People pushed their way out of the elevator doors in a great hurry to catch the celebrity who just entered the building. Sighing as the door closed, I noticed that there was one man left; maybe he was another employee in this building. I didn't pay attention, though, but I regret doing that. One moment, I'm just glancing at my reflection on the elevator walls. The next moment, there's a hand on my mouth and a gun pointed to my head, and it's none other than the "employee" who'd be pulling the trigger. Gee, what a great way to end my once-a-month visit to my dad's office. I don't see him often because he's always here, in his so-called "second home" (which I think he considers his first), talking to clients and reading the law, making calls and occasionally going to court to defend. He's one busy lawyer, alright, what with him being the best around here. Back to the present situation, I was extremely puzzled. How was this guy able to get through the tight security here? This hundred-floor building was one of the safest to be in. Was he really an employee in the first place? Oh, maybe we'd end up passing through the lobby, and everyone's going to see—Nope, he had already pressed the button leading to the isolated parking lot. I'd always imagine what I'd be doing in scenarios like this. Apply martial arts to the arm holding the gun? Kick him down there and press that emergency button? Bite the hand that was covering my mouth? Nope, I didn't do any of that; I was frozen in place. I couldn't even bring myself to look around. I could hardly breathe, but as I struggled to do so, I heard the sound of tinkling bells. I felt vibrations in my pocket, then I realized that it was my phone making that sound. I'm screwed.