"Dead Bespoke" by Philip Ridgers (1)
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Ryan strolled along his narrow cul-de-sac. The sun was blue, and oak trees bounced as they hit the road around him. September’s a bit early for trees, he thought. He nodded to a neighbour he had never seen before, their sweaty red face vaguely similar to a boss he had once had.

Then, the ground crumbled beneath him.

Ryan fell a few feet, landed in a comfortable black leather seat. The pavement reassembled itself above him, and for a moment he was in darkness. Then, a light flicked on and a room constructed itself around him. In less than a minute, he was sitting in a corporate boardroom, complete with massive glass table and signs with buzzwords like synergy.

Two women sat across from him. One wore a neat dark dress and had a laptop. She looked to be no more than tw...

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