"Mr. Brock..."

"No Mr. Brock. I'm sorry Jason, but if you cannot commit to your schedule, you don't have what it takes to work in this company."

I lower my head. I feel my eyes water.

I mean, it's one thing to yell at me because I left five minutes early yesterday -- after being the only one doing unpaid extra hours until midnight for the fifth week in row now.

But to fire me because of it? And in front of everybody?

I feel like that's kind of mean of Mr. Brock's part.

People are looking. I hate this.

"Are you going to cry, Jason? Really? You are a grown man. Get yourself together."

Lisa from accounting passes by and stops to watch. Everyone in their cubicle has their heads raised to watch the scene, as well.

I hate being in the spotlight. I'm not good at confrontation.

"Mr. Brock, please. I can put in more hours, if you want. I can --"

"Sorry, Jason. I need a person who can commit. I need someone responsible."

Come on. You are right, man. Stand up for yourself. Say something.

Brock never did extra hours. Neither did Lisa, or Tobias.

You are always the last one in the office, and you are also the one paid less.

Say something. Everybody is watching. Say something. Say something.

I hate this. Stop crying.

"Mr. Brock, c-can we talk in your office? I really need this job. I can --"

Mr. Brock throws a cardboard box my way. "We have nothing more to talk about, Jason."

He turns around and steps away, heading for his big office with his big window and his big trophies.

Little by little, the heads start lowering back to their computers. I start putting my stuff in the little box, feeling five different kinds of shitty.

I'm done in like five minutes. It's pretty easy, what with no pictures of family or kids. No pictures of the wife. No macaroni pen holder.

I don't have a lot of stuff to show for, in this life.

I put the last of my action figures (John Constantine, from Hellblazer) on the box and I get up, sniffing.

"Well... See you guys. I -- goodbye."

No one answers. People type away and drink their coffee away, distracted. I start walking.

I'm almost by the door when I hear it.

"MOTHERFUCKER!"

And a loud bang.

Like really really loud.

I stop and turn around, and everyone else does the same.

Black smoke is coming out from under Mr. Brock's door.

Little by little, slow motion step by slow motion step, I approach, because no one else seems to be willing to move. There's silence on the other end of the door.

Before I can reach the knob the door opens on its own, and everyone goes "Oh!" (except for Mr. Trigger from HR, who just says 'oh fuck this shit', gets up and leaves. We never saw him again.)

These reactions were prompted by the fact that, on the other side of the door, Mr. Brock was now seven different, completely separate objects, spread around his office.

His head and torso is lying on top of his desk, in the middle of a pool of blood.

His legs are on opposite sides of the room. So are his arms.

His penis and left ball are dangling from the roof fan, casually.

His right ball is on the floor by the door, right next to a squirrel holding a bazooka.

I'm gonna repeat that:

His right ball is on the floor by the door, right next to a squirrel holding a bazooka.

Lisa from accounting faints.

"Took care of this piece of flying, stinky shit, master", the squirrel says, smiling at me. His voice is high pitched and scratchy, like the voice of an old lady on 3 packs of Camels a day for the past 70 years.

I look at the squirrel for seventeen seconds, in complete silence.

Jenny from marketing faints, too.

Jack from HR whispers "holy shit", and has a heart attack.

(He died a week later, I heard.)

"What?" I ask, suddenly realizing I hadn't blinked in a very long time.

I blink.

"The Abomination, they call me", the squirrel says, with a smirk. "Paid assassin. You saved my life on January 13th, down Berry Road, remember? Squirrel law determines I am now at your service. I took the liberty of doing a background check on your life. You got a lot of people being assholes to you and dragging you down. I'm here to take care of that for you."

"I-- Mr. Brock was not disturbing me. I -- he was an asshole, sure, but I didn't -- I mean..."

I take a deep breath. What little people on the office that have not yet fainted or had heart attacks (or walked away saying 'fuck this shit') are frozen watching the scene in a catatonic state.

The squirrel grabs Mr. Brock's right ball, throwing it over his left shoulder like a sports bag. "Now come on, let's get even with the world. Like I said, a lot of people have been fucking you over, Jason. It's time to grow up and be a man. Time to set the record straight."

"I.... Wh-what do you mean?"

The squirrel grabs me by the hand. He drags me towards the door.

People are watching still, frozen.

"Do you know a Ed Williams, Jason?" the squirrel asks, almost by the door.

"Yeah, he's my neighbor", I say, worrying about what's coming next.

"Could you grab the doorknob, please?" The Abomination looks up at the doorknob, out of his reach.

I turn it and open the door.

People are still frozen, staring at me.

Mike from research and development faints. Then he wakes up.

Then he faints again.

"What about Ed Williams?" I ask, as the squirrel drags me out into the hallway.

"He's stealing your TV Guides", The Abomination, says, shutting the door behind us with his feet. "Let's go shove a cactus up his ass."

And he drags me to the elevator.