Well, if you do get fired, you have the AMA to look foward to.

You always pride yourself on one thing, being able to keep your emotions in check under pressure. But right now, you are not doing so hot at keeping your cool together under the glare of the apex predator that is your manager.

She's called Kaitlyn Sharpe. A name that supposedly befits her sharp personality. Everything inch of her tells a story of a strong and independent woman. From her tight brown buns, to cold emerald eyes, down to a pair of plump kissers that are devoid of lipstick, and yet retains their natural, pinkish flair. A well pressed business suit conceals her treasures from the world, but even then, her exquisite ass strains against her slacks. She's the kind of woman you'd want to get with, too bad she writes your paycheck.

"What happened out there was a violation of restaurant policy, Mr Jericho. Your frustration is understandable, but it doesn't justify raising your voice at a customer who also happened to be an helpless elderly."

You quench the urge to snort. That bitchy old bag was anything but helpless.

"She was clearly confused. The least you could have done was to point her in the right direction."

Oh, next time you see her, you're going to be pointing her in the right direction she deserves; to Hell. And of course, there's nothing you can say that wouldn't get you fired, so you keep silent.

"Look John," her voice softens but still carried enough gravitas to make you tear your gaze away from the oak desk you find more interesting than this conservation.

"For the past few month you've been working here, I've been watching you. You seem like this diligent kind of person. What happened?"

She brushes away at a few stray strands of her hair, revealing the pale, spotless skin of her neck, before continuing.

"You can talk to me, you know. It's my job to ensure the employees of this establishment works as efficiently as possible. You can't do that if there is a sort of emotional barrier in the way. So... talk to me."

This would have been the perfect time to start pouring out your feelings but you don't. You're just not a mushy kind of guy. You'd rather bear your problems alone."Everything's cool, Mrs—"

"Miss," she corrects.

Miss - You cock a lone mental eyebrow at the thought of an eye candy like Kaitlyn not being hitched. Oh well, nothing you can do about it.

"Miss Sharpe, I'm totally fine"

Perhaps sensing your resolve, Kaitlyn sighs and says, "you clearly don't want to talk, I can't you to. Let's do it this way then, how about you take tomorrow off!"

You jerk up to protest, but she stops you with a well manicured hand.

"No you're not fired, Mr Jericho. Just think of it as a break, for you to straighten things out."

That relaxes you. With all the ice queen disposition Kaitlyn's got going on, you figured you'd be out the door already, looking for a new job. Good to see she's just a caring, totally lovable—

"You can get out now, Mr Jericho."

...boss.

"Thank you, Miss Sharpe."

With that, you're out of her office. Since your shift ended a while ago, you only had to check out and make a quick trip to the locker room to change out of your work uniform. You manage to squeeze out a weak goodbye to your coworkers, nothing bothering to hear their replies, before pushing open the exit doors and stepping out to the streets of Gotham.

Since it's late, the street was a mixture of gloom and shadows, with the only source of illumination coming from lampposts by the sidewalks. The air smells of tangy dust, grime and industrial fumes. Faint drizzling wets the ground and the tall, gaunt buildings completes the scenery of melancholy. Only few individuals were present outside at this hour.

In short, all of this comes down to one thing; Gotham city is a dangerous place.

Alleyways are no go areas, avoid them at all cost. When you hear cries for help, turn the other way, you'll live longer if you do. When you notice someone walking beside you, just run, for your own sake, don't ask questions. When a kid asks you, "can you help me find my mommy?" Tell him you are busy looking for your daddy too.

These are rules you live by and they've never let you down. Even now as your phone buzzes in your pocket, you don't deign to bring it out to check. You are indirectly giving the green lights to muggers to rob you if you do. You try to quicken your gait, not wanting to spend a second more on this godforsaken street.

It was after when you find yourself inside your home that you finally breath sweet relief. Only God knows how many lives Gotham is claiming tonight, at least you're not one of them. You take in the sight of your lovely 'house'. Your apartment, if it could even be comfortably called that, was not all too bad, aside from the moldy walls and slightly leaky ceilings which had not yet been fixed, and the fact that there were public transport buses that were larger than the small cubicle of a room – but, it wasn't all too bad. There was only one bedroom, shared by you and your sister. There was the bathroom and toilet, again, only one, and then there was the living room/kitchen/dining room, in which everything else happened.

"I better not find shoe stains on my mopped floor."

The voice came from the kitchen. You let out a chuckle before shrugging off your jacket and your shoes. You then peer hard at the floor to see if there's any dirt on it. Satisfied there's none, you stride to the kitchen.

And there she is, your sister, Tessa Jericho. Standing at an average height of five and a half feet and wearing a plain white apron, Tessa's body is built of dainty, but sinewy-ish muscles. What would naturally be long fair hair is shaved down to a mat of blond bristles. You idly wonder why she refuses to grow out her hair. She has deep blue eyes and a pale skin tone that haunts the denizens of Gotham. She's a kind of beauty that changes depending on the angle one looks at her. Even you, her brother, has got to admit she fills the apron in a nice way.

That's basically the kind of temptation you live with everyday.

She's making dinner like she does all the time. Heavens know you can't cook to save your own life and you work in a restaurant. In a way, she's like a housewife, a housewife that still goes to high school that is.

She greets you with a dazzling smile that brightens up the whole house, a gesture you can't help but return. You give her a hand or two with the dinner, burning each other with friendly banters until the food was done.

Dinner consist of breaded pork chops with apple-cabbage slaw, simple but fulfilling. You are in quite an afterglow on the tatty couch in your living room when your sister arrives in the room and says, "the landlord came by this afternoon."

And like that, the good mood evaporates into thin air.

"We're three months overdue." Tessa sits beside you. "And he said when he comes back next time, we better have his four hundred bucks ready or —"

"We'll be living in the gutters," you finish, without an hint of emotion whatsoever.

She snuggles into your side and you wrap your arm to pull her closer. The silence that follows seems fitting.

Finally, you say, "we'll be alright, Tessa. I promise I'll work something out tomorrow."

"But you've already done so much." You can feel her trembling. "What if I drop out and find work so..."

You cut her off. "No, no, no... I'm not complaining, am I?" You rub her shoulder, "we'd be alright, okay, please don't cry."

She nods and her sobbing subsides. "How about we watch TV, so you'd feel better?" You reach for the clicker.

"The cable's out."

...and you withdraw your outstretched arm.

A while later, Tessa gives you a goodnight kiss and retreats to the bedroom for the night, leaving you with your thoughts, as conflicted as they were. Bored, you decide to surf your phone when you meet with quite a surprise:

Affection Multiplier App Installed
"Jack Jericho. Rejoice and frolick for thou hast been blessed with a gift like no other. Happy adventuring, young lad"

"What the fuck?!"