Michael saw that Crickmeyer's office was open and lightly rapped on the door frame.
"Come in, Michael, come in."
"I have that report you wanted," Michael said, offering a small sheaf of papers to Mr. Crickmeyer.
"Why, that's fine, Michael, thank you. Come in. Close the door, have a seat."
Michael paused a beat, uncertain of this invitation, then entered and closed the door behind him. He handed the papers to Mr. Crickmeyer and took a seat in one of the lightly-upholstered brown industrial office chairs across from the desk.
Mr. Crickmeyer sat back in his chair for a moment, studying Michael, one hand idly flipping a ballpoint end over end. Then the pen stopped and Crickmeyer leaned forward. "I wanted to talk to you about your work here with us, Michael. Are you happy here?"
"Yes. Happy. Pleased with the place. Do you enjoy coming to work in the morning? Do you like the people you work with? Are.You. Happy?"
Silence. Then, "I'm not sure how to answer that question."
"It iz very simple, Mitty. Vy did you attempt to assassinate der Kommissar?"
"I'm just doing my job."
"Oh, come, now. Don't be so modest. It izn't every vun who could sneak past ze guard dogs, incapacitate our finest trained sentries, undt disarm our state of ze art zecurity zyztems."
"Well, I do have some small talents."
"Undt you can rest assured ve vill find out all about zose talents. Ve haff vays of finding zese tings out."
"What do you mean?"
"First, ve vill slowly pull out all of your fingernails."
"That should save a bundle on my manicure budget."
"Zen ve vill break every vun of your fingers."
"I've been told my piano playing is only mediocre, anyway."
"Undt zen ve will break both your legs … in several places."
"I hope you don't expect me to walk to those places."
"Ve vill zee how much you make with ze jokes once ve apply ze battery clamps to your ear lobes!"
"Do your worst."
"Ve vill do our vorst. And you vill talk. Oh, how you vill talk. Undt finally, after you haff told us every zing you know, ve vill put a bullet in your personnel folder."
Michael blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"I said I've been putting a few bullet points in your personnel folder," Crickmeyer replied.
"Oh. Ohhhh," Michael said, wondering what could possibly be of interest in his personnel jacket.
"I see a man who has some talent, but hasn't yet realized it. I see a lot of unexploited potential."
"I do, Mr. Mitty, and I think the company will want to exploit it. So I'm reassigning you to our Research and Development Division. I think you'll fit in just fine there." Mr. Crickmeyer closed the folder that was on his desk, signaling the end of this meeting.
"Oh," Michael let this sink in for a moment. "Umm, okay." He stood up.
"You'll start next week. Finish up or hand off any projects you're currently working on, then go to HR tomorrow for the appropriate badge, clearances, et cetera, and report to the sixth floor on Monday."
Michael stood up, shook Mr. Crickmeyer's hand, and walked out of the office. In the background, he could hear explosions, the sound of machine gun fire, and cries of "Stop him! He's getting away! Again!!"
What do you think should happen next?
(You can read this story from the beginning by clicking the "Saturday Novel" label from the list to the lower left of this page.)