Part 1

                                    

                                          
Dennis Teethaker applied for the clerk position at ApoTech with a crisp résumé on acid- and lignen-free cotton paper with a woven finish.
It described in meticulous detail his prior experience as a teller at a grocery store while working for his Associate’s Degree in business finance over the internet and included details about the projects in which he participated in academia.
His pulmonary system pumped his prescribed dose of anti-anxiety medication throughout his body as he mumbled through his interview. The panel of two business-clad and blank-faced professionals peppered him with questions, to which he provided technically accurate answers.
When it was over, he returned home the way he came, via the city bus system.
He did not sleep until he had removed the sweat stains from his white collared shirt, slacks, and underwear.
A week later, he received a letter of acceptance on a sheet of bulk eight-and-a-half-by-eleven-inch paper, Dennis noting that they had forgotten to replace one instance of [Applicant Name] in the body of the letter.
The stress of taking the position peaked at the beginning, in large part to the lack of training.
His job, as seen from the outside, was to wake up at 5 in the morning, don his professional attire, eat a bowl of instant oatmeal with a cup of black coffee, pick up his book bag, and head to the bus stop, taking care to lock the door to his apartment behind him.
He did not greet any neighbors on his way out, and there was no lobby in which people could mill about. This was acceptable for Dennis.
He rode the bus in silence, with his book bag in his lap.
Upon arrival to the bus stop near his work, he walked the rest of the way through outer security, always treating the gate guard as a stranger, even though the guard himself worked the same shift as Dennis.
He entered the ApoTech building at the eastern door, which was an unadorned outer access to the stairwell, and not the main entrance, which was stationed by the person manning the front desk.
This stairwell took Dennis straight up to the second floor of the three story building, letting him out at the shortest hallway to his own office. This route took him past only three cubicles on his floor, which were all reserved for the occasional visiting professionals from headquarters.
Every weekday, except holidays, he would come into his unadorned cubicle, put down his book bag on his standard issue desk, and take out its sole contents: his standard issue office laptop.
With the laptop plugged in, turned on, booted up, and securely connected to the company network,  he started his 7 to 4 shift creating mediocre but usable spreadsheets, presenting data in particularly lack luster reports, and transcribing information between computer systems that were unable to communicate with one another. 
Every day since his interview and subsequent acceptance a year ago went like this, and his days ended in a similarly repetitive fashion.
After a long day of avoiding human interaction and distracting himself into and out of work, he would save his progress at 3:50 PM.
He would shut down his computer to be packed up into his book bag and, before leaving for home, he would choose to spare the lives of everyone in the building. 
By the third week of his employment, Dennis had fully rigged the building with explosives.
The support beams in the basement.
The sparsely used corners of the building on every floor.
The connection to city power and internet.
The ceilings over the water cooler, lunch nook, and fire escapes.