does she?"
"Poor girl."
"She still thinks there's hope."
"Just tell me this: How did I end up here, huh?" Kaitlin asked. "Because if I'm here, it means somebody else had to leave."
She'd crossed the line. "We can't talk about that," I said.
"What do you mean, you can't talk about that?"
I headed to the snack machines as the others scampered back to their chairs.
"Augh!" Kaitlin screamed, jumping up onto her desktop, sending her Aeron chair into her hard drive, giving it a good bang. "Stop right now, all you assholes, and tell me what's going on here!"
Bree said, "This is so Pulp Fiction."
Cowboy said, "They didn't tell you, huh?"
"No! As far as I can see, nobody tells anyone about anything in this place."
"Well, you're right about that."
Silence.
Kaitlin said, "What? Tell me something. Anythingl"
"It was helium."
"Excuse me?"
"It was helium. Marc Jacobsen used to have your cubicle."
"You've lost me here."
This was going to be difficult. I said, "Marc was a really nice guy. He was actually a world builder for Xbox games."
"What does he or helium have to do with anything?"
Even Evil Mark had been here long enough to know that this was delicate.
"This isn't the best time and place to be telling you this," I said.
"Telling me WHAT?"
Bree stepped in. "Marc was really sweet, and totally into the games, and really wanted to make people's lives better. And he was the only staffer who was never guilted into coming in on weekends during crunch times, so that shows you how good he was, and how much clout he had."
"Helium? Everybody— helium}"
I took over. "Marc was at his sister's birthday party, and he was in charge of party tricks, and so he rented a helium canister from a novelty supply company. He was at the party making twisted balloon animals when he decided to suck back some helium so he could speak in a Donald Duck Munchkin voice."
"And?"
"So there were maybe a dozen kids there—eight-year-olds—really easy to entertain. He put his lips onto the helium canister's nozzle and sucked in about a gallon of helium . . ."
"And?"
Silence.
"And?"
"Let Google help us here," said John Doe. "'If the concentration of oxygen falls below eighteen percent in the body, symptoms and signs of asphyxia occur. Helium gas can entirely displace available oxygen. If this continues for even a few seconds, asphyxia and death can occur.' Sure, we all want to sound like Donald Duck—but is it worth the price?"
Kaitlin said, "Uh-oh."
"Exactly. In front of all these kids, Marc keels over, turns blue and dies."
"Oh God. When did this happen?"
"A few months ago."
"And his desk has been empty all this time?"
"That's life. One moment you're mimicking Munchkins, the next, birthday cake is digging its way into your nostrils."
Kaitlin said, "What about Evil Mark? He arrived here only a little while before me. Why didn't he get this Marc guy's old cubicle?"
"Evil Mark? They just came in here one day and installed another cubicle, and then he showed up."
The look on Kaitlin's face said it all. For the first time, it was sinking in that jPod was real, and that she was a part of it, and that there was no escaping her destiny. "I think I'll just sit down now and see what's coming down the Chute," she said.
And with that, jPod fell silent.
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