“We’re replacing you, Bond,” said M. “It’s nothing personal, but you’ve become a bit slow on the trigger. There is a performance plan that HR could do with you but -”
“It would just delay the inevitable,” said Bond, never a friend of HR. “Right.”
He drew out his gun and handed it to M, butt first.
It was convenient that this was coming now. If the Cold War were still on, there would have been an unfortunate accident. Now there were any number of appropriate consulting assignments, even volunteer work that one could do for the exposure.
“So I’ll just go down to Outplacement,” Bond said.
Hundred-word flash fic written in workshop at Loncon 3, either Emma Newman or Plot Medics.