Greg stood anxiously in front of the Doris Dayton Library in his best interview clothes. He was thirty minutes early because the thought of being late gave him an upset stomach. He wanted to establish a pattern of punctuality. Employers seemed to be into that sort of thing.

The plexiglass double doors slid open silently as Greg stepped inside. Usually, there would be the sound of children playing on the computers, the photocopiers' soft buzz, maybe a couple of squeaky carts, but there was none of that. It was eerily silent. The irony did not escape him.

As he reached the help desk, he saw why there was no noise; there was no one around. Not a single soul was visible. This was most unusual for a Tuesday afternoon. He checked his phone to make sure today wasn’t some kind of national holiday. It was not.

“Hello?” Greg asked quietly, afraid to disturb the atmosphere. He received no response. A silver bell sat on the desk with a sign that asked him to ring it for service. He hesitated for a brief moment before he rang it. The tinny ding seemed so much louder in contrast to the stark silence. It almost hurt his ears.

Not even a second later, a short, balding man wearing a tight red argyle sweater emerged from the back office. Sweat beaded his shiny head. He appeared exhausted like he had traveled a far distance, but that couldn’t be since the office was just behind the counter, and the man arrived before the ding had finished.

“We’re closed,” the man said, wheezing. He looked at Greg’s attire and smiled weakly. “Oh, you must be Mr. Jones here for the interview. I apologize. We weren’t expecting you for another half hour.” He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed his forehead. “We’re still setting things up in the back. Please, have a seat, and we’ll get you when we’re ready.” He returned to the office from whence he came.

Greg wanted to ask questions, but he thought it best to hold them until the end of the interview. He found a seat in the kid’s section and waited patiently. He pretended he wasn’t anxious in case someone was watching him from some unseen place.

Five minutes later, the man appeared again, more winded than before. “We’re ready for you now. Please follow me.”

Greg followed the man into the office and was surprised to find a sprawling hallway that seemed to stretch for miles. No wonder this man is tired, he thought. He made a mental note to buy more durable shoes if he got the job.

The hallway finally ended after what seemed like five minutes. It was dark and thin, with only low watt light bulbs illuminating the way. They reached a staircase that led to a basement. Sounds of people murmuring greeted them on their descent. Greg continued to hold his questions for later.

They reached the bottom to be met by eight people; all dressed similarly to Winded Man. Oh, we’re gonna have to do something about this dress code, Greg said as he glanced from person to person in their ugly sweaters. They all stood in a circle, with the woman who had conducted his previous interviews standing in the center.

“Thank you, Mr. Windham,” the old woman said, dismissing Winded Man. “Mr. Jones, I’m glad to see you’ve maintained your knack for punctuality.” Her eyes narrowed behind her cat eye glasses. “I believe everything is in order. Let us begin.”

Greg tried to hide his disappointment about being surprised with a group interview. He hated them because it was so intense to have multiple people staring at him, judging him, while he performed for them. He started to question whether he really wanted this job, but he told himself to see it through. The worst thing that could happen would be he wouldn’t get the job.

He went to sit down when he noticed the severe lack of chairs. It made sense why they were all standing. He chuckled nervously and said, “I guess we’re not sitting.”

“No,” Mrs. Havershim said, taking off her glasses. “Your final interview is going to be with all of us. Though, I guess ‘interview’ is a bit misleading. You’re not going to talk about your qualifications. You’re going to fight.”

Greg arched a brow. “Excuse me?”

Mr. Windham tore off his sweater to reveal his burly chest. It glistened with sweat as he beat his pecs into submission. He stomped his feet how he had seen sumo wrestlers do on TV.

“The hell?”

Mrs. Havershim smirked at Greg’s confusion. “You see, no one is simply hired to be a librarian without a fight. An opening doesn’t just happen unless one of us retires or dies. Rest in peace, Ms. Severin.”

“Rest in peace,” muttered the others. Some crossed themselves while others lowered their heads in reverence.

“To be accepted into our ranks, you must defeat Mr. Windham in battle.” Mrs. Havershim glanced Greg up and down and smiled. “You look like you could hold your own. Let’s see.”

Greg watched as Mrs. Havershim joined the others in the circle while Mr. Windham took her place in the center. His eyes were like a wild beast’s. Greg no longer questioned his desire for this job. He wanted it more than ever now. He tore off his dress shirt; the buttons flew every which way. His tie fell limply to the floor. He took his belt off for good measure. He took his place inside the ring of librarians and beckoned for his opponent to make his first move.

Mr. Windham screamed like a banshee as he rushed toward Greg. Fists flew fast and furious at Greg’s face. As Greg dodged each one, he grew more frustrated and enraged.

Greg, being no stranger to a good fight, watched Mr. Windham’s moves, studying him. The little man would soon tire himself out as he had earlier. He just had to wait for the right moment to take him down. It was a great plan in theory, but it didn’t appear to be working. Mr. Windham seemed to have an abundance of energy. He kept those fists coming.

Okay, so maybe he just has a sweating problem, Greg reasoned. He couldn’t stay on the offensive forever, so he decided to throw the first punch. His fist landed squarely in Mr. Windham’s face, breaking his nose in three places. The man rolled backward a couple of times before stopping at Mrs. Havershim’s feet.

“Tsk, really Harold?” She said as she gazed down at the bloody mess of a man. “I guess I’ll just have to take care of this myself.” She stepped over him and entered the ring.

“Please, don’t take…” Before Greg could finish, Mrs. Havershim tore her sweater off. Greg turned away to hide the sight of her old body from his fragile and precious eyes.

“You’re not afraid to hit a woman, are you?” Mrs. Havershim taunted. “Surely, a big man like yourself should be able to handle a little old lady like me.”

Greg dared himself to finally look. Where he expected to find droopy and saggy breasts were taut and well-muscled chesticles. The same went for her arms and abs. Grandma was stacked. He grinned as he realized she was using the art of misdirection to confuse him.

“I see you,” Greg said. He took a stance Keanu Reeves brought into popularity in the Neo versus Morpheus fight in the dojo and beckoned to her.

They both shouted as they ran toward each other, fists raised and poised to inflict damage. Their feet pounded the cement floor, cracking it with each immense step they took. When their fists collided, a shockwave of energy flew out in all directions, knocking down the ring of bystanders.

Dust rose up, obscuring the fighters within. The spectators sat up slowly and stared into the center of the room to gaze upon the result. The dust was too thick, and the shockwave was deafening, so they couldn’t hear if anyone was moaning in pain. They just had to wait for everything to settle.

***

Damien sat in the parking lot, waiting for Greg’s interview to finish. He sat in the car reading a New York Post article when he heard footsteps approaching. He looked into the rearview mirror and saw Greg returning shirtless and bloody. He quickly jumped out of the car and rushed to him.

“What the hell happened to you?” Damien asked, resisting the urge to touch Greg’s swollen left eye. “What did you do?”

Greg smiled, revealing a bloodied mess inside his mouth. “I got a job.”