Steven, the little prick, stood right behind Jack the whole time as he filled his box with personal items. When Jack put his etched plastic nameplate the company provided him sometime in his first month of employment into the box, Steven reached in and pulled it out. Company property. When Jack saved some personal files on a disk and dropped it into his box, Steven asked if the disk was from the supply room. Yes, it was, and out it went. He was followed to the mail room where Jack robbed one of his ex-coworkers of an AOL disk, much to Steven's dislike, and was then escorted back to his desk where the data was then resaved.

With every item that Jack put into his box, he could see his shadow and guard looking it over to decide whether or not it was property of the company. The mouse pad had to stay. The letter opener, though quickly becoming an item to be turned into an instrument of vengeance in Jack's mind, stayed.

All said, Jack walked out with half a box, which, though the box was provided by the company, he could keep at no expense. He asked for tape and in a moment of pettiness, consumed the entire roll in a frenzied session of sealing his box. While looking at Steven, Jack nonchalantly tossed the used cardboard remains over his left hand shoulder, picked up his box and proceeded to exit the building.

In the Art Deco lobby, Steven produced a slim piece of paper and handed it to Jack. Jack looked at it and saw his final half-week's worth of pay and looked up at Steven. Steven attempted to stare him down but realized that Jack wasn't going anywhere quickly and took a vocal queue from the man who had just put Jack in his place.

"Maybe you should just leave. Don't be petty about this," he attempted with his best air of authority.

Jack shoved his box towards Steven who, shocked, threw his hands up to protect his face. In two swift steps Jack had hold of Steven's neck and in another motion pushed him into his quickly approaching fist. Jack felt the contact and it felt good. Steven crumpled to the ground, dropping the box, while Jack delivered one last swift kick to the head before the security guards tackled him to the ground.

In his prone position, Jack could see the blood flowing out of his victims nose and stretched the hand that did it under the guard's grip. His hand hurt, but he wanted one more hit. One more hit to that little bastard who was lying bleeding on the marble floor. Tragically, the guard through the consumption of countless doughnuts and assorted vending machine items, outweighed Jack by a solid hundred and fifty pounds, making his strength, necessary to hold his girth, much more than Jack's thus keeping him from his desired target.

The cops were called, and in turn they summoned an ambulance for the spot on the marble who had his "authority" violently disobeyed. A small crowd had gathered, and Jack recognized the faces of many of his former coworkers among those gawking. He gave a smile and attempted to wave while handcuffed, but a fluctuation at the wrist was all he was rewarded with. Few people saw it, and those who did smirked like neighbors who watch the guy next door being dragged away for selling drugs from his home.

The cops turned out to be fairly nice guys, if not a little chatty. Oh, they knew what it was like to be under appreciated, let-them-tell-you. Yeah, they too had also wanted to punch someone out. But, they always reminded him, there is also a place for law and order, and that above all had to be respected. Another job could be had, but law must be maintained. Jack said little, and only contributed what he had to, to keep them talking. It was his first time in a police cruiser, and while the New York blue-and-white was nicer than most of the taxis he had been in recently, the steal grill and center locked shotguns gave it something of an unpleasant feel. Having them talk made it easier to deal with.

"So you get in bar fights? You seem like the type to get into bar fights," remarked the shotgun riding officer.

"No. Not really. I'm not really into that kind of thing. You know, confrontation."

"Well, you really cleaned his clock. You're probably going to have to spend the night in jail for that one."

"Oh well. It's all part of the adventure right? Life's little adventure."