Janet stepped up with the escalator, doubling the rate of her ascent. She wasn’t in a huge hurry, certainly not in as much a hurry as the guy sliding down the down escalator, but she had better things to do than to spend all day at a mall. Janet just needed a few more things to put in her son Phil’s stocking. Small, stupid, throwaway things to open first, essentially filling the role of a Christmas appetizer.
This seemed like a job for Gamestop and their weird collection of not-quite-game-related nonsense. Janet wondered if those big-headed pieces of plastic with the dead black eyes would fit in a decorative Christmas sock. Or maybe she could buy one of those shirts that the Gen Z kids like so much; you know, one with a piece of pop culture on it that came out 10-20 years before they were born?
Janet could hear people running and screaming on the first floor. Maybe somebody released the latest stock of whatever this year’s Tickle-me Elmo is? She was just curious enough to look over the second floor railing, seeing a panicked mob. A man three feet to her right pulled a gun and pointed it down towards a large man standing still in the scattering crowd.
“Hey!” he yelled before he tumbled over the railing, his chest exploding in a shower of red.
“Extra! You can’t be in this shot!” yelled a voice from a megaphone.
“Please refer to me as Janet! I’m method!”