Joe Kitchen was having a rough day. He'd had an argument with a close friend, time had ticked for what he was sure was slower than usual, and now he was stuck in a hot house with a broken air conditioning unit.
Fantastic.
Things looked up however, as Joe's favourite television show was on, and he had picked up some cheap drinks and snacks at the local shop. The plasma television blared its comforting tunes as the advertisements began to play.
What?! Look at the initial post; he is dead. Deceased. Kaputt. Indefinitely horizontal. In mafia games, you see, people are occasionally "killed off," and when that sad event occurs, he or she is no longer allowed to post, on account of rigor mortis and what-have-you.
'Welcome to Mafia Salvation', it said, 'Population: 3,660.' And someone, they never figured out who, had painted on the sign in red letters: '1,831 to lynch.'
What?! Look at the initial post; he is dead. Deceased. Kaputt. Indefinitely horizontal. In mafia games, you see, people are occasionally "killed off," and when that sad event occurs, he or she is no longer allowed to post, on account of rigor mortis and what-have-you.
'Welcome to Mafia Salvation', it said, 'Population: 3,660.' And someone, they never figured out who, had painted on the sign in red letters: '1,831 to lynch.'
What?! Look at the initial post; he is dead. Deceased. Kaputt. Indefinitely horizontal. In mafia games, you see, people are occasionally "killed off," and when that sad event occurs, he or she is no longer allowed to post, on account of rigor mortis and what-have-you.
'Welcome to Mafia Salvation', it said, 'Population: 3,660.' And someone, they never figured out who, had painted on the sign in red letters: '1,831 to lynch.'
The deliveryman muttered as the door slammed in his face, loudly enough for Joe to hear as he stalked away.
The package was about the size of a small television, and was a dull brown cardboard box. There were no markings on the box itself, except for Joe's address. There was however, an envelope on top of the box.
What?! Look at the initial post; he is dead. Deceased. Kaputt. Indefinitely horizontal. In mafia games, you see, people are occasionally "killed off," and when that sad event occurs, he or she is no longer allowed to post, on account of rigor mortis and what-have-you.
'Welcome to Mafia Salvation', it said, 'Population: 3,660.' And someone, they never figured out who, had painted on the sign in red letters: '1,831 to lynch.'
The letter contained a simple piece of paper, folded twice.
The paper, once unfolded, contained few words.
Perspen Technologies Inc
7 John Avenue
Industrial Park
New York, New York 35221
Mr Kitchen,
Congratulations! You are the lucky recipient of a paid flight to New York and a tour at our facilities! Tickets are enclosed within the box, please be prompt in your arrival at both airports. Please see the attached package for items necessary.
What?! Look at the initial post; he is dead. Deceased. Kaputt. Indefinitely horizontal. In mafia games, you see, people are occasionally "killed off," and when that sad event occurs, he or she is no longer allowed to post, on account of rigor mortis and what-have-you.
'Welcome to Mafia Salvation', it said, 'Population: 3,660.' And someone, they never figured out who, had painted on the sign in red letters: '1,831 to lynch.'
The box contained a smaller wooden box. Inside the box sat two tickets, some papers detailing his flight details and five-hundred dollars. A note was wrapped around the wad of cash which read "This is for the trip. I hope you enjoy it. -Carmen".
What?! Look at the initial post; he is dead. Deceased. Kaputt. Indefinitely horizontal. In mafia games, you see, people are occasionally "killed off," and when that sad event occurs, he or she is no longer allowed to post, on account of rigor mortis and what-have-you.
'Welcome to Mafia Salvation', it said, 'Population: 3,660.' And someone, they never figured out who, had painted on the sign in red letters: '1,831 to lynch.'
What?! Look at the initial post; he is dead. Deceased. Kaputt. Indefinitely horizontal. In mafia games, you see, people are occasionally "killed off," and when that sad event occurs, he or she is no longer allowed to post, on account of rigor mortis and what-have-you.
'Welcome to Mafia Salvation', it said, 'Population: 3,660.' And someone, they never figured out who, had painted on the sign in red letters: '1,831 to lynch.'
He stalked back into the house to grab a few things and stuff them into an overnight bag, taking special care to bring at least a few of the worst-looking things he owned. He also picked up his old suit from his college days, hoping it still fit. He didn't to be left looking like a fool in front of more than just some random chauffer, but he wanted to keep his options open.
"Ya happy?" Joe asked, acting irritated at the man mostly to cover his embarrassment. He tossed the overnight bag at the man with rather more force than might have been necessary. "I need anything else, I suppose I'll have to borrow from you."
What?! Look at the initial post; he is dead. Deceased. Kaputt. Indefinitely horizontal. In mafia games, you see, people are occasionally "killed off," and when that sad event occurs, he or she is no longer allowed to post, on account of rigor mortis and what-have-you.
'Welcome to Mafia Salvation', it said, 'Population: 3,660.' And someone, they never figured out who, had painted on the sign in red letters: '1,831 to lynch.'
"You're a guy who wants me to come to New York for no explained reason. You're also the guy who wants me to bring a change of clothes. Now, are we going, or what?"
What?! Look at the initial post; he is dead. Deceased. Kaputt. Indefinitely horizontal. In mafia games, you see, people are occasionally "killed off," and when that sad event occurs, he or she is no longer allowed to post, on account of rigor mortis and what-have-you.
'Welcome to Mafia Salvation', it said, 'Population: 3,660.' And someone, they never figured out who, had painted on the sign in red letters: '1,831 to lynch.'
What?! Look at the initial post; he is dead. Deceased. Kaputt. Indefinitely horizontal. In mafia games, you see, people are occasionally "killed off," and when that sad event occurs, he or she is no longer allowed to post, on account of rigor mortis and what-have-you.
'Welcome to Mafia Salvation', it said, 'Population: 3,660.' And someone, they never figured out who, had painted on the sign in red letters: '1,831 to lynch.'
What?! Look at the initial post; he is dead. Deceased. Kaputt. Indefinitely horizontal. In mafia games, you see, people are occasionally "killed off," and when that sad event occurs, he or she is no longer allowed to post, on account of rigor mortis and what-have-you.
'Welcome to Mafia Salvation', it said, 'Population: 3,660.' And someone, they never figured out who, had painted on the sign in red letters: '1,831 to lynch.'
The car ride took quite a while, but soon Joe could see the airport fast approaching. The limousine pulled into the drop-off zone, and Joe's door swung open.
"Mr Kitchen? Gate 40, thank you. Have a good day."
Bag shoved in his hand, Joe was left standing alone as the car pulled away.
What?! Look at the initial post; he is dead. Deceased. Kaputt. Indefinitely horizontal. In mafia games, you see, people are occasionally "killed off," and when that sad event occurs, he or she is no longer allowed to post, on account of rigor mortis and what-have-you.
'Welcome to Mafia Salvation', it said, 'Population: 3,660.' And someone, they never figured out who, had painted on the sign in red letters: '1,831 to lynch.'
Fantastic.
Things looked up however, as Joe's favourite television show was on, and he had picked up some cheap drinks and snacks at the local shop. The plasma television blared its comforting tunes as the advertisements began to play.
A knock came at the door.
"Who is it?" He shouted at the door from across the room.
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"Delivery for Mr Kitchen. Can I get a signature please?"
Joe opened the door.
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"Hello sir. Package for you."
The man passed him the package, and presented him with a clipboard.
"Signature please, Mr Kitchen."
The TV blared in the background, all but forgotten.
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The package was about the size of a small television, and was a dull brown cardboard box. There were no markings on the box itself, except for Joe's address. There was however, an envelope on top of the box.
Joe yanked the envelope off the top and ripped it open.
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The paper, once unfolded, contained few words.
Shrugging, Joe pulled open the box.
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A knock came at the door.
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"Mr Kitchen? Yes? Your limousine awaits sir. Are you ready to make your way to the airport?"
Somebody's trying to intimidate me. I wonder why?
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He stalked back into the house to grab a few things and stuff them into an overnight bag, taking special care to bring at least a few of the worst-looking things he owned. He also picked up his old suit from his college days, hoping it still fit. He didn't to be left looking like a fool in front of more than just some random chauffer, but he wanted to keep his options open.
"Ya happy?" Joe asked, acting irritated at the man mostly to cover his embarrassment. He tossed the overnight bag at the man with rather more force than might have been necessary. "I need anything else, I suppose I'll have to borrow from you."
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"Who do you think I am boy?"
Joe swept out of the room.
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"No, I am the man who is paying for you to come to New York, you brat."
Throwing Joe to the ground, he straightened his suit and walked to the car.
"Coming?"
What sane person would follow this guy?
Joe stared as the extremely strange man walking away. "Hey," he called, "you want your $500 back?"
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The man turned and looked questionably at Joe.
"Please Mr Kitchen. Don't upset your father again. He is dying to see you."
The man opened the door of the car and motioned Joe to enter.
"Well?"
Joe stared at the guy staring at him. He walked to the car and got in without responding at all to the man. He felt rather confused.
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"Mr Kitchen? Gate 40, thank you. Have a good day."
Bag shoved in his hand, Joe was left standing alone as the car pulled away.
He found a sign showing the layout of the airport and started walking towards Gate 40.
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"Thank-you sir, please proceed to the Gate 40 entrance through these doors."
The woman motioned to a large doorway, and greeted the next in line.