ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ ʙᴀsᴇ.

( ———- ᴄʏʙᴇʀᴀʀᴍs )

Jack took a sip from his glass. He’d gone for something imported from the inner rim tonight, (he always saved the local Pandoran booze for the really wild parties), and god, did he need it. It wasn’t often one of his lackeys managed to fuck something up (well no, that was a lie, they were constantly fucking things up. honestly, good help was so hard to find—-) and boy, was this a monumental fuck up. One that was putting Hyperion out of a lot of money. Money that should be his. Money that wasn’t his, and was, in fact, going to a different company, because some idiot kid couldn’t remember to buy the goddamned patents.

He swung his golf club down hard, driving the ball through laser of the speed radar and straight into the cavern of a gutted clap-trap shell with a satisfying clang. The flashing numbers didn’t make him nearly as happy as the thought of crushing this kid’s windpipe with his bare hands, but, he’d get to that soon enough. Jack had him called up to his office not even twenty minutes ago. He took another long sip before setting the glass back onto his desk.

He could hear the doors open just as he unbent from setting another ball on the tee. He didn’t turn around; instead he spread his feet shoulder-length apart and lined up his next shot. He called over his shoulder.

    “Have a seat, kiddo.”