Don’t Drop The Ball
Jack’s been having a rather productive day; a lucrative project meeting and trimming some of the fat from his slew of employees through violent termination has his spirits high and blood singing. There really isn’t anything he finds much more satisfying than being the Boss, he’ll admit. He calls for a lunch break and they filter out of the room (those who are left, anyway, sulking shell-shocked and clutching at blood-stained folders for dear life).
He walks down the long hall, head high and intent on getting to his own office for lunch. Maybe he’d order up something special, treat himself a little. After all, he deserves it after working so hard. He could just fast travel there, but he secretly enjoys the looks of fear from the workers who frantically try to get out of his way. Makes him feel powerful.
That is, until he turns a corner and walks straight into something hard, or someone. He manages to get his footing before he can fall on his ass to the floor, but the kid he ran into isn’t so lucky. He scowls, fixing his hair and his jacket from their mussed state.
“What the hell is wrong with you? Can’t you see I’m walking here?” He growls down.