That got a breathy laugh and a brief smile. As mean as it might seem, it was a long standing joke at the expense of all humankind. The retirement age had been raised and raised until it was so high now that no one ever seemed to make it. On the rare occasion that someone did manage to escape the confines of fifty hour plus work weeks confined to a small grey cube in a building that smelt of mold and sanitizers, they generally died soon after. It was as though the freedom was simply too overwhelming and their bodies gave up. Of course most people in the manual labor positions worked themselves to death or died in work accidents. People in desk job positions lived longer, but grew fatter and weaker, their immune system and metabolism becoming compromised by long excessive hours with little physical activity. 

[color=bc8dbf]"Yeah... I just wish they gave us the death report you know? I'd like to see what changed since we hired him years ago. Diet or something... Just to compare with my initial assessment."[/color]

And that's what it came down to. Ona didn't know the man and couldn't really care less that he died. People died all the time. No one would mourn her when she was gone. She simply hated the idea that his passing might suggest that she made a mistake on his assessment. That was impossible. If she couldn't be beautiful, couldn't be loved, couldn't be successful... at least she'd be right. She put more energy in to being right on a daily basis than she put even in to her personal appearance. Mandeville's death questioned that perfection.

Ona pulled up in front of a tall drab apartment building. [color=bc8dbf]"You want me to drop you at the door or go ahead and park? I can help you carry your things in..."[/color] Much to the disappointment of traffic around her, she sat there in the road as she looked to him with those grey blue eyes.