Patrick Hafner, 40 Year-old Office Worker

Fucking Monday. It's always a fucking Monday. I have been with this company as a data entry specialist for NEARLY TWENTY YEARS! Now they decide that the job could be handled better using some fancy new AI the guys down in tech support just shit out. Well that's fine. That's just fucking peachy. I hope they fucking go under.

I don't know. I guess I could go back to school or something. Forty isn't too old for college... is it? I'm good with computers and have been doing amateur coding now for years, making mods and running servers for some of my favorite games. Maybe I can be the next one to make an AI for something. You know what they say. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. I might even be able to make a fuckton more money that way.

Ok... Ok... Yeah. That's the plan. I'm going to go home, drink until I can carry a conversation on philosophy with my cat, pass the fuck out, then tomorrow, I will go and enroll in some classes down at the community college. Easy, breezy, beautiful, Cover girl. Hell, they at least had the decency to give me a nice separation package and, since I own my own home, it should last me at least the next six months.

I continued to psyche myself up as I cleaned out my desk. Security would be here in a few minutes to escort me out. Pricks. Like I give enough of a fuck to make a scene. After I had put my few belongings into a box that had once held printer paper, I gave my desk drawers another quick once over to make sure I hadn't missed something. Middle drawer, clear. Top drawer, empty. Bottom drawer... Eh. The only thing left looks like an old marker that must have fallen down into the bottom only God knows how long ago. It doesn't even have any markings on it, they must have rubbed off. I thought about just leaving it, since it was probably dried out anyway, but fuck those guys. I ain't giving them even a small piece of my shit. So I grabbed it and stuck it into my pocket just as the guard arrived.

As I walked between the cubicles, my, now former, co-workers either stared at me with guilty expressions or tried to avoid eye contact all together.

Fucking tools.

Fuck you, Fuck you, Fuck you, you're cool, fuck you.

I reached the end and stood in front of the elevator and had to stand there awkwardly as it was called to my floor. I could feel the eyes on my back and I knew they were just waiting to see me pop. I'm not giving them the satisfaction.

With a quiet ding the doors opened up and standing there was the one person I had hoped I wouldn't have to run into before I left.

Rebecca.

Rebecca was, what most modern scholars would call, the office slut. Blonde shoulder-length hair, sharp facial features wearing more makeup than was necessary, with a business casual shirt with the top few buttons open to display her, admittedly impressive, cleavage and a black knee-high pencil skirt. She had fucked and sucked her way up the corporate ladder to become the floor supervisor and the most important thing? She fucking hated me.

"Ah, good. Seems they took out the trash early today." She smirked as she stepped out of the elevator and walked past me.

"Seems like we are going through a downsizing. Hope you brought your knee brace today." I shot back as I stepped in.

The scandalized look on her face was priceless and I turned around and watched the doors close.

Cunt.

I made it to my car and threw the box into my backseat before climbing behind the wheel and practically peeling my tires out of there. I stopped at the liquor store a few blocks from my house and grabbed a bottle of some decent Irish whiskey and finally pulled into my drive way. Grabbing the whiskey and leaving the rest of my shit in the car, I stormed through the door, pausing only to pet my cat, Athena, who had came down to greet me, before heading straight to the kitchen and getting a glass with some ice and pouring it full. After taking a long drink, I set it down on the counter and went upstairs to make myself comfortable.

In my room, I stripped off my work shirt and tie and started to empty my pockets, throwing the contents on my bed. Phone, keys, marker.

Wait. Marker?

Oh yeah, I remember now. It was in my desk.

I took a second to look at it in my hand. It didn't appear to be anything special. No markings. Just a white tube with a black lid.

As I spaced out for a moment, my phone suddenly dinged, letting me know a text had just come in.