I've been writing Ambition Plot short stories for my own enjoyment, with this one being based on the final scene of the game. It takes place during Zimmerman's funeral, so you can interpret it as the epilogue if you'd like. Perhaps Evil's perspective will lend a new eye for your consideration.

This story contains explicit sexual content.

We Were Faithful

On the day of Zimmerman’s funeral, Evil looked into the casket and thought, I bet you wished you divorced your wife for me.

The send-off had been beautiful. It was a Christian ceremony with an open casket to show Zimmerman’s sleeping face, not a day older than sixty-five. He made for a surprisingly decent corpse, with white hair and a strong jaw, his body in a suit that made him seem fit, like he could spring out at any moment. The eyes Evil loved were closed, but his lips still looked warm and his hands could clasp his.

Zimmerman had been kind to him when Evil first started work, in the days he found everything and everyone intolerable. They were all pretending to be someone with their pressed suits and nice watches, but Zimmerman’s face said, I’m not. Henry Zimmerman, Director of Finance at a major bank, wore his job like a second skin. Evil started to like being there too, knowing people would kill to be in his shoes.

He had wanted Zimmerman so badly, even his daughter would do. Then Zimmerman had to go get a new secretary, and Evil didn’t see what was wrong with some harmless flirting. It turned out that Zimmerman deserved a better subordinate. He also deserved a better secretary and a better daughter, because Evil had fucked them both. Now it was over: his boss was dead, Fran knew about his cheating, and Hart was positively gleeful.

Standing there, watching Zimmerman’s casket lower into the ground, the hymn repeated in Evil’s mind. Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father. There is no shadow of turning with Thee. Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not. As Thou hast been, Thou forever wilt be.

“It’s a shame, isn’t it,” Hart said from next to him.

Even though there was nothing wrong with his clothes, Hart looked too good for a funeral. His suit was black, but in the light, it had a navy-blue undertone that gave off a fashionable appearance. While Evil wore a tie, Hart hadn’t bothered. His collar was loose and the top buttons were undone, like he was inviting people to look down his shirt. Any other time and Evil would.

Evil had fond memories of groping him in the office and bending him over on the desk. They snuck around like teenagers, even as he did the same with Zimmerman and Fran. The perfect days seemed like they’d go on forever, but Hart’s patience ran out in the end. Evil didn’t think Hart would get jealous, but he did and told Fran, if only to blow them all up.

Throughout the funeral, Hart was the only one who smiled. First when he spotted Evil, then as they sat through the prayers and hymns, and finally while Fran gave her mourning speech. His eyes glittered during the eulogy, knowing he was the only one Evil had left. He wasn’t sorry at all, even though he should’ve been, and Evil felt as if he killed the old man himself. Never mind that a heart attack was what did him in.

The dirt sank under his feet as Evil shifted back to avoid the grave. “It’s horrible,” he said and tried not to sound choked up about it.

“I didn’t mean about his death. I meant that he’s buried and not cremated. With all the smoking he did, you’d think he’d prefer to end up as ashes.”

Evil was speechless for a moment. It struck him that the only person he had left didn’t have a heart. He himself might’ve been heartless too, because fuck, he laughed.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said. “A burial suits him, I can’t imagine otherwise. I’m glad for it.”

“Because you get to see him one last time?”

“Yes.”

Hart’s eyes narrowed. His hand shot out and clutched Evil’s arm, and then they were standing close like lovers. He clung to him like a vise while looking at the grave, soil freshly dug.

“You should forget about him,” Hart said, his voice even. “It was never going to work out.”

“I know.”

Zimmerman always talked about how he’d leave his wife, and Evil heard the unspoken, for you. Never mind that Zimmerman was four decades older and his boss, Evil was an open-minded guy. Zimmerman had cigarette breath and a limp dick but god, Evil just ate it up. He dreamed they’d get a cottage by the lake and Zimmerman would wear his grandpa polos, and if anyone asked, they were father and son. Zimmerman could be his daddy, if only he was honest about it.

In the end, Zimmerman got shoveled into the dirt while Evil watched. His wife and daughter had no idea about him.

“He was a good man,” Evil said.

“Now you’re just lying.” 

Hart was too close for comfort. Evil tried to pull away, but when he tugged his arm back, Hart held on tight. “So what if I am? He was my boss.” His fingers twitched. “Let me get a smoke.”

“Do what you want,” Hart said blandly. He loosened his arm so Evil could reach into his left suit pocket.

Evil drew out the box, ignoring the warning label. These days, they were getting more and more gruesome. There was a picture of a mangled heart—warning: cigarettes are a leading cause of heart disease—and he clicked open the lighter.

He put the smoke between his lips and tried to imagine if Zimmerman got cremated. The cigarette tasted like Zimmerman. Of course it did because it was the same brand, down to the same store two blocks from their office.

He was the only one who smoked with Zimmerman. Evil had picked up the habit to keep Zimmerman company, and if it let him spend less time at his desk, that was nice too. Soon enough, Zimmerman caught onto the fact he was making eyes at him, and gave him quick, guilty glances back. Evil felt them from head to toe, pausing at his stud earrings. Textbook closet case, but Evil liked everything about him.

As smoke trailed into the air, Hart opened his hand for the box. Evil gave it to him, but instead of taking out a cigarette, Hart turned it over. “You’ll get lung cancer,” he said with no small amount of amusement, “and a heart attack.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Then don’t be pathetic, Evil. Do you really want to go the same way as your boss?” He reached out and plucked the smoke from Evil’s lips, stamping it beneath his heel. “I don’t care if you smoke but you’re going to change the brand. I won’t have you chasing after him. He’s dead. I can’t compete with a dead man.”

I wasn’t trying to make you, Evil wanted to say.

Hart could be so unlikeable. Somehow, even though Evil loved Zimmerman, Hart was closer to his type. The old man didn’t satisfy him all the time, but Hart did. He let Evil do whatever he wanted to him, so the conquest wasn’t very thrilling. Still, he was smart, cute, and liked attention. Evil was tired of how Zimmerman tried to avoid him, always denying him and making Evil do the chase. Foolish of him not to realize Hart had a way of grabbing on and not letting go.

Evil’s body felt heavy, and he wondered how Hart was holding him upright. “You don’t have any competition now,” he said. “There won’t be anyone else after you.”

Hart glanced at him, his eyes bright. “Do you mean it?”

Evil watched at the grave and said, “Yes.”

They were starting to shovel in the dirt now. The earth piled on, falling off the edges of the casket and into the grave. Zimmerman was suffocating in there. Soon he’d be gone—gone for real, forever, and Evil would never pass by his office and see him again.

Hart took Evil’s hand and pulled him away.

His hand was warm. Evil was grateful, whether he was leading him from pity or desire. They went into the funeral home, down the hall and past the reception, where there were still people inside. Zimmerman had been at the firm for a long time. He had a respectable Rolodex of managers, VPs, and C-suite officers who came to give their condolences.

“You’ll get your promotion now that he’s gone,” Hart murmured. He had a pleased look on his face. “Director Batlet one day, I like it.”

Evil didn’t want to care but a shiver went through him regardless.

He saw Fran in the crowd and pretended not to notice. Inside his head, he begged Zimmerman to forgive what he did to his daughter. Her mourning speech had been quietly dignified—that Zimmerman was a good and loving father who raised her into success. He gave Fran her first and only job at the firm, where she intended to stay for life. Evil saw her every day in the elevator, him going up to Finance and her to HR. He was the reason Fran wasn’t coming back to work, because she found out about the cheating and chose to leave instead of firing him.

If he had his way, it never would have happened. They would’ve just kept going, everyone none the wiser.

“I bet we can find an empty room,” Hart said, just like he was looking for a spare boardroom. He couldn’t have known what Evil was thinking, but he still had that satisfied smile on his face.

Evil shuddered. He pulled back and stood in the middle of the hallway. “No.”

Hart stared at him coolly and turned the doorknob.

The room was small and too cozy for what Evil imagined a funeral home’s office to be like. There was a throw pillow on the chair and a scented candle on the desk, which made the room smell faintly of vanilla. The furniture was solid wood, but what kind, Evil couldn’t say. He had never cared much to decorate his own home. Here, it was like the staff had warm personalities to balance out the morbidity of their jobs.

Hart laughed when he saw the nameplate. “This is the funeral director’s office.”

“We can’t do it here,” Evil said.

Hart had a look in his eyes that said he’d do it anywhere. In the funeral home, on the grave, even while Zimmerman was being cremated if it came down to it. He was going to make Zimmerman turn in his grave not a day out from being dead, if he knew what his subordinates were doing at his funeral.

Evil wasn’t cold-blooded enough to stomach having sex at his boss’ funeral. Not in the office of a stranger who didn’t deserve his desk defiled. It was too cruel, too harsh and cold, so of course Hart wanted it to happen.

“Don’t be unfair,” Hart told him. “You’ve had me everywhere else, how come you can’t do it now? How is this different from any of the other times?”

“I never”—Evil paused—“I always made sure you liked it.”

Hart’s mouth twisted into the shape of a smile. “I made sure I liked it too.” Then he dropped down to his knees onto the carpet floor in retro green. “I’ll blow you,” he said kindly.

Evil tilted his head to the ceiling and stared at the lights until his eyes started to hurt. “Thanks.”

He closed his eyes after that. He put a hand in Hart’s hair and felt his mouth envelop him, and it was just as good as the first time.

Evil hoped he might be flaccid. That he’d have trouble getting it up and Hart would have to work for it, maybe even give up. Who had sex at a funeral? Evil was supposed to be mourning. Here he was, still in his funeral suit, rolling his hips into another man’s mouth.

When he cracked open an eyelid, he could see the bookshelf behind Hart, lined with volumes about grief, loss, and moving on. There was a Bible out back and a cross on the wall. Outside the window, Evil could see the graveyard and if he squinted, he swore he could make out the shape of Zimmerman’s tombstone. Hart had his back to all of it, lucky him.

If Evil looked straight ahead, the cemetery was all he saw so he tilted his head up to the ceiling, which was too much like facing heaven. He had to close his eyes again and get sucked off in the dark.

He could feel Hart all over and heard him around the room. Hart was good with his mouth—no tricks with his tongue but he made all sorts of slick, wet noises. Unmistakably sexual sounds that threw denial out the window. Evil felt foolish plugging his ears, so he had no choice but to listen and feel his cock get harder.

In between gagging and slurping, Hart pulled off. He took Evil’s cock and stroked it softly. “Do you think Zimmerman can see us?” he said.

It doesn’t matter if Zimmerman sees us or not, Evil thought, since we’re doing it anyway. He put a hand on Hart’s head, curling his fingers into his hair.

Hart grabbed his wrist. “No pulling,” he said.

Evil couldn’t even argue. “Okay,” he said. “Sorry.”

Hart put his hand back on his head. Evil frowned because that seemed like he wanted him to pull. He tried to remember what he usually did: either he put his hands on Hart’s head to keep him in place, or he kept them in fists by his side. That was what Zimmerman did with him, like the old man couldn’t bear to touch. Evil must’ve been repeating the gesture subconsciously, even though he wasn’t like Zimmerman. He didn't need to pretend it wasn't happening.

At least he was allowed to move his hips. When he did, Hart made a noise as the cock went wetly down his throat.

Fuck me, Hart’s expression seemed to say. Fuck me until I’m the only one in the world.

The only person in his life. The one he’d never lose. Evil had gotten further with Hart than he ever had with anyone, which was sad to think about. Hart seemed to like him and find him attractive, in a pathetic, hopeful way where he stood outside and sniped at him while he smoked.

It was the way Hart looked at him that truly fucked him up. Was this how he looked to Zimmerman all along? When he moved his hips like this—and put his hands on his head like that—and pushed his cock into his mouth and tipped his head back in ecstasy and felt his stomach tighten with arousal—was that how Zimmerman felt with him?

Evil fucked Hart like he wished he could’ve fucked Zimmerman, dentures and all, and came hard in his mouth.

When the orgasmic haze wore off, he noticed for the first time that Hart was unhappy. There was a tight set to his mouth and his eyes were dead. Evil was miserable too, and he couldn’t believe Hart had the nerve to be, when he felt nothing for the man in the casket.

“I really loved him,” Evil said.

“I know. Stop rubbing it in.”

“You don’t get it. Haven’t you ever felt for anyone in your life?”

Hart crossed his arms and looked away. “Never,” he said. “I don’t even know if I can.” 

That didn’t seem true. Hart had gotten on his knees and sucked him off, scant comfort that he was. He didn’t have to do it and might not have wanted to, but he still did. For that, Evil couldn't hate him. Even though Hart hid his bitterness while Zimmerman was alive, he was the only one who forgave Evil for being with him.

Zimmerman had been his boss too, and Hart still put Evil over him. Evil had never wondered what it'd be like losing Hart, but it might hurt. It might hurt more than he thought, even if he couldn't say how much. He hoped he'd never have to find out, and that was a startling revelation. From now on, they had no one else but each other.

Evil gave him his hand. Hart took it and got up, and then they were standing close together.

“Have you done this for anyone else?”

“No.”

”Well, don’t start,” Evil said.

Hart gave him an incredulous look. “I wouldn’t go through all the trouble of keeping you just to ruin it.”

Evil laughed. “No, but I’ve gotten used to not being able to tell how people feel about me." He paused before saying, "You’re easier than him, though.”

“As long as you know that.”

For the second time in his life, Evil wished he could fall in love with a better person. He pulled Hart close and wiped the spit from his lips, then kissed him.

Hart recoiled. He leaned in. He kissed back like a drowning man, clutching at Evil with all his strength.

And Evil thought, At least someone is happy. At least I can make someone happy, even if it isn’t Zimmerman.