The flat surface of the desk covered in a rough terrain of different sizes of stacks of paper, paper weights, mundane office supplies. Stapler. Hole punch. Keyboard. Mouse. Top of the line flat screen high definition monitor. Excessive, I think to myself, as my fingers gently stroke the fur on the back of Persian's neck. I hardly ever use the damn thing and when I do, it's not for anything that would need such an expensive setup.
"But that's just one of the perks of being rich," I mumble to myself, almost incoherently. I say something else so inaudible that I don't even understand it.
Cough into the sleeve of my orange suit jacket. My god, the color is very loud. I briefly fantasize about strangling my tailor with the waistband of my dirty briefs and watch her eyes, her terrified and confused eyes bulging out the front of her skull as strings of drool leak from between the cracks of my teeth and finding home on the surface of her purpling, bloated and dying face.
Ahem.
Boredom.
Boredom is a major symptom of being the boss. That and the stress one endures due to the stupidity of each and every single one of your employees.
Hands tighten into fists.
The questions, the constant fuckups and mishaps, the apologizing, begging for your worthless life.
Fists rise and fall hard onto the oak desk, startling Persian.
Oak.
Fuck.
If I could find another scientist as brilliant as he is with just as little in the way of morality, Professor Oak would be dead inside the hour and his replacement would receive a nice bonus just for not being Professor Oak.
The intercom is buzzing as I stare into the black void of the idle computer monitor. I'd do it myself, with my bare hands, I think. Nothing more intimate and personal than beating a man to within an inch of his life and jamming your thumbs deep into his eye sockets, not withdrawing until the screaming stops and he's lifeless and quiet.
Still buzzing. I decide to see who and what it could possibly be.
Push the button. "Yes?"
"Jesse and James are here to see you, sir," Stephanie's nasally voice squeaks through the speaker. After a moment of consideration, Stephanie takes the initiative. "Should I tell them you're busy, sir?"
"Nah," I say, pressing the speak button. "Go ahead and send them in."
Turn the intercom off and moments later the knob on my office door turns, being pushed towards me.
"We did it, sir!" James, the first one through the doorway says. "We caught you a rare and valuable pokemon!"
"Stole it off a chump," Jesse says, sitting down across from me, crossing her arms and legs simultaneously and closing her eyes. Head turned to the side as James excitedly sets the pokeball down on the desk in front of him and sitting himself next to Jesse, across from me. Leaning towards me. Waiting for a reaction from me. James is like a child, so eager to please everyone around him with his mediocre accomplishments.
Jesse is like his failed mother, or something.
She always seems as disappointed in him as I am in the both of them.
I blame them. She blames him and he blames himself.
Everybody has to have someone to blame, I guess. The truth is that they are incompetent. Everyone is so fucking incompetent.
"Well," I say gruffly as my eyebrows rise and the smile fades from James' face. "What is it?"
"Oh," he says awkwardly, readjusting himself in his chair. "It's a Pikachu! Uh. Sir."
I clear my throat as my brow furrows on its own and I stare hard at him.
"You must be joking."
"What? No, I-"
"Pikachu is not a rare and valuable pokemon. Pikachu is a novelty that children and old ladies keep around the house because it's cute."
"But we found the kid talking to this one," he exclaims desperately. "I'm telling you, there's something about this Pikachu."
"Did it talk back?"
"Um. Well, no."
"Was the kid alone? Did he have any friends with him?"
"He had-"
"Human friends, James. Or family."
"No."
"A lot of kids talk to their pokemon, James. Do you know why?"
"Because they don't have any fucking friends, James. They're pathetic. Their pokemon are pathetic. Do we steal pathetic pokemon from pathetic people, James?"
His posture has changed. His pride is broken again. He hunches over his knees, eyes glued to the floor. "No."
"What do we steal, James?"
"Rare and valuable pokemon," he says, the spirit in his voice completely lost.
"Do you know what Butch and Cassidy brought me yesterday?"
"No."
"A Gyarados. Beast of a pokemon. The week before y brought me a Charizard. These are pokemon that sell, you imbiciles. You come up empty for over a month, and finally you come to me with something, and this is what you bring me? This is chump change. This is just about worthless."
"Sir, I-"
"I don't want to hear it. Even if it did speak, so what? Your Meowth speaks and he's just as useless as you are."
"I told you this was a stupid idea," Jesse says, opening her eyes and turning her head to glare at him.
"Have you done any better, Jesse?"
Her eyes widen and dart towards me.
"No?" I ask for her. "In that case, stifle yourself. In fact, leave all your pokemon on my desk and get the fuck out of my office. You're fired, both of you."
"What?!" Jessie shrieks.
"A-all of them?"
"You heard me. All of the pokemon on your person. Including Meowth, send him in here on your way out. I'll put up with your failures no longer. You're lucky that I'm letting you leave here with your lives. Are we clear?"
"Clear," they both mutter in unison.
"Good," I say, feeling the slightest of smirks spread across my face. "Get out."
They stand and walk out the door, closing it behind them.
Pushing the button on the intercom, I inform Stephanie to make sure Jesse and James send in their Meowth and to have security escort them out.
I open the lower right drawer in my desk and take out and empty pokeball. Oak could always use test subjects. No sense in valuable pokemon becoming failed experiments and abominations. Sacrifice the pawns to save the queen.
And what a queen we'll have.
The door opens and a timid Meowth enters my office.
"You, uh. You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Yes," I say smiling. "Shut the door behind you and have a seat."
"Fuck is that?" he asks, taking a sip from his tumbler and setting it down, the remaining scotch or whiskey or whatever it is sloshing around. Ice clinking against the glass.
"Those,"I say through gritting teeth, "are pokeballs. More specifically, in those pokeballs are some guinea pigs for you. No sense in wasting valuable pokemon on a series of failures."
The piece of shit snorts. 'Sorry about your Gyarados."
"Just get it done," I say coldly. "We're already behind schedule. I didn't hire you because I liked you. I don't. I hired you to do a job. If you are incapable, you are useless to me."
"I got it, I got it," he says, fishing his pack of cigarettes out of the front pocket of his labcoat. "I love you, too, Giovanni."
"You underestimate the gravity of this situation, Oak."
"I never underestimate gravity, sir. The liquor just likes to fuck with me from time to time," he says, winking at me and shooting his hand like a gun with the click of his tongue.
"Oak, if you fail me, not only will you die, but so will your son. Your son's wife. And your grandson."
"Spare me, Don Giovanni," he says, lighting his cigarette and inhaling deep. Every word he speaks accompanied by an illustration of smoke. "You're mistaking me for someone who gives a shit about his family. My kid's an idiot who married an idiot and made an idiot son of their own, and all three of them are waiting for me to die so they can inherit my money. Poor bastards don't even realize that I've willed it all away to the production of a series of bordellos on the outskirts of Kanto. That's my desired legacy at this point."
"You truly are a despicable man," I say, almost in disbelief.
"We wouldn't be working together if I wasn't, Hoss."
He takes another hit from the glass.
"Fair enough," I say. "Should you really be drinking and smoking in this lab?"
"Helps me think and keeps me sane, deal with it."
"Pace yourself," I sigh. "Just pace yourself."
"Sir yes sir," he says, his sarcasm grating my nerves. Fucking idiot."You'd be surprised how far along I am."
"Oh?"
"Yup," he says, thumbing towards the pokeballs on the table. "One of these fuckers is the answer, if not the first one off the rack. I'm so close I can smell it."
"Whatever you do, start with the Pikachu first. Fucking hate those goddamn things. Put the Meowth in one of those sound-proof cells, so he can watch. Do him last."
"Wow, Giovanni. And you said I was despicable. You're a straight up sick fuck. This the one that can talk?"
"Indeed it is."
"Poor fuckers must have really pissed you off this time."
"I do not tolerate failure. Remember this, Oak."
"Yeah, and if I find a reason to live, I'll let you know that I give a shit suddenly, so you can take full advantage of it. Fuck off, Giovanni. I got work to do."
"I'm going to enjoy killing you someday, Professor."
Looking out the window, blinds raised, sun setting over the city. Disappearing to the other side of the world. Persian sleeps on the floor to my left. Eyes glance over to my only true friend before scanning the soft pink, orange and purple hues of the horizon.
I was ambitious, growing up. I wanted money, I took it. I wanted power and I made it mine. Lied, cheated, stole and killed my way to the top.
My hands aren't bloody – I licked them clean myself.
I've savored my sin – relished in it. Exhilarated by my own depravity, my own sadism.
The adrenaline.
Now, I'm at the top. I fantasize about butchering my tailor and bed high dollar hookers that can't even handle their blow.
My eyes grind against the back of my skull and my lower jaw juts outward.
Did I ask for all of this?
Yes. I did. Not only that, but I worked for it. I worked very hard.
Do I want it?
All I can tell you is that it's fucking boring at the top. I shit money and sweat power. None of it means anything to me. In my old age, all I have worth holding onto is my hatred. My hatred for every single one and every single thing that crawls this disgusting rock of a planet like the hive-mind of insects that it is.
Cattle.
All I want is to stand atop the pile of rubble and dead things and laugh.
Stand tall above your destroyed creation and get the last laugh.
Then I'll shoot myself in the head.
Because I have nothing else.