The only source of light are the flickering fluorescent fixtures above, which cast a ghastly light across the stirring bodies of these two office drones, fucking like the fate of the world depends on it. Sweat pours down their foreheads as they continue to pound away, grunting and groaning, echoing in the silent office. It is a primal, bestial dance, all holds barred, no quarter given.

Macho Mayhem