2004

Deep within the confines of a desolate mine, two men cautiously made their way through the darkness. Their eyes darted around, searching for any sign of the elusive treasure they had been tasked to find. "There's nothing here, boss," one of the men stated, his voice filled with disappointment.

Emerging from the shadows, the man known as Mr. Malone, clad in a sleek black suit, exhaled a cloud of smoke from his cigar. Despite his slightly portly figure, his presence commanded respect. His deep voice resonated through the mine as he addressed his subordinates, "Are you boys absolutely certain? I was informed that the loot was buried within these very walls. You bumbling imbeciles, you didn't search hard enough. Did you?"

"We scoured every inch, Mr. Malone," one of the men replied nervously.

"Well, search again! My sources are never wrong, and I was promised a fortune hidden in this mine," Mr. Malone retorted, his cigar glowing brightly as he gestured emphatically. Suddenly, the blaring sirens pierced the silence, jolting the men from their conversation.

"Oh, shit! Boss, it's the sirens," one of the men exclaimed, panic evident in his voice.

"Damn it all! Let's get out of here!" Mr. Malone barked, urgency lacing his words. The trio hastily made their way to their getaway van, but Mr. Malone couldn't help but express his displeasure. "Oh, shit, Trey! You assured me this van would be in pristine condition!. This is the complete opposite! What am I a pimp!" he grumbled, casting a disapproving glance at the driver. "Now, drive!" he commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

As the van sped away, the pursuing police cars hot on their trail, Mr. Malone's mind raced. "Go, go!" he shouted, urging the driver to push the vehicle to its limits. Miraculously, they managed to outmaneuver the law enforcement, leaving them in a cloud of dust. "Congratulations, boys. For once, you didn't completely screw up," Mr. Malone quipped, with a sarcastic voice.

However, their momentary triumph was short-lived as the van careened into a nearby jewelry store, the sound of shattering glass reverberating through the air. "Shit! Shit!" Mr. Malone cursed, realizing the gravity of their predicament. "You promised me treasure in that damn mine! You know, there's one thing I despise above all else, and that's incompetence," he seethed, turning his wrath towards his hapless subordinate. "Boss, the sources said-" the man began to explain, only to be swiftly interrupted.

"Well, it appears those sources of yours were nothing but a pack of liars! And you, you foolish fool, for believing in them! Consider yourself off the team!" Mr. Malone declared, his voice laced with fury. Without further ado, they drove the disgraced member to a remote desert location.

"Hey! What are you doing?" the man protested as Kevin expertly tied him up. "You see, my dear friend, there's one thing that Kevin Malone despises above all else, and that's incompetence," he explained as they drove off into the distance.

Kevin reclined in his modest apartment, the faint aroma of a fine cigar enveloping the room as he perused the newspaper. "I must say, boys, you really botched that mission," he grumbled, his voice devoid of any amusement.

His goon dared to question, "Boss, we weren't that bad, were we?"

Kevin let out a small chuckle, taking a deliberate puff from his cigar. "No, no, you weren't just bad. You were beyond bad. 99% bad, to be exact," he replied coolly, a hint of mischief glinting in his eyes.

Relief washed over his subordinates as they realized their boss was merely taunting them. "Thank you, boss. We were worried for a moment," they chimed in unison.

Kevin, expression remaining stoic, shifted his gaze to the papers in his hands. "I was insulting you imbeciles. Perhaps I should take you for a little desert drive, eh? I need money, and I need it now," he mused, his voice tinged with a touch of menace.

The goons hesitated before delivering an unexpected piece of news. "Boss, haven't you heard? Trey, our trusted driver, got himself arrested a few hours ago," one of them revealed.

A fleeting grin passed over Kevin's face, quickly replaced by his usual impassive demeanor. "Good riddance. One less liability," he remarked, dismissing the driver's misfortune. His attention then shifted to an intriguing headline that caught his eye. "Heist Kingpin still at Large," it proclaimed.

The goons couldn't help but notice the article too. "Look at that, boss. You're famous," one of them remarked, a mix of awe and respect in his voice.

Kevin let out a low, almost imperceptible chuckle, his face remaining stoic as ever. "Of course, I'm famous. Everyone in this damn town knows it," he boasted, his words dripping with confidence. His gaze fell upon another headline that caught his interest. "Help Wanted, Dunder Mufflin," it read.

Kevin scoffed, his voice laced with cynical skepticism. "Working at a paper company? Seriously?"

However, his goon saw an opportunity. "Boss, I heard the accounting department there is sitting on a fortune, maybe 10 or 50 billion dollars. It's the perfect mark," he suggested, a glimmer of excitement in his voice.

A flicker of determination flashed in Kevin's eyes. "Very well, I'll do it. But you better not find a way to mess this up. Stay put," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

"I believe our fortunes are about to change, boys," Kevin declared, his face remaining stoic, yet a trace of anticipation lingered beneath the surface.

"Ah; you said it boss" said his goons

Kevin's face hardened; "Did I say you could speak"

"Well; boss. No; I was saying"

"Yeah; and that's the problem; you're saying" said Kevin just then he held a rifle.

He pointed the rifle to the guy and shoot; blood dripping all over.

"Oh, shit! Boss"

"Clean up the stains; boys" said Kevin as he walked off. This was not the first time; he'd done this