Scum

I look just like the rest of you. At a glance, you'd never guess that I am different. I still have bones, muscle and flesh. If you cut me, I will bleed, but if anyone ever recognises me for what I really am, that person will surely be made to suffer.

I live among you. I could be someone you work with. I could be the guy sitting at the next desk, or the woman brushing icing sugar of her lapel. I could be the copyroom guy, Tracey the auditer, the intern, or the guy who does the workplace massages. It is impossible to know for sure, for detection would require rigorous observation and high-tech equipment, and nobody has the patience, let alone the means, required for a stake-out of that magnitude.

I quietly go about life in preparation for the opportune moment. That's when I strike. I move in, swift and silent. More often than not I'm gone before any of my victims have a chance to summon help. I leave a trail of total destruction and  utter chaos in my wake. Who am I?

I'm the guy who farts in elevators.