Pairs of boots crunched through the compacted snow as they travelled through the parking lot. The large warehouse roof was covered in snow with some peeking over the ledge, ready to fall at any moment. Malcolm walked forward with five suited bodyguards close in pursuit. A breeze hit the right side of his face, his black leather eyepatch covering his eye from the cold breeze. One man walked in front of Malcolm and grasped the doorknob, giving it a few turns until it finally loosened. Malcolm entered after the bodyguard with his hands still snug in his winter cloak pockets. The echoing of boots in the large space resonated loudly. The slam of the door let out a roar that ceased quickly. Large ship containers and stacks of wooden pallets filled the warehouse. The entire inside of the building was a maze itself with all the objects.

Panicked talking could be heard from inside the maze of shipping containers. As the talking neared as they walked through the containers, the bodyguards rested their hands on their gun holster. Two men sped up in front of Malcolm as they came up to a now lighter up area. He continued at the calm pace he was at.

"Go ahead," dared Mr. Jones. "Bring Frost here; I can settle it with him!" His arms were behind the wooden chair he was seated in, with his wrists bound tightly with a cord. Malcolm chuckled at the sight.

"What shall we settle then, Mr. Jones?" He asked. Mr. Jones jumped at the sudden response and whipped towards the man. His once confident and angry eyes were now explicitly staring in fear. Wimp, Malcolm smiled to himself. He approached in strides, the intimidation hitting each and every one of his bodyguards.

"I- uhm," Mr. Jones stuttered.

"Are you being a pussy now that I've arrived?" Malcolm asked, a smirk creased onto his face. Mr. Jones looked down and made an attempt to deny the assumption, but a hand slapped his face.

"Look at the boss when he's speaking to you." A suited woman said. Mr. Jones glared at her. Malcolm rammed his hand onto the chair with a tight grip and pushed the chair onto its two back legs, face inches away from the tied man's face.

"Did your parents not teach you any manners, Mr. Jones?" Malcolm asked. His stare sent a shiver down Mr. Jones' spine. "Well?" he asked. Mr. Jones nodded, avoiding eye contact.

"Now that I'm finally here," Malcolm began, "Do you know why you are in the predicament you are in?"

". . . Yes."

"State why."

"I have a debt to pay."

"You don't have, you had a debt to pay." Malcolm corrected. "Do you know how much money you owe me?" he asked. Mr. Jones gulped.

"One-hundred thousand," he responded. Malcolm's smirk grew.

"Correct," said Malcolm, "And how long has it been since your deadline has passed?" Mr. Jones didn't respond and just looked away in shame. This irritated Malcolm. He turned to the suited woman that had slapped the bound man before. His stare gave her his question.

"It has been three days since his deadline, sir." she confirmed. Malcolm turned back to the man.

"Look at me," he said. His voice was low with an intimidating growl. Mr. Jones flinched but looked up. His eyes met with an angered blue orb. His lip quivered. Malcolm noticed this and ran his gloved thumb over the man's bottom lip. He pulled his lip down until it flicked back up.

"Did you hear that?" he asked.

"Yes. . ." Mr. Jones said, his shame heard in his voice. The warehouse was silent for a long moment. The only sound that could be heard was the wind slamming against the walls.

In a swift movement, Malcolm released the chair and it fell back down on its four legs. He stared down at the man, his rested eyes capturing a deadly glare that made all the bodyguards nervous. He reached his right hand into his coat and pulled out a pistol, eyes locked onto the man sitting in front of him. He raised the gun at the man, extending his arm as much as he could.

"Mr. Jones, look at me," he said. In severe hesitance, Mr. Jones looked up at him, and without a second to spare, Malcolm pulled the trigger. Blood splattered onto the white shipment container behind the man and his head flung back. Malcolm let out a breath as he lowered his gun, pushing fallen strands of his raven black hair back with his left hand. He slipped the pistol back into his inner coat pocket and turned to the nearest guards.

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"Clean this mess up." He ordered. They immediately went to the now lifeless man and began untying him. Malcolm sighed deeply, rolling his neck in an attempt to crack it. He stuffed his hands back into his pockets and began walking back. Bodyguards noticed this and trotted after him in pursuit. He reached into the other side of his coat and pulled out a cigarette box and lighter. He plucked one out and put the box back, lighting it and putting the lighter back as well. They exited the warehouse and entered back into the snowy environment. The snow seemed crunchier than it did when he arrived. They reached the car, a Porsche Cayenne, and a guard opened the door, allowing Malcolm to enter the back seat. His leg unknowingly began bouncing as he waited for a guard to turn the vehicle on. Once one entered and turned the car on, inhaling his cigarette he told the guard to go. They slowly pulled out of the snow-covered driveway and travelled down the hill at a cautious pace.

Just then, a ringtone went off in Malcolms pants pocket. He grumbled and pulled it out, answering it without looking at who the person calling him was.

"What." he stated, the annoyance clear in his voice.

"What would you like us to do with the body, sir?" The guard asked on the other end.

"Toss it in the woods somewhere," he said.

"But sir, what if someone finds the body?" They asked.

"That's their problem then. Now, get the job done." he said. He hung up the phone and sighed. They were already nearing the city. The buildings were peeking above the tree line, their windowed walls and large business signs staring down at everyone to see. Without looking at the suited man driving, he looked out the window and asked him to drive to a street.

"May I ask what for, sir?" he asked, the nervousness hinting in his words.

"Mr. Jones decided not to pay his debt himself, so I'll get it myself while I can." Malcolm responded. The guard nodded and continued driving. He was a pussy from the start, Malcolm thought to himself. He took a deep puff of his cigarette, exhaling against the window. The smoke travelled back to him and directly into his face. He breathed in, closing his eyes at the thick smell. It calmed his senses. He enjoyed the smell of cigarette smoke. He in fact loved it. Ever since he was a mere teenage boy, he loved it. It grew more into an obsession as he grew older.

Blaring car horns could be heard as they neared the city more. The quicker he got done with the deposit, the quicker he could go back home.

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Exiting the car, he inhaled the last of his second cigarette before tossing it to the ground and stomping on it. He approached the glass doors, not bothering to stop for people walking on the sidewalk. He bumped into someone, and they commented on the rude action.

"Watch it, punk!" the man yelled. Malcolm stopped in his tracks with his hand clasping the silver door handle. He glanced to his right, but his eyepatch blocked his vision to look the man in the eyes. He heard someone, who must have been the man's buddy, talk him down. With a sound of defeat, they walked away. Malcolm licked his lower teeth with a bit of annoyance, but he let it go. He opened the door and took short strides forward towards the elevators. He glanced at a woman who nodded at him with a smile.

"Good evening, mister Frost." she greeted. Malcolm nodded in response. He got to the elevators and pressed the up button. He entered the opening elevator and pressed floor twenty-four, pulling out his phone as the doors closed and the elevator began moving with a small shake. He had two missed messages from a group chat consisting of him and his bodyguards. One was of the driver confirming that he parked the car in the car lot, and the other was another confirmation of the body disposal. He didn't respond and put the phone back in his pants pocket. Once the elevator stopped and doors opened, he stepped into the hall. The hall contained two side tables with paintings hung above them, and one door at the end. The hall was short, so he only had to take a few steps to reach the door. He slipped a keycard out of his back pants pocket and unlocked the door; the door unlatching with a click. He entered and shut the door behind him with a soft push. The door locked with another click. He tore off his boots by the heel with the tips of his toes. He slipped off his coat and turned around, hanging it on a coat rack nailed against the wall. With his hands in his pockets, he slouched into the living room without turning on the lights. He plopped down on the couch, rubbing the face of his palm up and down his face in exhaustion. He propped his legs onto the couch so he was laying down.

He grumbled as he reached behind his head to pull off his eyepatch that was now irritating his skin. He pulled it off and tossed it onto the glass coffee table. It took a moment for his eye to adjust to the soft light around him. With another sigh, he turned his head towards the large glass window to his right. The sudden blare of the setting sun caused him to hiss with sensitivity. He covered his right eye and turned away to the couch cushions. Godamnit, he thought to himself. The sunset was slowly going down, and the city lights were soon going to turn on. All he wanted was for the sun's blare to cease behind the mountains, trees, and buildings.

When he was born, his right eye had some kind of vision deformity that led to it having a high sensitivity to light. Since then, he has worn an eyepatch of any sort.

He sighed into the grey couch cushion with his hand still cupped over his eye. He adjusted himself so his back was facing the window completely. He took his hand off his face and closed his eyes. He left out another long sigh and crossed his arms into a somewhat comfortable position. Exhaustion was catching up to him the longer he laid there. Sooner or later, he would fall asleep without changing his clothes.