"Excuse me,â the nervous secretary said over the intercom, "The man from sector seven is here to see you, one Robert Fox.â Mr. Jefferson snapped his head up, eyes narrowing. "Send him in!â Jefferson barked. Straightening his tie, he stood up, glaring at the opening double doors. Shuffling inside was a small, pudgy man. His red hair was coated in sweat, and his eyes shot back and forth nervously. For a moment, the room was silent except for the slow ticking of a clock. Mr. Johnson sighed. "Do you know why I asked you to come here?â Robert shuffled forward a step, and then stopped, uncertain. He made a choking sound, cleared his throat, and then said, "No, sir.â He swallowed nervously. "No? Well, Mr. Fox, you are here because of your less than satisfactory performance.â Mr. Johnson stood, frowning down at Robert, who unconsciously took a step back. "Here at Sledge Corporations, we need optimal workers. You, "Mr. Johnson sneered, "are not an optimal worker. Will your performance improve?â Robert saw the rope that Mr. Johnson was throwing him, and leapt for it. "Yes sir! Of course sir! Iâll do my best. I havenât been sleeping well lately, thatâs all. It wonât happen again.â Mr. Johnson held up his hand, and Robert stopped talking. "Mr. Fox, youâre fired. I do not trust an incompetent worker like yourself to live up to his promises. You may leave.â The doors opened once again, and two stone-faced security guards grabbed Robert by the arms and started dragging him out. "No! Please! I need this job! I have three kids and a wife! How am I supposed to feed them? Please,-" Robert continued to plead as the doors slowly closed behind him. Mr. Johnson sat down, and had a small smile. He loved his job. He was the iron fist of Sledge Inc., and he certainly enjoyed it. Leaning back, he casually snaked his hand towards the intercom and pressed the red button. "Ms. Shirley? Iâm going home early today,â Mr. Johnson smiled, "If anyone asks, Iâm at the bank. Understood?â Ignoring his secretaryâs response, he threw an assortment of papers into his briefcase. He briskly walked towards the elevator, a private one he had installed years before. He was the elite of the company, and he felt no need to share his breathing space with the company peons. With a "ding!â Mr. Johnson stepped out into the lobby, eyes staring coldly ahead, ignoring the stares of the more bold occupants. He pushed his way through the chrome revolving doors and emerged into the warm summer air. His expensive Koenigsegg CCX was waiting for him on the opposite side of the courtyard. Sleek, aerodynamic and with a price tag just under $800 000, it was Mr. Johnsons most prized possession. Pulling his keys out of his jacket, he smirked as the sports car flared brilliantly. The sleek grey door slid upwards as he approached. He tossed his suitcase into the passenger seat, and just as he was about to step in, a spider web of cracks appeared on the door window with a ear shattering âcrack!â. He reeled back, arms flailing to protect his face, opening his mouth to shout just as a .30 caliber round sped through his skull at over 3400 feet per second. Mr. Johnson frowned, slumped forward and fell. A growing pool of blood spread across the pavement.
There was certainly a lot of description, and the flow was very nice. The only major problem I have with it is that it's rather cliche. "Big boss who is thought to be impervious gets nailed by a disgruntled worker." We've all heard it a million times. I'd hate to see you write like this on this kind of topic. Feel free to disagree, but I suppose that's where I stand.
