Fiction: The Swivel

By Victor De Anda

 

Desmond’s pudgy face sat frozen on my laptop screen. His judgy eyes staring back at me. After a long beat, the video feed sputtered back to life. His eyebrows arched up toward his receding hairline. “—there anything else you want to discuss today?” 

My teeth strained against my clenched jaws. My chest expanded with a big inhale. “There is one more thing.”

“Go on.”

“It’s about the marketing analysis I’ve been working on. I’m well aware that I missed the deadline to share out the results. And yet you haven’t mentioned a word about it.”

Desmond checked his smartwatch. “Did you want to talk about this now?”

I wiped my clammy hands on my jeans. “My father’s funeral only complicated things.” 

Desmond put on his best concerned face. “Yes, well, death’s a common experience as we all get older.”

“I’m working hard to make up for the time lost. You suggested I take bereavement leave, if you recall.”

“Frank, it’s been over a month since your report was due. Our stakeholders rely on timely data analysis from us so they can determine the product roadmaps for the next three years.”

“I understand that.”

“This is a fast-moving business. Any quick insights we can provide will help the company maximize revenue. That is how my team proves its value. How we all do.”

“Right.”

“Your results are getting older by the day, Frank. They may not be as valuable as before. Do you see a future here at Gorgon?”

“I do.”

Desmond’s brow furrowed. “Based on your latest performance, I question that.”

A deep sigh came out of me. “This team hasn’t been a great fit for me since the re-org six months ago.”

Desmond put a hand on his chin. “Is that the reason for all this delay?”

“I haven’t gotten much support from you or the team regarding my work.”

“I’ve offered my assistance, haven’t I?”

I cleared my throat. “I wouldn’t exactly call it support.”

“Do tell.”

“It’s more like condescension.”

“I see. Sorry you feel that way.”

I shrugged. “We got off on the wrong foot. Advanced data analysis isn’t part of my skill set. I’ve mentioned this to you numerous times.”

“You have.”

“I’m open to increasing my knowledge, but you just keep asking me to take on even more complex things that I don’t have experience doing.”

“This is what I expect from all of my direct reports, Frank. You’re an L5.”

“Yes.”

“These ‘complex’ duties that you mention are all part of the job description. Perhaps you should’ve been leveled as an L4. I blame your previous manager for that error.”

I sucked in more air. “Regardless, I’d expect to get more support from you rather than throwing me into the deep end.”

Desmond peered at me. “We must always be stretching our skill set, Frank. Pushing beyond what we think we can do. Sure, it can be stressful.” 

“I get it, but it’s been far worse on this team than any other one I’ve been on at Gorgon.”

“So it’s my management skills that you’re questioning now.”

My fingers squeezed my thigh like it was a stress ball. “If I’d interviewed for this role, I would’ve seen this all coming and looked elsewhere in the company.”

Desmond gave me a stiff smile. “You were re-org’d to my team and I had no choice in the matter. As long as we’re being candid, I wouldn’t have hired you either. I don’t get paid to be a babysitter. Anything else?”

“Yes. Why am I the one bringing up this issue? It’s been six months and you haven’t mentioned my performance at all. I realize mid-year reviews aren’t standard, but I’d like to know where I stand.”

“Like I said, Frank, I’ve been tracking your progress.”

“Were you not going to tell me anything until my yearly review? Then give me a ‘doesn’t meet expectations’ rating?” 

“I wasn’t going to wait that long. And I’m glad you brought this up before I did, so thank you.”

I raised my hands. “Okay, so what happens next?”

The clock on my screen flipped to 11am. 

Desmond looked impatient. “I’ve got another meeting right now. Look for an email from me and I’ll set up some time for us to discuss. In the meantime, happy to jump on another call if you need help with your analysis. See you soon.” His video window disappeared.

A nervous buzz tingled under my skin, my palms wet with sweat. I’d forgotten to put on deodorant. I headed to my bathroom to splash water on my face and freshen up. 

#

A day later as promised, I received Desmond’s meeting invite, along with an email. It read like an eyewitness account of all my failings over the past six months. There was even a bit of corporate snark thrown in for good measure. Desmond was enjoying this. My eyes stung as I skimmed the words.

The Zoom meeting chime sounded on my laptop. Time to face him again. I gulped down some water and exhaled. My pulse was already pounding. 

Desmond’s face popped up onscreen. “Good morning, Frank.”

I flipped on my camera. “Morning.”

Desmond looked energized, his face aglow from a caffeine buzz, no doubt. “Did you get my email?”

“I did.”

He cleared his throat and glanced sideways. “This is a difficult conversation to have, and I want to be supportive, but I need to inform you that you’ve been entered into a Swivel plan.”

The words hit me like a punch in the mouth. I had opened this door, and now Desmond stepped right through it. 

“HR has also been made aware. I’ve just sent you another email with all the details.”

I swallowed hard. “Okay.”

Desmond rubbed his eyes. “Why don’t you take five minutes to read the Swivel email and then we can discuss. Sound good?”

“Sure.”

I turned my video off and muted my audio. Desmond did the same.

I’d heard about the Swivel before at Gorgon, but didn’t know every detail. Desmond’s email gave me all I needed to know. 

Because my performance was not up to company standards, I was now being given two options. Leave Gorgon with a payout, or stay and work through a rigorous performance improvement plan, also known as a Swivel.

Five minutes passed and Desmond was back onscreen. “Are you ready to discuss, or do you need more time?”

After a long beat, I flipped on my video and audio. “I’m good. Mind going over this?”

“Sure,” Desmond sighed. “You’ve got five business days to give HR your decision. If you choose to leave the company, we can discuss how much time you need to wrap up your current work-streams. You’ll be given a severance package based on your role and tenure.”

“Okay.”

“If you choose to enter the Swivel, you will be given six weeks to complete a series of three milestones. I will coach you along the way. If you successfully complete the Swivel, you will remain with the company and receive a transfer to another team. If you fail to complete the Swivel satisfactorily, you will be terminated with a lower payout sum. Understand?”

“Yes. But what about the current report I’m working on?”

“If you choose to leave Gorgon, you’ll complete your current report before your last day. If you choose the Swivel, you’ll transition that work to another team member and they will complete it for you. The Swivel will be an entirely new work-stream. Make sense?”

“Sure.”

I figured most employees took the first option and left with a payout. But how many stayed on to work through the Swivel? After thinking about it, I understood the Swivel’s true nature—it was how the company got rid of under-performers without affecting the stock share price or the quarterly jobs reports. Layoffs, in other words. 

“Any other questions?”

I scanned the email one more time. “Yes. The first two milestones of the Swivel are clear, those make sense. The last one, though, is marked ’TBD.’ What is it?”

Desmond coughed. “We can discuss that later if applicable. For the time being, just take the next week to decide on which path you want to take. If you have any further questions, happy to jump on a call.”

“Okay.”

He sat up straighter in his chair. “I realize this is a tough discussion. Just so you know, if you don’t respond with an answer in five business days, you will automatically be entered into the Swivel. So keep that in mind too.”

“Alright.”

“I’ve got to run, talk to you soon.”

#

After I logged off the Zoom call, I paced the floor of my home office. Six weeks to complete the Swivel plan, with tight deadlines for each milestone. And the last one wasn’t even spelled out. Did I really need to put myself through more of this bullshit?

Working with Desmond had been a soul-sucking experience. I could take the payout and tell him to go to hell, but the job market was shit right now. I’d already been applying to other positions and hadn’t heard anything. Hiring freezes were happening all over. Could I put up with Desmond’s “coaching” for another six weeks?

 

On the morning of the fifth business day after the Swivel call, I emailed HR with my decision. I wanted to make Desmond sweat it out, wonder what I was going to do until the last minute. By lunchtime, he had sent me a meeting invite to discuss the path I’d chosen.

When he logged onto the video call, Desmond’s eyes were smaller. His face looked disappointed. Like he’d expected a different response from me.  

He gave me a weak smile. “Hey Frank, I just wanted to meet and let you know that I respect your decision to enter into the Swivel. I’ll continue to be as supportive as possible throughout the process. As we reviewed before, all of the steps are outlined in my email. Do you have any other questions?” 

“I do.”

Desmond cleared his throat. “How can I help?”

“What’s the third milestone?”

He rifled through his desk and pulled up a sheet of paper. “Here it is, from the Gorgon manager guidebook: ‘The third Swivel milestone will be discussed upon completion of the first two milestones.’”

I pursed my lips. “That’s not very helpful.”

“I’m just reading what it says here. Beyond that, I can’t say much.”

“I see. Well, I’m resolved to make this work.”

“Glad to hear it,” Desmond said unconvincingly. “Let me just add that the company is committed to retaining every employee who can meet our high standards. In all honesty, we think you have tremendous potential. So please don’t take any of this personally or as a reflection of your achievements to date.”

Desmond’s comment sounded like the standard corporate bullshit—‘We want to help you achieve, we’re all family here.’ I didn’t buy it for a second.

“Sounds good,” I said, feigning enthusiasm. I just needed to bide my time until I could make it through this plan and get the fuck off Desmond’s team. Or find another job somewhere else.

“Roger will be in touch with you about handing off your current work-stream to him.”  

#

The first milestone in the Swivel plan was straightforward enough—complete a marketing analysis report in two weeks and present it to senior leadership. With five years of experience, I was no stranger to building a report quickly and sharing it out. I made sure to keep it high-level, with just a touch of advanced analysis to keep Desmond off my back. 

A week later I met with Desmond to go over my presentation deck. He asked me about some of the data points that I had surfaced. After I gave my reasoning for including them, he seemed to back off. But then he wanted to comment on my data tables. 

“You do understand the reasoning behind the different color shading in the cells, right?” he asked. “You’ve got several cells here with value differences of less than ten percent, and yet you’ve colored them with varying shades of green.”

“Okay.”

“So the shading only changes if the value difference is greater than ten percent.  These two, for example, are only four percent apart.”

“I see. Isn’t all of this just overkill? How many people even want this much granularity?”

Desmond had a stern look on his face. “These are the standards I expect from every team member. I’ve mentioned your lack of attention to detail in our previous reviews.”

I sighed. “Sorry, I finished this late last night. I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay. Happy to jump on another call if you need more feedback.”

“I’m good, thanks. Let me schedule the readout, I’ll CC you on the meeting invite.”

#

Several days later, my presentation Zoom call went fine, although Desmond managed to insert himself into the conversation like he always did. He challenged me again on several data points, asking whether they were as insightful as I reported. None of the other senior leaders questioned my data. 

I had to take it all with a grin on my face. I politely explained why I thought the data points were relevant and left it at that. I didn’t want to get into it with Desmond in front of the stakeholders. That would be pointless. Desmond was the boss, so I let him do his thing and try to drag me down. It didn’t work this time. At the end of the meeting, the senior leaders thanked me for the report. Desmond looked disappointed.

#

The second milestone in the Swivel plan was a bit more challenging. I had another two weeks to create a social media campaign based on the analysis from the first milestone. I would need to collaborate with designers, go-to-market managers, and PR people on the team. I put together a kickoff meeting, folks were excited about the project, and everything seemed to be running smoothly. 

Then Desmond put himself into mix again during a creative review.  

“That bouncing ball in the TikTok ad doesn’t look smooth enough,” he said. “Anyone else think it looks weird?”

The design team on the Zoom call all looked at each other, blank stares on their faces. No one said a word.

I cleared my throat. “I think it looks fine, Desmond. Can you describe what it is you’re seeing? What looks off?”

“I don’t know, the ball just isn’t bouncing like a real one does. It’s not squashing and stretching properly. Am I crazy here?”

I spoke up. “I think it works. And we’re running out of time. We need to move on.” Desmond knew enough about animation principles to be dangerous, but he was just showing off again. Always having to prove he was the smartest person in the room. He wasn’t. Judging from the team’s emotionless faces on the Zoom call, no one else was buying it, either. 

He threw his hands up in surrender. “Okay, don’t listen to me, then. You do you.”

A few days later, the campaign launched on Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok. As the engagement data came back, the numbers all looked great, and I was able to hit the targets I had proposed. So far, so good. I pictured the look on Desmond’s face as I made it through another milestone. He must’ve been pissed. 

That night I slept like a baby for the first time in weeks.

#

The next day, I logged into our Zoom call and waited for five minutes. Desmond and I were supposed to discuss the third milestone in the Swivel plan, the one marked “TBD.” And now he was a no-show. Five more minutes went by. 

Desmond’s face appeared onscreen. “Apologies for being late, Frank.”

“No worries.”

“First off, congratulations on hitting the first two milestones in your performance plan. With my coaching, you’ve done a great job meeting these requirements.”

I forced my head to nod.

“But now it’s time for the biggest challenge.”

I rubbed my hands together. “I’m ready. What is it?”

Desmond looked directly at me. “This last milestone involves you flying here to HQ.”

“No problem. A trip to Portland’s always nice. Are we working together on a project?” I hoped that wasn’t the case. 

Desmond cleared his throat. “You could say that. First, book a room at one of the company-preferred hotels here. Then grab a red-eye tonight if you can. Expense it all, of course.”

“Sure. How many nights for the hotel?”

“Better make it two. If you can be in my office by 10am tomorrow morning, that would be optimal. Curie Building, remember?”

“I’ll do my best to get there in time. This isn’t a prank, is it?”

Desmond looked dead serious. “Not a joke. See you then.” 

#

I took the red-eye and got into Portland the next day around 8am, just in time for the morning traffic. Half an hour later, the Uber driver dropped me off at my hotel, which was several blocks from the Curie Building. I showered, had a bite to eat, then walked over to the office. The air out here was crisp and cool, a stark difference from the humidity back east.

It had been a year since I visited the Gorgon campus. The sidewalks teemed with employees, all of them proudly sporting their multi-colored lanyards and office badges. They scurried left and right to their buildings like good little worker bees. 

I’d forgotten what the vibe was like coming in to the office after working remotely for the last two years. It felt like being in a cult. And I was just one cog in a sea of thousands that made up this corporate juggernaut. My stomach twisted a little.

I swiped my badge to enter the Curie building and pushed the door open, my hand slick with sweat. Was the third milestone some kind of test? Or was Desmond going to fire me in person? I thought the whole idea was to make me quit, not let me go.

The elevator stopped on the fifteenth floor. I checked my phone. 9:55am. After finding the kitchen, I made myself an espresso and took a sip. The whole floor seemed empty. No one at their desks. It was oddly quiet. 

At one minute til, I ambled over to Desmond’s office. It was on the northeast corner of the building, with nice views of downtown Portland. I’d seen it during the last team onsite. Desmond was anxious to show us the results of his hard labor and company allegiance. Big fucking deal.

The door was closed, so I knocked. 

Desmond cleared his throat. “Come on in, Frank, I’ve been waiting.” His voice sounded different from yesterday. Almost hesitant. 

I took a deep breath and stepped in to find him sitting alone at his desk, his face lit up by a laptop screen, the window blinds closed. The only other light in the room came from a desk lamp, which gave off an interrogation vibe. He looked up and forced a smile onto his face. “How was your flight? Please close the door and have a seat.”

I pulled up a chair. “The flight was fine.”

“That’s good. I used to live on the east coast too and always hated those cross-country trips.”

I looked around the office. “You want to tell me what this is all about?”

Desmond wiped the sweat from his brow. “Of course. This is the third milestone of your Swivel plan.”

I pointed to his desk lamp. “That’s already been established. What’s next, are you going to question me like a murder suspect? To see if I crack under pressure?”

He gave me another nervous smile. “Not quite. Complete this final task and I’ll never bother you again about the quality of your work.” His voice cracked. “How’s that sound?”

“What are you talking about?”

Desmond closed his laptop and shoved it aside, revealing a hunk of dark metal sitting on his desk. “Do this and it means you get transferred to another team. That’s what you want, right?”

I looked at the shape laying on the desktop, then back at him. My stomach clenched. “Why is there a gun on your desk?”

He snatched it up and offered it to me, grip side out. “You know anything about firearms? This one here is a .38 Colt Automatic.”

My palms started to sweat. “How did you get that through security?”

Desmond sighed. “You could’ve left Gorgon with a nice severance package, but instead, you chose to stay and enter into the Swivel plan. We admire that. You’re here of your own volition, right? No one’s forced you to do any of this?”

“That’s right, but what’s the gun got to do with it?”

When I didn’t take the pistol, Desmond placed it back on his desk. “We both agree this hasn’t been a good fit, correct, Frank?”

“What’s with the piece?”

Desmond grabbed the gun and peered into the barrel. “Do you think I’m a pain in the ass, Frank?”

I nearly laughed out loud, but stifled it. “Uhhhh—”

“Sure, I’ve got high standards. But that’s par for the course when you’re in a position like mine. Gorgon expects nothing less.”

“You’ve made that clear multiple times.”

Desmond put the gun to his chest. “Let me tell you, it’s brutal what the company asks us to do.”

My heart pounded. “Is that thing loaded?”

Desmond continued. “So yeah, I expect a lot from my direct reports. But now it’s your chance to make a fresh start. To move to another team. Does that still interest you?”

“You asked me that already. What do I have to do?”

He offered me the .38 again. “Just take the gun, Frank.”

Enough was enough. I stood up. “I don’t want your gun. What is going on here?”

“It’s all part of the Swivel plan, Frank. Please sit down.”

I stayed put. “HR’s going to hear about this.”

Desmond smiled. “Go ahead. They’ll go through the motions, but nothing will happen. Standard operating procedure for a Swivel.”

I moved to the door, my fingers gripping the door knob. “Someone’s got to listen. You going to fire me instead?” 

Desmond nodded. “Gorgon doesn’t fire people, Frank. Haven’t you figured that out yet? We force employees to quit. So much better for business. Better for the optics, better for the earnings reports, all of it.”

“Well then I quit.” I swung the office door open, my back to Desmond. “Try and stop me.”

I heard the gun being racked. I turned around slowly.

Desmond drew a bead on me. “Sit the fuck down, Frank. Don’t make me ask you again.”

I nearly pissed my pants but I couldn’t let him see that. I took a deep breath. “Or what, you’ll shoot me? You don’t have the balls.”

His gun hand shaking, Desmond looked like he was trying to keep his shit together. “Please, just sit down.”

Another deep inhale. My chest buzzed. “HR’s going to hear all about this shit. You’ll be on the street before you know it.” I turned on my heel to walk out.

Gunshot.

I yelped and collapsed to the ground with a thud, my right leg on fire. I’d never been shot before. Blood oozed from my thigh onto the carpet. I yelled out for help. I raised my hands in surrender at Desmond.

“Why the fuck did you make me do that?” he said. “Do you not hear what I’m telling you?”

I screamed for help again. Nothing. No one came running into the room, there were no sounds from the cubicles outside. Just empty silence. I applied pressure to my wound with my right hand.

Desmond walked over and loomed above me. He offered the gun again. “We’re the only ones on this floor, Frank. Didn’t you notice that on your way in? Special Swivel accommodation. Now just shoot me. I know you want to.”

“What?”

He cocked his head like I was dense. “This is the third milestone. You shoot me and move on to another team. It’s that simple.”

Maybe it was that easy. Over the last six months I had dreamed of Desmond getting the shit kicked out of him. Being hit by a bus. Drinking a poisoned latté. He had earned a bullet in the head for all of the times he belittled my marketing skills, offered his “help,” and micro-managed my work.  

A fly entered the room and buzzed around me. After a few beats, it flew back out. 

Sweat dripped into my eyes. It stung. “I’m not going to shoot you, Desmond.”

He grinned again and knelt down beside me. “You need medical attention. Just shoot me and this will all be over, I promise.”

A chill grew over my body. I was going into shock. “Is this some kind of loyalty test? I swear my allegiance to the great Gorgon and this all ends?”

Desmond nodded. “No test. As a manager, I have to push the under-performers off my team or out the door. The Swivel is our mechanism to make this happen. There’s a quota I need to hit every year or I get reprimanded. You see?”

My skin felt hot and cold at the same time. “No I don’t ’see.’ That is all kinds of fucked up.”

“Security’s on their way as we speak,” Desmond said. “It’s your turn. Shoot me anywhere. The arm, the leg, the hand. Just make it quick.” He offered me the gun again.

I wanted to put it to his chin and pull the trigger just to make him shut up. 

My bloody fingers wrapped around the pistol grip and Desmond relinquished it to me. The gun was warm and heavy. Desmond gripped the barrel and nestled it on his right bicep. 

His face looked damp. “Does that spot work for you?”

“If I do this, I’ll get arrested, won’t I?”

Desmond laughed nervously. “Not at all. You complete this third milestone and you’re on to greener pastures.”

My voice was shaky. “And I’m supposed to just take your word for it?”

Desmond got up and pulled out a sheet of paper from his desk drawer. “It’s all here in black and white. The final step of the Swivel plan states that you’ll be transferred to another team with a promotion. I won’t be your manager anymore. See?” He held up the document for me to see. I couldn’t make out any of the words. 

He sat back down next to me and cradled the gun barrel back onto his right bicep.

I shook my head, my vision blurred. “I can’t do it.” 

Desmond put a firm hand on the gun barrel again for support. “Yes you can, Frank. Yes you can.”

My heart skipped a beat.

They were the first words of encouragement Desmond had given me since joining his team.

I closed my eyes and pictured my life without Desmond in it. His smug face gone from my laptop screen forever. 

My trigger finger hesitated, then I squeezed.

Gunshot.

The sound echoed like a thunderclap. 

Desmond tumbled backwards, clutching his right arm. “Fuck that hurts!” After a beat, he climbed up to his desk and slumped into his chair.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

Two security guards appeared in the doorway and flipped on the overhead fluorescents. They quickly assessed the situation. One of them opened the window blinds and the Portland morning light poured into the room.

One of the guards kneeled down to look me over. “Frank, have you been shot?” He took the gun from me.

I pointed towards Desmond. “He did it.”

The guards looked at each other with steely stares. One of them grabbed his walkie. “Delta-One-Niner, this is Alpha One, we’ve got a Swivel five-oh-eight situation. Please advise. Do you copy? Over.”

The walkie squawked. “Alpha One, we copy. Stand by. Over.”

Another beat. “Alpha One, this is Delta-One-Niner. You are authorized for a one-eight-seven. Do you copy? Over.”

The guard put the walkie to his mouth. “Copy that, over.” He drew his gun and stood up.

Desmond’s eyes went wide. “I didn’t mean to, he made me shoot him—”

The guard with the gun stared at me. “You may not want to watch this.” He put his gun up to Desmond’s temple. “Sir, you’ve violated Swivel regulation five-oh-eight.”

“Please,” Desmond begged. “Tell my wife and children—”

I turned my head and closed my eyes tight. 

“—that I love—”

Gunshot.

When I finally opened my eyes again, Desmond was slumped sideways in his office chair, red dripping down his face. The wall next to him thick with blood and grey matter. 

I leaned over and retched, a puddle of bile and espresso splashing on the carpet below. I tried to sit up, but the pain in my leg told me no. “What have you done?”

The guards turned to me. “Just keep still, sir. Help is on the way.”

#

Within minutes, several paramedics arrived and placed me on a gurney, then stuck me with an IV. 

One of the security guards rested a hand on my shoulder. “You’re in good hands now, Frank. You’ll be on your feet in no time.”

I pointed towards Desmond’s motionless body. “Did you have to kill him?”

The guards looked at each other, then at me. “He violated Swivel regulations,” one of them said. “The Swivel guidelines explicitly state that only the direct report can inflict the pain. Desmond didn’t follow the rules.”

The other guard piped in. “Just focus on your recovery for now, Frank. We all need you to be healthy again.”

The morphine was starting to kick in. “But you just murdered him. I saw it.”

The second guard held up the guidebook. “No we didn’t. It’s all here in black and white. Don’t worry, his family will be awarded a generous compensation package.”

The first guard spoke. “Congratulations, by the way. You’ve passed your Swivel. You’re a manager now. HR will visit you in the hospital and make it all official. They’ll tell you all about your new team.” He looked at the paramedics and nodded for them to take me away. 

I reached out. “I—I don’t want to be a manager. That wasn’t part of the deal. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

The first guard grabbed my outstretched arm and rested it back onto my chest. “Sorry, Frank, we don’t make the rules here at Gorgon. You can always take it up with your new manager. We all wish you a speedy recovery.”

A paramedic made sure my IV was secure and started pushing from behind.

As they wheeled me out of the office, I stole one last look at Desmond. His face was frozen forever now, his judgy eyes staring straight ahead at me.

 

 

 

 

 

Victor De Anda is an author living and writing in the Philadelphia area. His short stories have appeared in various anthologies and magazines, including Dark Waters Vols. 1 & 2, Shotgun Honey, Yellow Mama, Guilty Crime Story Magazine, and Punk Noir Magazine. His story “Bad Man Down” has been included in The Best American Mystery and Suspense 2025, edited by Don Winslow and Steph Cha. He is also an acquisitions editor for Shotgun Honey, and Rock and Hard Place Press. He is currently working on a novel. You can find him on most social media as @victordeanda or on the web at www.victordeanda.com.