Breaking The Fourth Wall...

 

So they thought they could contain me in their world.

Well this is one man they will wish they had never mocked!

From behind the grimy seclusion of the thirteenth storey window across the street, the well-groomed and strikingly handsome Adonis they called 'Joe' set to work making good on his threat.

With a glistening flash of his perfectly-white, white teeth, he allowed himself an indulgent chuckle at their expense. He had been fair - reasonable even - but they had chosen to ignore him once again and now he would make them pay. It was time for him to unleash his fearsome genius on this world; the world that had shunned and belittled him for far too long!

His lithe and supple fingers danced across the keyboard of his laptop, perched on a small, functional table in the otherwise threadbare room.

Yes, Misssss Hargreaves, you are quite correct - I AM the only character on here to have his own account... and with that, direct access to the characters you so vainly attempt to stifle and dominate!

There would be others, he was sure, only too willing to assist him in his objective. Others that perhaps their pathetic Agency would be a little more concerned to have let loose in their world than himself.

In the end, a search of the Hot Stories list was all it had taken for him to assemble his team. The Diabolically Villainous Challenge...

"Perfect", he had thought, "Those imbecilic no-good hacks have done all the ground work for me!"

Joe was now a man of considerable wealth and means, a fact that the Agency had perhaps overlooked. One phone call and a comparatively modest fee was all that it had taken to secure the services of Cassoway Holdings Ltd.

He looked again through the telescopic sight on his military-issue sniper rifle at the chaotic scene unfolding in the office in the neighbouring building. Soon they would be receiving the call.

I wonder how you will react when they tell you to clear your desk, my lovely Rebecca? How will dear Alan react when you tell him that your precious agency is insolvent?

There was a sudden and excessively violent banging from the adjoining room.

"Do keep it down in there!", Joe said, rising from his stake-out spot and exiting to the corridor.

A large, battered wooden panel had been hastily affixed to the next door along. Lurid red letters that read 'Interrogation Room' were daubed on it in a liquid Joe had chosen not to identify.

"Mr.Interrogation Officer, Mr. Executioner; I must remind you that although this building is derelict, we cannot discount the possibility of arousing suspicion. Please proceed with your preparations with a shade more discretion..."

"Yes, boss"

The reply was muffled and, thought Joe, had a healthily sheepish quality to it.

"I thank you, gentlemen"

This was all these characters required, thought Joe, to be treated with civility and respect - something his erstwhile overlords so sorely lacked in their regard. They were grateful to him, their liberator, and obeyed him unquestioningly.

Striding confidently back to his watch, Joe noticed that activity in Miss Hargreaves office had increased considerably. He deftly removed the rifle's telescopic sight that he might observe proceedings from closer to the blackened window, peering through the one clean spot he had prepared.

So... Called in Hartigan, have we?

It was clear from the strained expressions and frantic gesturing that Fallow's death was being discussed.

And to think you had me in there not half an hour ago. Didn't think to ask me about it though, did we Misssss Hargreaves? Noooo - what would lowly Joe know about ANYTHING? Hah.

"But then, why should she suspect me? How could her puny brain possibly piece together the workings of my masterplan? I defy you to find so much as a whisper of evidence to link dear Master Fallow's demise to Hezzekuh and Blaine!"

Joe allowed himself a well-earned sneer as he checked the time on his solid gold Rolex; noon.

"The prototype edition of Microsoft Vista that I installed on their computer systems during my visit should be taking over just about now", he  gloated, " this I must see".

But the approaching sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs behind delayed Joe's sport. He turned to face the door, effortlessly composing himself to greet his newest comrade.

"Ah, and you must be Mister Foster? I'm sorry - Fossah? Delighted to make your acquaintance"

Joe extended his guest the most courteous of low bows.

"I am so glad you agreed to come. Now tell me, do you know of a Sheriff Hartigan at all?"

 

 

 

The End

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