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Description
Being an attaché to the French embassy in a minor Chinese town, I never really expected to literally be attached to the local ambassador. Usually it was an easy pencil-pusher job, until these very particular ‘visitors’ arrived. I currently was inspecting some bronze matryoshka dolls that the ambassador brought from one of his many trips (or he just got them from Amazon), when they, in quite an unfriendly way, kicked in the door wearing black ski masks, shot Luke (poor fella’s father was a huge Star Wars fan) and took the entire embassy hostage. Black ski masks. Really? How avant-garde. In addition, Genesis’ “I can’t dance” booming from a radio isn’t really the best soundtrack for a hostage situation.

“Excusez-moi,” - ironically I have always been drawing flak for my lack of diplomacy in stressful situations – “I don’t really think you have an appointment,” I, still standing with one of those Russian puppets in hand, remark towards these Romans conquering Gallic territory.

Baffled, the five figures (plus dog) stared at me wordlessly. I stared back. My eyes just were drawn to one of the terrorists’ décolleté. Her blonde hair managed to cheekily stick out of the back of her mask. “My eyes are up here,” she remarked with a strong German accent. “And my gun is down here.” With a certain amount of red around my most innocent cheeks I decided to raise my arms and look somewhere else. At the tiny Dachshund that accompanied her, for instance. It probably was a she, given the fact that the German wurst-shaped animal had a flower attached to her collar.

Good that my mother always shoved me forcefully around her garden, otherwise I would have never known that the violet blossom with five petals was a Madagascan periwinkle. This newly dug-up wisdom might prove to be vital if I wanted to survive. Probably it won’t, though. You never know.

In the meantime my ambassador-in-charge arose from his vodka-induced stupor. “Canis canem edit,” he stammered. Before he could produce any more unfitting Latin proverbs I rather yelled “Imperator, morituri te salutant!” towards my captors. I was really close to exchanging ‘imperator’ with ‘Kaiser’, but that was a flirt with unforeseeable consequences.

They didn’t really care about me (or my highly intellectual utterances) and did their job. Given the fact that our numbers were quite small in comparison, we didn’t struggle. I mean, he wouldn’t have been able to anyways, and so we were bound together by Judith. That’s at least the name I have given to the female lead singer of the new Top-10 band “Political Judges” that just formed in my head.

Actually the four guys didn’t really seem to be a part of the band, rather background dancers. They started rounding up the rest of the embassy workers and shoved them into some storage room that Esther and Jack sometimes used for their… Internal relations. There was no need for a revelation, everyone knew about – or rather heard –them.

The German stayed with us, with that wiener-with-legs right next to her. She began putting a mark on different papers on the desk, not really minding us. I noticed that her eyes were of a very particular amber colour. Well, one of hers. The other rather was olive. An interesting combination, but it doesn’t really change the fact that she held me at gunpoint a few minutes ago.

I remembered how I had bought some Cosmic Latte – yeah, stupid Chinese naming – at that one horridly popular coffee store this morning. The strangely shaped, green coloured cup was probably still sitting on my desk. Waiting for me. I turn my head. Yup.
I will never know why I had the urge to check that, but at least it caused a reaction.

Not a good one… but at least it caused a reaction. Our champagne-haired captor jerked her head up and grasped her pistol more tightly while she walked towards us. I guess it wasn’t my worry-induced movement that actually made her get up, seeing that she held a paper in her hand.

“I have what I need.” She put the gun against the ambassador’s head. He whimpered a few words about god, but she just answered “Gott ist tot” in the coldest way possible and pulled the trigger.

My co-worker (probably also to be called friend) met his personal exodus in a way that didn’t seem fitting to him. I’d have imagined his pink brains spilled in some Thai brothel after a fight with the local pimp, but not over his desk, neatly kept in chaos at all times.

She turned around, dropping the chrome gun. “Au revoir.”

Will these people’s acts stay unpunished? At least they left me alone with my own personal apocalypse: Jobless and friendless in some mountain Hicksville, strapped to my old, dead boss in a chair. I felt my conscious slowly slip into madness.
“Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.” I stutter. The more things change, the more they stay the same. I am not sure why exactly I felt the need to say that, it just felt like it had to be done.

At least, this quote is bullshit.

Everything changed. Nothing stayed the same.
I tried to struggle free and soon escaped my former workplace.

Description
Being an attaché to the French embassy in a minor Chinese town, I never really expected to literally be attached to the local ambassador. Usually it was an easy pencil-pusher job, until these very particular ‘visitors’ arrived. I currently was inspecting some bronze matryoshka dolls that the ambassador brought from one of his many trips (or he just got them from Amazon), when they, in quite an unfriendly way, kicked in the door wearing black ski masks, shot Luke (poor fella’s father was a huge Star Wars fan) and took the entire embassy hostage. Black ski masks. Really? How avant-garde. In addition, Genesis’ “I can’t dance” booming from a radio isn’t really the best soundtrack for a hostage situation.

“Excusez-moi,” - ironically I have always been drawing flak for my lack of diplomacy in stressful situations – “I don’t really think you have an appointment,” I, still standing with one of those Russian puppets in hand, remark towards these Romans conquering Gallic territory.

Baffled, the five figures (plus dog) stared at me wordlessly. I stared back. My eyes just were drawn to one of the terrorists’ décolleté. Her blonde hair managed to cheekily stick out of the back of her mask. “My eyes are up here,” she remarked with a strong German accent. “And my gun is down here.” With a certain amount of red around my most innocent cheeks I decided to raise my arms and look somewhere else. At the tiny Dachshund that accompanied her, for instance. It probably was a she, given the fact that the German wurst-shaped animal had a flower attached to her collar.

Good that my mother always shoved me forcefully around her garden, otherwise I would have never known that the violet blossom with five petals was a Madagascan periwinkle. This newly dug-up wisdom might prove to be vital if I wanted to survive. Probably it won’t, though. You never know.

In the meantime my ambassador-in-charge arose from his vodka-induced stupor. “Canis canem edit,” he stammered. Before he could produce any more unfitting Latin proverbs I rather yelled “Imperator, morituri te salutant!” towards my captors. I was really close to exchanging ‘imperator’ with ‘Kaiser’, but that was a flirt with unforeseeable consequences.

They didn’t really care about me (or my highly intellectual utterances) and did their job. Given the fact that our numbers were quite small in comparison, we didn’t struggle. I mean, he wouldn’t have been able to anyways, and so we were bound together by Judith. That’s at least the name I have given to the female lead singer of the new Top-10 band “Political Judges” that just formed in my head.

Actually the four guys didn’t really seem to be a part of the band, rather background dancers. They started rounding up the rest of the embassy workers and shoved them into some storage room that Esther and Jack sometimes used for their… Internal relations. There was no need for a revelation, everyone knew about – or rather heard –them.

The German stayed with us, with that wiener-with-legs right next to her. She began putting a mark on different papers on the desk, not really minding us. I noticed that her eyes were of a very particular amber colour. Well, one of hers. The other rather was olive. An interesting combination, but it doesn’t really change the fact that she held me at gunpoint a few minutes ago.

I remembered how I had bought some Cosmic Latte – yeah, stupid Chinese naming – at that one horridly popular coffee store this morning. The strangely shaped, green coloured cup was probably still sitting on my desk. Waiting for me. I turn my head. Yup.
I will never know why I had the urge to check that, but at least it caused a reaction.

Not a good one… but at least it caused a reaction. Our champagne-haired captor jerked her head up and grasped her pistol more tightly while she walked towards us. I guess it wasn’t my worry-induced movement that actually made her get up, seeing that she held a paper in her hand.

“I have what I need.” She put the gun against the ambassador’s head. He whimpered a few words about god, but she just answered “Gott ist tot” in the coldest way possible and pulled the trigger.

My co-worker (probably also to be called friend) met his personal exodus in a way that didn’t seem fitting to him. I’d have imagined his pink brains spilled in some Thai brothel after a fight with the local pimp, but not over his desk, neatly kept in chaos at all times.

She turned around, dropping the chrome gun. “Au revoir.”

Will these people’s acts stay unpunished? At least they left me alone with my own personal apocalypse: Jobless and friendless in some mountain Hicksville, strapped to my old, dead boss in a chair. I felt my conscious slowly slip into madness.
“Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.” I stutter. The more things change, the more they stay the same. I am not sure why exactly I felt the need to say that, it just felt like it had to be done.

At least, this quote is bullshit.

Everything changed. Nothing stayed the same.
I tried to struggle free and soon escaped my former workplace.