"Your 7:30 is here, Mr. Offer," said the voice over his headset.
After a pause, he responded. "Send him in."
A well-dressed man strutted into the office, adjusting his cufflinks as he surveyed the dark room. The only light in the room came from the large window occupying the entire outer wall. Behind the desk, there was a chair facing away from him, with a few spikes of hair rising over the back silhouetted against the window. The seated figure said nothing, and so he spoke into the twilit darkness. "It is done."
Still, the seated figure said nothing. But the hair spikes could be seen to move over the back of the chair, as if he were regarding something outside. Finally, the thick silence was broken. "And you made it look like an accident?"
"No one will suspect foul play. It will look like he had undiagnosed injuries from his flight yesterday. It will be as if the impact jarred loose a blood clot which found its way into his brain. To all eyes, it will be as if he just never woke up."
The spikes moved as if the listener had cocked his head and perked up his ears. "Sounds very professional."
"I know my craft."
"Do you?" At this, the chair swiveled and finally the well-dressed gentleman came to face his employer. The man leaned his chin into steepled fingers, elbows resting on the large blotter on his heavy desk. His eyes rose over his fingertips, up to catch those of the well-dressed man in their critical glare. But not for a second did the elegant man let his composure drop. Having appraised his employee's steely resolve, the seated figure swung his chair a quarter turn to the right, leaving his profile in silhouette, the row of spikes broken only by the band of the headset. "Ah, Billy, Billy, Billy... The CoS couldn't stop me, what made you think you could? And now look what you've done. All because you just. Couldn't. SHARE!" His left fist crashed down on the dark wood of the heavy desk. He trembled with a deep-seated rage for just a moment before remembering himself.
The room was once again draped in silence, though the sound of the impact seemed to reverberate still. Finally, he spoke again. "You've served me well. Go. Disappear for now. You will receive your payment in the usual fashion." Still facing the wall lined with tall bookshelves, the seated figure disdainfully waved his dismissal. The well-dressed gentleman straightened his tie, pinky extended, and turned on his heel to leave. After a carefully-timed pause, the seated figure stopped him by uttering, "One more thing." As the gentleman turned back, his face registered horror as the chair swiveled back to face him. He saw a hand rise to the side to the spiked head. There was no time to move as the hand slapped a button on the headset, releasing the giant set of blades from the ceiling. The horrified look remained frozen on the gentleman's face as he was chopped into several vertical segments. The floor swung open, dropping the chunks of flesh through a trap door below. The seated figure rose, having removed something from the center drawer of his desk. As the floor swung shut again, he draped the large cloth over the bloody spot on the carpet. He tamped it down with his foot, clucking his tongue all the while. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Now there's your mildew." He flipped the cloth over, and started tamping down the other side on the spot. Already, fifty percent of the color was starting to come up....