Tim the Printer Guy’s eyes widened with dread as his boss stood before him with tense shoulders and a stern face, ready to strike. Skeeter walked past Tim, staying silent as he entered the apartment.

“What are you doing here?” asked Tim the Printer Guy.

“I have been calling you all night,” said Skeeter with his back to Tim, still too mad to face him.

“I’m sorry… I saw, but…”

“I also called your neighbors—people that I know will keep an eye on you. They say you were out all night shouting and doing karate moves in the parking lot.” Skeeter looked around the apartment and cringed at the smell. “And it looked like you were on drugs!”

“Well… I…” Tim the Printer Guy stammered. He was at a loss for words and thought that for all that time, he’d been in the ethereal plane. “Maybe I had a bad dream, or…”

“Drugs!” Skeeter punched the wall, leaving a small hole. “Where did you get them, Tim?”

“I don’t have— I mean, I uh…” Tim the Printer Guy was choked up. “The Doctor gives me some…”

“And what the hell are you wearing?”

Tim the Printer Guy looked down at his ragged chemise.

“The drugs from the Doctor are only supposed to keep you healthy and working, so you are obviously abusing something else. I don’t want this crack-fueled cross-dressing to threaten my company! Believe you me, I will find out what you are using and I will put a stop to it!”

Tim the Printer Guy thought for a moment about Fred Shudnow and the newfound confidence that was stirring inside him. He needed to finally stand up for himself and relinquish the control Skeeter had over him.

“What if I was using drugs?” Tim said. “You put me through a lot at work, and maybe… I need an escape.”

Skeeter’s face seized up and he raised his arm, readying to backhand Tim across the face. However, he stopped.

“Well,” he said, lowering his hand, “maybe I put too much pressure on you.” Skeeter’s face grew solemn—his eyes looked back with concern. “The pressure on me is so great that I might come across as mean, but I worry about you. There are days where I wake up and just sulk, because it pains me to have to return to that job. But I do it, because I need to, and so do you. This is what we have, you and me, and we need to make sure it doesn’t go away.”

It had been a long time since Tim the Printer Guy last heard Skeeter speak so calmly.

“I am sorry,” said Tim. “But I have been unhappy for a while, and—-”

“Well listen to this,” Skeeter cut him off. “The reason that I have been calling you is because I just got word from the CEO of PaperClips.”

Tim’s heart stopped. Was this because of what happened at Best Value, or maybe about Octavian being offended over Tim’s anti-semetic remarks?

“They really appreciate the work you have been doing, and want to come up with a way to reward the employees when they complete our training courses,” said Skeeter. “I need you to come with me and meet with him today.”

Is this finally the recognition for years of hard work? It felt good, but this was coming much too late. Fred was waiting and Tim the Printer Guy needed to go with him.

“I am flattered, but—”

“This is what we have been waiting for Tim,” Skeeter said, cutting him off again. “Remember when we were rooming together in Chicago and I first told you about starting this company? That we would one day have big clients and make a lot of money? Well if this works out, we could get a big payment for more training courses—I have been working on some premium ones to push out, and then I could make so much money—and you could make more money too!”

Tim the Printer Guy took a step back—shocked by this. The chance to do more, to make more. Was this the end of the nightmare? Looking into Skeeter’s eyes, he saw again the hopeful boy he once knew; but this came too late.

“Listen, Skeeter,” Tim the Printer Guy said. “I have an opportunity to go out on my own. If you fire me, I have a place to stay and someone who will give me money in exchange for work.”

Skeeter had to take a step back, as those words were something he never expected to hear.

“Who is this person?” Skeeter asked, pursing his lips.

“It is just a friend of mine…”

“You don’t have friends.”

“I do now,” said Tim the Printer Guy, standing his ground.

Skeeter paced around the room with a brewing fury. “You are not leaving,” he said. “My father and I will not allow it. You don’t know what it’s like out there. This person cannot possibly pay you as much as we can. You will be living in the streets, Tim!”

Tim the Printer Guy began to stew with anger. “That’s not true, he has a house!” he shouted.

“You are going to that meeting! You still owe me!” Skeeter shouted before grabbing the back of Tim’s head—tightening his grip around his thinning and sparse hair follicles. He angled Tim’s head upward and looked deep into his eyes. “I promised my father that I wouldn’t let you go,” he whispered.

With Tim under his control, Skeeter yanked him out of the apartment. As they moved back out to the parking lot, Tim the Printer Guy screamed and clawed at Skeeter’s arm. This time, no neighbors were watching, the complex was eerily silent and empty. Skeeter dragged Tim over to a water spigot, just on the other side of the parking lot.

“We need to get you cleaned. You smell like shit!” Skeeter shoved Tim’s head under the spigot.

The water flowed out and splashed into Tim’s eyes. It was frigid—like a dagger, cutting into his nervous system. Tim the Printer Guy felt limp and at the will of Skeeter, who towered over him, continually forcing his head down. After a bit of this improvised shower, Skeeter dragged Tim over to his car—a brand new Land Rover—and slammed him against the back door. He then walked to the passenger’s side and got out a new blue polo and pressed khakis.

“Put this on!” He shoved the outfit in Tim’s hands. “I got this all for you!”

Tim took off his chemise and put on the blue polo and khakis. “ProSales” was stamped on the left breast. Tears trickled down as he saw his reflection in the window.

“Get in the car,” Skeeter commanded, shoving Tim into the car and driving off.

While driving, Skeeter also broke down, sobbing. He awkwardly tried to hold onto the steering wheel and wipe away the tears.

“Why are you making me do this, Tim?” he lamented. “I don’t want to hurt you, but this can mean everything for me. You are just going to abandon me?”

Tim the Printer Guy just layed in the back, frozen in fear. Tears still streamed down as he listened to his boss’s excessive cursing and crying.

“God dammit Tim, you don’t understand! I need this, you need this. Why are you putting me through this?” Skeeter was still shaking, trying to keep the car straight. “Just wait till my father hears about this! You better behave during this meeting, Tim—I swear to god, if you try something or say something about this company, I will have your head on a platter!”

It was only a couple of minutes, but Tim the Printer Guy felt like they were driving for an eternity. He never tried to look out the window or sit up in any way, for fear that Skeeter would do something.

“We’re here,” said Skeeter, turning off the engine. “Get up, and let’s go.”

Tim the Printer Guy, at the will of his boss, exited the car. The two were now in the parking lot of PaperClips. Tim looked behind him and saw his own powder-blue Ford Focus, left over from a few nights before. It was covered in dirt and twigs—as the storm that rolled in had its way of consuming the vehicle. Skeeter pushed him forward, breaking Tim’s attention from it as the two moved quickly through the front door.

Today, there was a bustling atmosphere, gremlins filling the aisles, looking at and handling products. Tim the Printer Guy could see his precious Adonises, scattered throughout, talking to feathery customers that mindlessly darted around, overwhelmed by today’s slashed prices. They did not seem to notice Tim as Skeeter aggressively escorted him to the back.

“C’mon, we are running late!” Skeeter hissed through gritted teeth.

He pushed Tim the Printer Guy through a doorway in the back. Tim stumbled into a small boardroom, containing a group of men standing around laughing with each other. They all were bald, or had thinning hair. Some seemed young, while others were very much in their later years. They varied in size, as some were fairly obese—much more than Tim. Others were tall and seemingly thin, yet all with a noticeable paunch that stuck out over their belts. They were all wearing slacks or some form of dress pants, like those in the corners of the room in khakis, all in button up shirts in a variety of gray or faded pastel greens and blues. The men swarmed around a table in the middle, on which sat a long submarine sandwich and some small paper plates and napkins. With each cackle, Tim noticed small bits of food in each man’s mouth jump up and fall onto their shirts. This made them cough and wheeze, but did not interfere with their incessant laughter. No one noticed Skeeter and Tim the Printer Guy standing in the doorway, as they were very much preoccupied with each other.

Someone broke out from the huddle to greet the two. It was Christian, the General Manager of the store; someone who Tim the Printer Guy was used to seeing, though they rarely spoke to one another. He had a younger face and still had most of his hair, yet his eyes were dark, carrying bags and wrinkles. There was something sad and lost in his expression, yet he always tried to maintain an upbeat attitude, or facade.

“Tim, glad you can make it!” Christian exclaimed, while pushing his hand out for a shake.

Tim the Printer Guy took it, and was pulled into the group of men. He noticed that, visually, he fit their aesthetic, as he possessed some—if not all—of their traits. They looked to him as their equal, and slowly, everyone gelled together in a congested blob of corporate chatter.

“Nice to meet you, Tim,” one of them said. “I am Bob Gale from the east side!”

Stolen novel; please report.

“Garret Hernandez, west side branch!” said another, reaching for another hand shake.

Tim was overstimulated, men thrusting their hands at his face and screaming their names out. He started to feel light headed, as if he was ready to faint. Then he began to stare at the sandwich, which was so tempting. It was full of meat and vegetables, doused in oil, and came with additional packets of mustard and mayo. Catering such as this was thought of to be nothing more than a fantasy. This is what Tim the Printer Guy always heard business meetings were like, but had never experienced it before—until now. He looked up and was met face to face with an imposing figure.

He stood high above the rest, with a large, fat chin. He was tall and wide—still with a protruding gut, though his was more evenly dispersed. His hair was gone from his head, but had a bit of stubble all throughout his chin and neck. Tim looked deep into his eyes, and saw nothing but blackness. The man stared down at Tim, with this ogre-like expression—complete with a snarl, and a vague, callous glare.

“This is the CEO of PaperClips, Doug Himler,” said Christian, motioning to the man.

Tim the Printer Guy stuck out his hand, but the man did nothing but continue to stare at him. He gave a huff, and Christian walked off to get everyone's attention.

“Alright, let’s get this meeting started,” he said. ”Everyone take a seat.”

The rest of the storks and dodos in the room corralled around the submarine sandwich to take their seats. Doug Himler, still not showing much interest in anything around him, sat in the middle with Christian to his right. Skeeter and Tim sat down, right across from everyone.

“We appreciate that you were able to come down here for this,” Christian said to Skeeter and Tim. “As you know we have been talking about more ways that we can use your services in our stores.”

Skeeter was frothing at the mouth and bouncing his leg vigorously, anticipating whatever Christian was about to say.

“We have noticed that my team has been active with training courses, and you seem like a very dedicated instructor,” said Christian. “I was talking with the other General Managers, and we think that ProSales would be very beneficial as we look to expand our operation. I am sure the rest can agree with me when I say that we all don’t have time to conduct a thorough training course for each new hire. We would love it if you guys could take in the bulk of that demand.”

“Oh, we are ready to take that bulk!” exclaimed Skeeter. “We have a lot of premium services that will more than accommodate your needs.”

“That is great to hear!” said Christian. “Could we get someone to come out to each store to conduct training courses?”

“Oh yeah, we can do that!” Skeeter foamed at the mouth.

“Now, I know we booked you guys for printer training, but do you also teach employees about computers and tablets?” asked Christian.

“Definitely!”

Tim the Printer Guy felt his stomach drop. “We can?” he asked Skeeter.

“He likes to joke around,” Skeeter reassured the others. “Don’t worry, we can get some other people that do different products to come out and get your guys going on a great training program!”

This perplexed Tim the Printer Guy. For all this time, he never met anyone else that worked for ProSales. Skeeter would always remind Tim that this company was extensive and that he did not understand anything about business. Even Skeeter’s father, Mr. Skeeterman was elusive and never made an appearance at the office or even spoke to Tim over the phone. But, as they sat in this meeting, it started to feel that Tim the Printer Guy was the only one that Skeeter had.

“So what made you guys want to go into this line of work?” asked one of the dodos to the left of Doug Himler.

Skeeter smiled, and turned slowly toward Tim. “Well I was living in Chicago at the time, talking with a few people about getting an app developed. It was the same app that we use today. Just compiling together training courses and manuals for printers and ‘puters, and such…” Skeeter droned on. “I knew of Tim, and we thought why not have someone go out to the stores and administer the tests? Answer questions and make sure people are taking them?”

“So you don’t have anyone slacking off?” chirped one of the storks, before they all laughed in unison.

Another squawked, “Were you always so knowledgeable about printers Tim? I still can’t get my phone to work!” They all laughed again.

“I was studying art at the time…” Tim said under his breath.

“He was more of an ink expert!” Skeeter piped in. “I remember he used to draw those asian letters or symbols or whatever with ink, so I thought that he would be perfect to get people going on printers.”

“You said that I would only have to do this until I got the money to go back to school…” said Tim again, looking at Skeeter—remembering their initial agreement.

Skeeter laughed to try and drown out Tim’s statement. “No you were done with school, remember? You have made a lot more with this company than you ever could with an art degree.”

“Art degree?” Doug Himler asked with a grunt—the first time he had said, or reacted to anything.

Everyone was silent, alternating between staring at Doug and Tim the Printer Guy. Their faces were devoid of emotion—perfectly composed. Tim sat there and felt their eyes weigh down on him, judging each expression he made. Then Doug let out a garbled, grating chuckle, to which the whole chorus surrounding him responded in hysterical laughter. Skeeter joined in and soon everyone was in tears.

The meeting ended and they all left. Skeeter remained in the room, holding Tim by the arm.

“You almost embarrassed me back there!” he whispered aggressively at Tim the Printer Guy, quiet enough that no one would hear. “No more slip ups like that! Next time, just keep your mouth shut.”

“Can I go back in and have some of that sandwich?” Tim sheepishly asked.

Skeeter scoffed, but decided to show a little bit of compassion. “Okay, but just be quick about it,” he said. “Don’t say I never did anything for you!” Skeeter left Tim alone to devour the sandwich.

It was glorious, a prize to be sure—covered in oils and sauces. The meat was so enjoyable and there was even cheese to go with it—Tim’s favorite. So many flavors collided together, filling his stomach and soul with utter ecstasy. He was alone in the room, while the door was just cracked open. Tim tried to make little noise and be quick, but the sandwich was so intoxicating; he could not help but groan and smack his lips in joy. Then he heard a sound from past the door and down the hall—some chatter.

“Man, I don’t know how much of it I can take,” said a voice.

“Yeah. I still wish Octavian was around too,” said another.

It was Mikeal and Cage, again walking down the corridor and making their way towards Tim the Printer Guy. He froze, hoping that they wouldn’t notice him in the room.

“How can I help customers if he is giving me all of his dumb projects to do?” said Mikeal.

“Yeah, he thinks he has all this power, now he is a manager but I don’t remember Octavian doing that,” said Cage.

“That’s because he didn’t do that,” said Mikeal. “Jamir is just acting ridiculous. Whatever, he can take this job as seriously as he wants, I won’t be here for too long.”

This was more aggravation coming from the Adonises. At first, they’d been complaining about PaperClips, and now that Tim the Printer Guy had met all those ‘upper-level’ managers, he understood why. But why were they turning on eachother? This was unbelievable. Jamir was smart, headstrong, ready to ask questions and learn. Was he proving too ambitious, plowing over Octavian’s previous efforts, and making his peers feel like lowly subordinates? Tim the Printer Guy felt ready to explode. He knew that the Adonises were fed up with PaperClips, and he had accepted that. Perhaps them leaving was the best thing that they could do, and Tim could move on from here without regrets. Yet, his most exotic beauty was being corrupted by the dullness of corporate America. PaperClips had given Jamir the role of manager, which had tempted him to walk the path of evil—something that was no issue with Octavian, because of his gym aspirations.

Someone needed to talk to him, to see why he felt so power-hungry.

If I can save him from this, maybe I will achieve something after all, Tim the Printer Guy thought to himself.

He opened the door and ran into the breakroom, but found that Mikeal and Cage were gone. Tim panicked. If there was one person who could tell them the horrors of this type of life, it would be him. He rushed out of the hallway and back onto the sales floor. The store was still full of customers—gremlins that blocked his sight. Tim the Printer Guy had to physically push them out of the way to see, trying to force his head up above the crowd of people to find the Adonises.

“Get out of my way!” Tim shouted. The gremlins just looked at him with dull expressions as they swarmed around. Each time he pushed one to the floor, another four would fill in the gap.

“Hey Tim!” exclaimed Christian, walking over. “I want to say that we are again excited that we have you and Mr. Skeeterman training our employees.”

“Yeah sure whatever,” Tim mumbled, still trying to look beyond the sea of customers and locate the Adonises.

“I just had a small powwow with the guys and we decided on a great way to build up morale around here and put an emphasis on the ProSales app!” said Christian.

Just as Tim the Printer Guy was about to push Christian to the ground, he spotted Jamir across the store, talking with Skeeter. A new form of panic set in, as Skeeter looked to be courting the exotic wonder. If Tim did not act, soon he would be drawn into a life of servitude to ProSales.

“No!” Tim yelled. “Get away from him!”

It was no use, the two did not seem to hear Tim the Printer Guy’s cries, and Christian still kept on chattering.

“We think that we can reward an employee each month for having the most courses done!” he was saying. “So, we would like it if you could go up to that employee today and maybe take him out to dinner on the company card.”

Tim stopped. If he could have dinner with an Adonis, especially Jamir in this time of need, he could further persuade him to resist the charms of ProSales and PaperClips.

“Okay yeah, it's Jamir, so let me go congratulate him,” said Tim, squirming to get past Christian.

“Well, actually it looks like we have a different name here.” Christian looked down at a piece of paper. “Skeeter gave us the list he pulled from the app…”

Tim the Printer Guy was confused. Jamir was the more quizzical mind of the group. If not him, who would take the prize? Mikeal, Cage, and Octavian had all been taking the courses equally, as Tim could see.

“Then Mikeal, or Cage,” spouted Tim, still struggling to get around Christian.

“It seems like Adem is the top employee for the month.”

Tim the Printer Guy froze. “What did you say?” he asked.

“Adem Lewinsku is on top for the month. He is working today, so let’s go and congratulate him and I will give you guys a company card!”

“Give me that!” Tim snatched the paper away from Christian.

How could this be? Tim had been avoiding that troll for the entire time he’d worked at PaperClips, there was no possible reason that he would have taken the most courses! Tim then thought back around a week or so ago, when he had that confrontation with the bastard. To avoid any further interactions with Adem, he had marked off all of those courses as “complete” in his ProSales app. Tim did not realize that he marked off much more than what was necessary.

“Yeah so we could go grab Adem and make sure everyone else sees this. I hope this will encourage more people to finish the courses!” said Christian, before walking away.

Tim the Printer Guy just stood there and looked at the paper before him. All his time and effort seemed wasted, and he now had to endure a dinner with that lazy slob, who had done nothing but fill his life with anguish and depression. Adem was such a prick, and had to have known this was going to happen. Was it black magic? More than likely. His traits were hideous, unnerving, and increasingly more treacherous. Adem was the oni, the demon—an unhinged monster that threatened everything that Tim believed in. He stood out amongst the gremlins, who were just like moss floating around—despicable and ugly, but they did not engage Tim all too much, not like Adem. He was like a meddlesome insect that bothered not only Tim the Printer Guy, but floated all around the Adonises to stray them away. Everytime he looked at him, Tim only noticed new nightmares, which would leave a foul taste in his eyes and mouth. And now this oni wanted to rake in the riches that rightfully belonged to those more worthy?

Tim the Printer Guy turned his head toward Christian and saw him out of the corner of his eye—Adem! He was walking out of the warehouse, not seeming to notice the wave of customers. His eyes languidly glazed over the store in the matter of an apathetic scan, ending with a yawn. He then walked over to a stack of boxes and just stared at it.

“You monster,” Tim whispered through gritted teeth. “You fucking monster.”

Adem then walked over to Mikeal and started to talk with him. To Tim’s surprise, the two had a jovial conversation. Adem could talk with an Adonis so naturally, and it did not seem as if they wanted their time with him to end. Though Tim had a great connection with Fred and was moving on with his life, he envied Adem immensely. Why couldn’t he belong in the company of those beautiful men, and why would they throw him away for this oni? Something echoed in Tim’s mind—something that Bandaged Cage said to him last night. That the reason the Adonises were so unhappy was because of Adem and his trickery. Cage had been at Best Value with Adem—they were looking for applications! Adem was manipulating the nubile one to work at that horrid place.

Tim the Printer Guy could not take it anymore. His rage broke what little composure he had, and with no medication to keep his mind dull and unaltered by the stress, Tim had no choice but to attack.