“You really should watch your mouth.” This statement was said to him so many times, it had lost all meaning. Robert ‘Feathers’ Fabio turned to his partner, and scowled. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” John laughed, turning to Tucker, for support on his epic quest to bully Feathers. Tucker was busy with pouring the cement into the barrel. The ocean next to the dock splashed gently, as if they wanted to join in with John’s laughter. Tucker took off the gag from the contents of the barrel that was not cement. The contents whimpered. “Please…” Feathers laughed. “This was your third warning. Since you are an epic sports gambler, surely you know what 3 strikes means.” John scoffed. “Yea, its what you have with the boss when you asked him about the angel dust.” “Shut the fuck up, John.” Tucker stared at the epic sports gambler, then opened his mouth. “Push.” He said. Feathers sighed. “You know, Tucker, we really need to work on something called sentences. Conversation. Communication. You know, things that people do. AND robots. See?” His phone lit up, and replied, “Okay, Robert. Here is what I found about…” Robert put his phone back in his pocket before he had to hear more of that metallic voice. “See? So many words.” He then kicked the barrel before the epic sports gambler could say another word. The barrel sank like a barrel filled with cement, and well, a human body. John looked around, just to check that nobody had seen the dumping of the epic gambler barrel. “All righty, let’s get out of here!” John said, cheerfully. 

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Feathers went to the car. He reached out his hand to grab the door handle, and saw something in the side mirror. John was pulling out his gun. Robert turned around, genuinely confused. “Johny, why do you have your gun out?” As he said those words, two bullets were embedding themselves into Feather’s chest. “Sorry Robert. Boss doesn’t want you sniffing around in our, well, ‘sniffing’ business.” Johny let out an emotionless chuckle. Robert’s eyes went to Tucker, who clearly had no idea of what was going on. “Don’t move, Tucker.” John said. “We all answer to the boss. Nothing more important than that.” Feathers nodded. Tears welled up in Tucker’s eyes as Feathers slowly slumped to the ground. Feathers smiled. He had grown up an orphan, brought up, raised by the current boss’s father. Then, of course, the boss had taken charge after his father had gotten ‘too old’. Whatever that meant. Of course, when the boss started to deal out hard drugs, Feathers had to complain and threaten to tell the boss’s father. After a couple more arguments, he was sent to do ‘trash disposal’. “And now,” thought Feathers, “I die.”