You start to click your pen impatiently. An old habit.
Mr. Gerhaust, please calm down.Your client screams at the top of his lungs, his chubby features growing cherry red as he blusters.
No I won't counsellor. You're a goddamn snake, these fees are bullshit.You smooth your tie and set your jaw.
Well you did sign an agreement with me stating-Mr. Gerhaust stands abruptly, kicking his chair to the floor.
Don't tell me what I signed Sam, you don't need to tell me what I fucking signed. You think I'm stupid or something.Well I- He picks up his chair and slams it back to it's proper place before dropping his not inconsiderable bulk into it.
Don't interrupt me Sam, I hate it when you fucking do that. Never fucking interrupt me. Quit it with the pen you nerve-wracking sonofabitch. You roll your eyes and keep clicking it. He glares at you.
He takes a ragged cloth from inside his jacket and smears the moisture from his forehead.
Man does my head been hurt. He winces and places his free hand on his temple.
Sweet Jesus Sammy I swear it's just gonna fucking explo--Your client freezes. His left eyelid twitches once and his head explodes, covering your black suit and your executive firm office in blood. You scream and throw your hands up, falling out of your brown leather swivel chair even as your now extremely dead client slumps to the floor. You scramble to your feet, panting and wiping the gore from your eyes. Bits of skull and brain plaster your desk and the wall behind you, with a small clean spot being left in the shape of your body's profile.
You walk slowly around your desk, and watch the fat Mr. Gerhaust's fluids seep into the carpet, staining it a sickening shade of red. You run over to your door and peer carefully through the square plate glass window set into it. Apparently no one heard your scream. You turn the bolt and pull the shade down. You turn around and around, pacing the length of the office, touching your head with one blood smeared hand and muttering.
Ohgodohgodohgodohgod. What do I do? Gotta hide.. Gotta hide him.. Gotta run.. Do I call the cops? No.. Yeah! No, no.. Shit! You glance out the other window, the one that gives you a view of the mid-afternoon traffic in the street below. 40 floors straight down could be the easiest way out of this.
Name: Sam
Gender: Male
Appearance: Everyman, hard to tell from the guy next to him
Profession: Lawyer
Where: Trying to explain to a client why he has to pay you so much
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Health -
Fine
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Inventory -
Wallet, Kerchief, Lucky pen