quite pale.
Claire swallowed hard and unmuted her microphone, forcing out a raspy reassurance that she was just dealing with a minor headache from staring at spreadsheets all day. She instructed him to look at the final slide of the deck currently broadcasting from her desktop. Tomas nodded, his attention snapping back to the shared screen, eager to prove his diligence. He read the bullet points aloud, his voice methodical and incredibly slow. Every syllable he dragged out felt like a physical weight pressing down on her chest.
The tearing sensation returned, sharper than before, an absolute crescendo of internal pressure that made the room tilt. Claire clamped her lips together to hold back a scream. Her right hand spasmed on the mouse. She needed to end this call immediately. She dragged the cursor upward, aiming for the red button that would sever the screen-share and give her the privacy she desperately required to dial an emergency dispatcher.
Her slick palm slipped against the smooth plastic shell of the mouse. The cursor jerked wildly across the monitor just as her index finger convulsed on the left button. Instead of ending the broadcast, she minimized the presentation entirely, exposing her raw desktop to the live feed.
She scrambled to maximize the window again, but her fingers were numb and unresponsive. Before she could correct the error, a stark white rectangle slid into view at the top right corner of her screen. It was a high-priority system notification, an automated alert triggered from an application she thought she had securely disabled before the call began.
The bold black text of the alert rendered with crystal clarity over the high-definition connection. It was the exact string of words she had spent the last three months trying to bury deep within the company archives, the very evidence that would guarantee her immediate termination and subsequent prosecution. Claire stared at the notification, her physical agony momentarily eclipsed by a shock of pure, freezing terror.
Tomas stopped speaking mid-sentence. The silence on the line stretched out, heavy and absolute. He leaned forward until his face filled his camera square, his eyes darting back and forth as he read the exposed text on the shared screen. His hand moved slowly away from his legal pad, reaching toward his own keyboard.
Claire locked her jaw and stretched her lips into a rigid, close-mouthed smile for the green eye of her webcam. A fresh, tearing spasm ripped through her lower abdomen, driving the breath from her lungs in a silent gasp. Beneath her tailored slacks, a horrifying warmth continued to pool and soak deep into the gray mesh seat of her expensive ergonomic office chair. She dug her fingernails into the underside of her oak desk, anchoring herself against the dizzying wave of agony.
On the monitor, Tomas leaned closer to his own camera, his face a portrait of earnest dedication. He sat thousands of miles away in a time zone twelve hours ahead, determined to prove his worth as the new offshore vendor. His pen flew across a yellow legal pad. He was eager, relentlessly thorough, and completely oblivious to the fact that the woman training him was currently bleeding out from a concealed medical emergency.
Tomas adjusted his headset and stated he needed to go over the data migration protocol one more time just to be absolutely certain he had the compliance steps correct. Claire nodded, unable to trust her voice. Every subtle movement sent another horrific spike of pain radiating through her pelvis. She watched the digital clock at the corner of her screen. Ten more minutes. If she could just hold out for ten more minutes, she could end the Zoom meeting, turn off her camera, and collapse onto the floor.
She shifted her weight a fraction of an inch to relieve the pressure, instantly regretting the action. The slick, heavy sensation of blood spreading across the chair cushion was undeniable. It was seeping through her clothes. If she stood up right now, the dark red evidence would be fully visible on camera. She was physically pinned to the frame, trapped by the unblinking lens and her own desperate need to finish this final handover session without raising suspicion.
Tomas held up his notepad, showing a complex diagram he had drawn of the server pathways. He explained his understanding of the routing process, his tone vibrating with the anxiety of someone whose livelihood depended on securing this corporate contract. Claire forced a thumbs-up into the camera frame. Her hand was shaking so violently she had to drop it back to her lap immediately, curling her fingers into a tight fist against her leg.
Sweat broke out across her forehead and upper lip. The overhead fluorescent lights of her home office seemed to strobe, pulsing in time with the pounding in her ears. She needed to focus. She needed to drive the cursor to the top of the screen and stop the screen-share, but her vision was blurring at the edges. Tomas paused his explanation and leaned closer to his screen, his brow furrowing slightly. He noted aloud that she looked quite pale.
Claire swallowed hard and unmuted her microphone, forcing out a raspy reassurance that she was just dealing with a minor headache from staring at spreadsheets all day. She instructed him to look at the final slide of the deck currently broadcasting from her desktop. Tomas nodded, his attention snapping back to the shared screen, eager to prove his diligence. He read the bullet points aloud, his voice methodical and incredibly slow. Every syllable he dragged out felt like a physical weight pressing down on her chest.
The tearing sensation returned, sharper than before, an absolute crescendo of internal pressure that made the room tilt. Claire clamped her lips together to hold back a scream. Her right hand spasmed on the mouse. She needed to end this call immediately. She dragged the cursor upward, aiming for the red button that would sever the screen-share and give her the privacy she desperately required to dial an emergency dispatcher.
Her slick palm slipped against the smooth plastic shell of the mouse. The cursor jerked wildly across the monitor just as her index finger convulsed on the left button. Instead of ending the broadcast, she minimized the presentation entirely, exposing her raw desktop to the live feed.
She scrambled to maximize the window again, but her fingers were numb and unresponsive. Before she could correct the error, a stark white rectangle slid into view at the top right corner of her screen. It was a high-priority system notification, an automated alert triggered from an application she thought she had securely disabled before the call began.
The bold black text of the alert rendered with crystal clarity over the high-definition connection. It was the exact string of words she had spent the last three months trying to bury deep within the company archives, the very evidence that would guarantee her immediate termination and subsequent prosecution. Claire stared at the notification, her physical agony momentarily eclipsed by a shock of pure, freezing terror.
Tomas stopped speaking mid-sentence. The silence on the line stretched out, heavy and absolute. He leaned forward until his face filled his camera square, his eyes darting back and forth as he read the exposed text on the shared screen. His hand moved slowly away from his legal pad, reaching toward his own keyboard.