Jack in a box.

City is alive as cars roam the streets in packs. People walking in there everyday lives, shops bustling with patrons all seeking the latest sale. Sun is reflecting off the tombs of skyscrapers, bringing darkness to the streets below. In the window is a man on both knees scrubbing the 45 year scotch and vomit off the floors, a gift from the higher ups.

Fuck this fucking job, he thinks to himself. I can't blame anyone else for the choice I've made, stuck here 36 and scrubbing rich mans puke. Images of self obsession and bad choices start rolling threw his mind. Parents he never sees, family he hardly knows.

He walks over to the bar and pours himself a tall shot of the cocktail of the same order. He takes a slam and shakes his head. The finer things in life! Experience has shown him that the boss won't remember a thing, and he never counts the bottles.

Two years of being a lackey does take its toll. Only so much ass you can kiss before you start thinking evil thoughts, and his mind has always been a little offbeat.

He goes over and sits in the large chair that looms in the center of the room. The desk is enormous, a single silver picture frame of his dear departed father stands on the barren wasteland of dark mahogany. The same man who started this company sixty years ago.
He was a great man, a caring man of the people, not this sniveling sweat stain of man he raised. Or didn't help raise...

"Jack get me the Henderson file" Jack bellows sitting behind the desk as he takes another shot. "Pick up my wife at five and drive her off to her zumba class," while I fuck Janet from accounting.

Jacks laughs and reaches for a remote in the open drawer behind the desk, and hits a button that opens the blinds, as the bright sun slowly pours in. Being on the eight ninth floor does have its perks.

He walks over and pours himself another, picking up the bottle to look at the design of the twelve-prong stag. For 2,800.00 you would think his boss would saviour it but what does he care, the man had more money then god.

Jack hits another button and four 52 inch flat screens tv's turn on the wall in front of him, all different sports channels. He starts flicking the channels until he finds Indiana Jones and the temple of doom. Short Round is telling Willie "He no nuts, he's crazy!
Jack leans back and turns up on the volume, little does he know that behind hum lays a camera, recording everything. He boss might forget the whisky but never the Cubans.

A red light appears above his head, it slowly goes down until it is right above his eyebrows. It hovers for a moment then it blinks out. Jack is completely oblivious.

The door bursts open, Richard Thorton Jr storms in voice raised.
I knew you were stealing from me you little piece of shit! His boss screams.

Jack jumps up spilling the glass of fine whisky on the floor. Sir I'm sorry I was just cleaning up. Richard reaches over and hits him hard against the face. Jack falls on the desk knocking over the picture and breaking the glass.

His boss picks him up and throws him on the floor. As Jack scrambles to crawl to the door, the man kicks him again.
You better move quick thief, I am calling the police. And by the way, you're fuckin fired!

Richard walks over and picks up the glass on the floor. He turns around and sits down as the door slams shut.

He reaches for the phone when all of a sudden his hand explodes in a spray of blood. Stunned he reaches with the other and that one shatters at the wrist, fingers twist in position as he lifts his wrist. He starts to scream when another bullet hits his chest, his body hits the floor.


Two buildings over on the roof, a man in a dark overall outfit takes apart his Springfield m1d. He walks to the door of the building and tears off the coveralls, underneath is a nice clean suit.

He opens the door and goes down two flights of stairs. He uses another key and opens another door to a busy office. He walks threw the crowd and hits the elevator. he reaches out and hits the down button. He reaches in and picks out a cell phone from his inside pocket and hits a number. The phone rings for just a minute.

Mr. Thorton, your brother is dead.

The elevator opens. He reaches out and drops the phone in the garbage can next to the door. Inside is a tall brunet, he smiles and hit the ground floor button and the doors close.