The one known only as The Narrator smiled at this latest of rules. "All the quotes are true," the title had read.
His plan, which was fiendishly simple, was to leave the entire chapter quoteless, thus handing him a free slate of imagination, albeit wordless.
Then he realised, somewhat slowly, he had already quoted.
So much for fiendish.
Behind him came the knock at the door he had been expecting. He slid the keyboard away from him and stood up, raising his arms high above him and grinning at the soft muffled clicking of his bones.
As he did this, a quote from Dr Hillary Jones sprang to his mind (albeit a paraphrased one):
"It is a myth that cracking your knuckles actually does no damage to your bones or joints" which, funnily enough, was the reason he now cracked every joint he could every moment of every day he could. When he walked, he sounded like a hundred decks of cards being shuffled.
"I won't be cracking up if i find out he was talking out of his arse," he laughed as he approached the door, keeping slightly to the side of it. He reached the button on the wall and pressed it, watching as a sheet of metal rose up out of the floor on his side of the door. He reached from the side towards the handle and started to slowly turn it. As he did, he spoke into the tube beside him that carried his voice to the middle of the sheet of metal, about head height, "I'm glad i ditched work today..."
There was a double BANG on the other side, and two bullets soared through the door, hit the sheet of metal and ricochetted back through the holes they had entered through.
He heard a cry of agony mixed with surprise, a smaller thud and soon followed a much larger crash.
He turned the doorknob fully this time and slid the door open with a creak. His boss lay on the floor in front of him, grunting and gasping for breath. "Y...y...you're..........ffffired..." his last breath spoke.