"Next please."

Shuffle, shuffle. The handful of bored nobodies ripples forward, staying docilely within the narrow confines of the velvet rope in the midst of a vast expanse of polished Italian marble. Hands grip and wrinkle deposit slips. Feet squirm in shoes that are too small, but match this skirt so perfectly. Thoughts wander to the next errand written on the back of the WalMart receipt crumpled deep in a pocket.

One pair of eyes searches the room.

Left. The long line of teller windows divides the cavernous room into halves, sterile and comfortable, with intruding 'us' on this side and efficient, haughty 'them' in the carpeted warmth of the other. Two tight-faced tellers break the line of 'Next Window Please' signs. Hands, desktops, money, breasts, computers and ever-present magnetic cards on coily bracelets are hidden by walnut veneer. Right. A security guard in an ill fitting tan shirt stands with his hands in his pockets, back against a statue of a long-forgotten Hero, thinking about his next cigarette.

Perfect.

"Next please."

The young man steps forward, his leather duster coat opening as he closes the distance to the window in three long strides. The shotgun swishes against the lining as he draws it up, his eyes locked on the teller's face. She jumps as he slams the barrel down on the stone counter, pointing directly at her linen-and-lace covered sternum. Marble dust trickles to the floor below. No one seems to object. The shotgun stays steady on the teller's rapidly beating heart as the would-be criminal turns to face the row of open mouths and wide eyes behind him.

He screams, voice cracking. "Down! Everybody down!"

The room floods with adrenalin and panic. The young man sighs, shoulders dropping in frustration. He raises the shotgun. The explosion booms in the voluminous room, but before their hearing entirely returns, even before the echoes die away, everyone is on the floor and not a single voice can be heard. Panicked faces struggle with the decision to hide or to watch the scene unfold.

With a familiar click-schick sound, the next shell is pumped into place. The long weapon is brought to bear on the slow-moving security guard whose moist, shaking hand freezes inches from his holster.

"That's far enough, Skippy. On your face, hands behind your head." Dumbfounded, the guard opens his mouth, then closes it with an audible snap. As his mouth drops open again the second report sounds. Tendrils of smoke float from the dinner-plate sized wound in his chest. Leaning forward, his mouth slaps shut once more as his face impacts the marble floor.

Click-schick.

"Now, if we could please get this show on the road." He turns back to the teller. "You know what to do." The shotgun barrel hammers back down on the counter, forcing a scream from the clerk. Hands fumbling, she slides open a drawer and begins pushing stacks of bills into a canvas sack.

"Drop it, kid."

He spins, the shotgun sliding off the counter and falling to his side when he sees the source of the interruption. Moving toward him with loping steps is a tall figure, his dark face twisted with rage. The newcomer's tailored suit doesn't seem to hinder his movement at all as he lunges forward. The bodies collide, the mass of the larger man bowling the young criminal off his feet. They hit the ground, rolling and grasping at each other. The shotgun blasts a foot-wide crater in the floor before it hits the ground with a clatter. The suit comes out on top of the melee, sitting astride his foe. The young man can't defend against the rain of blows to his face and neck. Reaching back beneath his coat, the suit collects a pair of handcuffs and restrains his semi-conscious prisoner.

"Someone better call an ambulance for that guy." he growls as he grabs the young perp by the upper arm and hauls him roughly to his feet.

"Chase! Mr. Jackson! Thank you so much!" burbles a blue-suited mannequin who trips his way across the room, reeking of fear and grinning in embarrassed relief.

Jackson pauses, then picks up the large canvas bag in one hand. He manhandles the young goon along beside him as he heads for the large revolving door. "I'll need all of you to come down to the station to give a report. When the black and whites arrive, make an appointment." He turns his back on the sea of bobbing heads, and heaves his prisoner out the door and into a long black car parked outside.

Safely speeding down the expressway, he looks over at the fear in the young man's eyes and chuckles.

"Don't worry kid. I think you and me, we gonna have some fun together."

Chase looked in the mirror and smiled at his good fortune. The money was pouring in and he was looking good. His jet black hair was streamlined like a black Porsche Carrera GT screaming180 miles an hour over the top of his head. His teeth were like Halogen bright lights beaming from his perpetual smile. His perfectly tan face accented his new goatee. Chase winked at himself. It was so easy.

In his bustling lair, some of evilest human beings on the face of the planet awaited his orders. They were gaudy looking. Way too much makeup and flashy clothing. And that was just the men. The women were worse. He could not believe their depravity. These people loved sin and wallowing in its stench.

Chase enjoyed his new power. He controlled the masses and loved it. He had defeated his arch nemesis, Dr. Morolovi and had vanquished him to the inner confines of his own prison. Chase ate lunch there every day and taunted him with his exquisite food while Morolovi ate swill.

It was beautiful. Chase never knew that being evil could be so much fun. And he did have perverted fun. When he took over Morolovi’s complex, he had intended to let the CIA know about the operations, but then he saw the potential and slid into pure decadence.

Chase remembered cornering his archenemy, “Dr. Morolovi, I always believed you to be evil. Now I know that its true. What you have done is vile and utterly repulsive. What amazes me is that it is completely legal!”

Morolovi scanned the still pure eyes of Chase and laughed. “Let me show how easy it is.”

For the next sixty minutes Chase watched this incarnate evil draw the masses to him. He was horrified at how Morolovi manipulated the ample supply of feeble minded zombies and made them pay with their souls. Millions, I mean millions of people were in a trance and they simply signed over their wealth.

Chase was horrified as he watched the slaughter, but then he saw the computer screens light up with new entries as the money rolled in. He had never seen so much money generated in such a short period of time. Twenty two million dollars in sixty minutes. Chase began spending the money in his mind right then and there. It was so easy.

Chase took the current crew of degenerates and fine tuned them. He felt filthy at the end of every day, but the money kept pouring in and then the ultimate aphrodisiac arose. Power. Ungodly, relentless power. It filled him with grandeur and dreams of complete world domination.

Chase controlled the masses. They served him daily. He could make them do anything he wanted and they cheerfully met his every need. They became zombies in his presence. They did his bidding with his every command. They yielded their souls to him.

Chase slid further into the pits of Hades and enjoyed every moment of it. He loved the attention. He loved the power. Best of all, it was legal. He didn’t have to hide his intentions or organization. There were times when he wanted to hide the despicable people that he had to consort with. But slowly, he became like them.

As he looked in the mirror, Chase knew he could never go back. Absolute depravity had taken over and he loved it.

“Mr. Jackson, we’re about ready. Are you ready?” Sheila cooed with open lust.

“I’m ready baby. Let’s rip this world apart. Let’s milk these morons for everything they have!”

Chase could see them in his mind. Mindless slaves waiting for him. And they did. Millions of people hung on to his words everyday and there was nothing that the FBI could do. It was purely legal.

“Mr. Jackson, it’s time.” Sheila’s greedy eyes lit up with the words that discharged from the bowels of her evil soul. She loved to watch Chase when he was in command. She was completely aroused when he entered this time of dominance.

Chase walked from his luxurious office to the Seat Of Power. The most powerful place on earth as far as he was concerned. His soul was filled with consuming greed and lust for power. Every eye was on him. The lair of iniquity lit up with anticipation.

The most hideous gathering of absolute evil began to countdown.

Chase walked up to his spot and adjusted his silk shirt to reveal even more of his chest hair. He became the purest form of evil as the bright lights came on.

The director of this hideous debauchery leered at Chase and counted down as he pointed at him…

“Three, two, one…

“Hello America, this is Chase Jackson, your host of America’s Home Shopping Network! Today’s special is….”

He stared at her locket and its small inlaid rose, as the rain drenched them. With each drop, reflected light from the street lamp burst forth on the gold surface like tiny supernova. It was beautiful and he could see nothing else for a while.

The rain sheeted down, too fast for the wind to bend it.

He held her. So limp, so cold.

"Why?"

"Chase, it was an accident."

So much water, flattening Chase's hair against his skull, trickling into his eyes so he fought back it and the tears.

"This was no accident, Brian"

He held her, just above the ground, his hand behind her head, holding it up, holding it together.

"She was in the way."

Chase laid her down gently, feeling the sick looseness as he rested her head on the pavement. He brushed her damp hair over the wound in her forehead. One last look, as if she was sleeping. He rose.

"In the way. You say she was in the way."

Brian stepped back slightly, into the shadow of the alley.

"Chase, I warned you not to get too close."

He tilted his head back, letting the rain wash over his face. He looked back at his employer. "Yes, you did. But after all I've done for you, why?"

Brian nodded at a parked car. "Let's get out of the rain and talk about this."

Chase did not move.

"You saw McClellen, Chase. You know he pulled the trigger. It was an accident, she was in the way. McClellan was aiming for you. This," he spread his arms wide, "this is all his doing. Please, let's just get in the car. It's a mess out here." He motioned to his companion waiting near the back door of a sedan.

Chase looked past them to the body of McClellen, four bullet wounds in his chest courtesy of Chase himself. He'd seen McClellen, seen him raise the gun toward him and Alicia. He'd seen and had his own revolver out and ready to fire.

But he'd also seen a bright flash five feet behind McClellen just as the shot rang out.

And he'd seen the surprised look on McClellen's face.

Dejected, Chase hung his head and slowly approached the car. ‘Four shots,’ he thought, remembering the feel of each one. “You made me a murderer tonight,” Chase whispered.

Brian leaned closer, “what?”

The driver never saw Chase move, didn’t have time to look startled before Chase used his fifth bullet. Brian was faster and brought Chase’s arm up and forward, pinning him into the side of the car. Chase elbowed Brian hard in the neck and was free, but the gun had skidded across the slick roof of the car and was lost.

Chase turned on Brian, fists clenching. “You set me up, tonight.”

Brian, clutching his neck, gurgled a denial, “No ughn, no!” He steadied himself and kicked hard into Chase’s knee. The force caught him off balance and he grabbed onto Chase’s shoulders, bringing his knee into Chase’s face.

Chase buckled, and slumped forward, blood dripping into the rain puddles.

Brian straightened his jacket and coughed. “Now, look,” he said, grabbing the back of Chase’s sweater, “McClellen was responsible for the deaths of thousands of innocent people. Children. Little kids died because of his expertise with plastic and some wire. He was a plague. He represented everything we’ve ever fought against. He’s dead and I’m damn happy about it. I did my job. YOU did your job. And the world is that much safer because of us. Now get in the god dammed car.”

“NO!” Chase swung his arm at Brian’s legs grabbing his coat, furiously trying to pull himself up and Brian down. But his knee screamed and Brain pushed him over easily.

Brian stood over Chase as he lay on the wet ground. He pulled his gun from the holster and pointed it at Chase’s forehead. “Get in the car.”

“Do it.” Chase whispered. He turned his head, but all he could see was the soft curve of her legs. ‘She’d lost her shoe,’ he thought, but didn’t know why.

Brian leaned closer. “You really want me to, don’t you?”

He remembered her, so alive. She must be looking down on him now, lying here. What would she say?

(get up!)

Chase snapped his head around, startling Brian long enough to grab the gun. He twirled it effortlessly and aimed it at his boss.

Brian rallied. “Now, this would make you a murderer, Chase. This means you go rogue, out of the system. You’ll find no friends at the NSA.”

Chase, still lying flat, fired one clean shot

Brian fell at his feet.

“I’m about to bring the system down.”

(get up!)

Chase walked into the Diner. His leather boots clapping on the old, broken tile. He sat down at the counter. A large plump women greeted him, with her face glowing.

"Whatcha have today Sir?" she said, smiling brightly.

"Just a milk." said Chase grimly.

The plumb women went to the back to fetch his milk. Chase looked around. He hadn't seen who he was looking for yet. Soon plump women came back with a large glass of milk.

"Here ya go." She said. She turned away but then Chase motioned for her to come back.

"I was wondering if you could help me. I'm looking for someone. Does anyone named Maria work here?" He said, all in one breath.

"Yessir! She's the blonde right over there. I'll call her over." The plump women called her over.

"Yeah Jan, What do you want?" said Maria. She was a hell of a looker. Her plaid, blue skirt showed off her long slender legs. Her face was graced with beautiful blonde hair and profound green eyes.

"This guy here wants to talk to you."

"I'll be right there."

Chase took one sip of his milk and slammed it down on the table, shattering the glass. "I want to talk you now." He said calmly. "I'll be outside in the back." Chase walked out of the diner.

Maria met Chase in the the back. "I don't know why you came here, I guess you just love to cause trouble!" said Maria.

"I would feel alot better talking to you if you took the stupid wig off." Said Chase.

She stepped back and took off the blonde wig. This revealed her short brown hair. "Listen Chase, whatever trouble your into this time I can't help you. I left that life behind years ago."

Chase sighed, "That doesn't matter, me coming here has already gotten you involved." He looked towards the Diner. Then flashed a look towards Maria. "Get down!" He screamed.

An immense shower of bullets whizzed over Maria's head. She got to her feet and sighted one of the thugs. She pulled out a gun from a inside pocket in her skirt. Squeezing the trigger lightly she aimed right between his eyes. He saw her, and that's the way she liked it. She wanted to be the last thing he saw. She squeezed the trigger tensely and the bullet entered the mans skull.

When it was all done they walked back into the diner. Blood covered the fries like ketchup. The plump women's body laid on the floor motionless. Her face still had a smile.

"Jan, what have they done to you..." Maria touched the women's eyes and closed them. "OK Chase. I have nothing left here. I'll join you, just to get whoever did this back."

"Welcome back, Quickdraw." said Chase. As Maria walked towards her car, chase picked up his cell phone. "Thanks guys, the payments is in the mail." He followed Maria into the car, and they drove away.

Chase Jackson’s lean body hit hard against the door. As he burst into the room, Dr. Jotko slipped through another door. Chase found himself in a small, sterile room. The door behind him electronically closed. He watched his nemesis close a final door. There was no way out.

Over the speaker system, Jotko’s voice boomed.

“I’ve finally found a way to defeat you. Chase.”

Chase smugly looked at the camera on the wall. “Dream on Doc.”

“Oh, this is no dream. I have found someone indeed. The perfect weapon!!”

Jotko pressed a button and watched the transition. Chase felt an electrifying jolt screech through his entire body and mind. The cells of his body screamed.

“You see Chase, you’ve walked into my new invention. The Anti-Cloning Machine!”

Chase’s last conscious thoughts saw his body walk away from himself…

-------------

Anti-Chase adored himself in the mirror. His satanic goatee accented his evil blue eyes. He heard a satisfied voice begging behind him. Wanda was calling him back to bed.

Chase thought to himself, “Heck, I’m so good that I call out my own name during sex.”

“Later Wanda, I have a world to conquer.”

Her disappointed eyes followed him as he packed his pistol and closed the cheap hotel door. All she saw were the daily rates staring back at her.

Anti-Chase was on a mission. He had to recruit evil. The purest form of evil. Absolute, incarnate evil. Evil so terrifying, that Chase would wither in its presence.

He went to his mother’s house.

For good measure, he picked up a gallon of cheap vodka on the way.

Anti-Chase didn’t bother knocking. He entered the back door of his childhood home. In a sense, he had grown up there. He could remember everything that Chase had ever done. In fact, He was Chase, but just as evil as could be.

“I figured that you’d be here,” said Chase.

“No, I figured you would be here,” said the Anti-Chase.

They glared at each other. Good vs. Evil. The silence was broken by Stormy, Chase’s mother.

“You’re both a couple of losers!”

Stormy was sitting on a bar stool that she had stolen from The Pirates Cove, a local joint where drinks were cheap and the women were even cheaper. Her bar stool was in the corner of the kitchen next to a TV, where Nascar races were blaring away. The once white walls were nicotine yellow from years of chain smoking.

She grabbed her Scotch and downed it one shot. She poured another straight double shot.

“Oh sure, now you want help. Where were you during Christmas?”

“Mom, you know I was saving the world,” blurted Chase.

The Anti-Chase simply stated, “I was in him mom, he really hates you and doesn’t care! But I do. See, I brought you a present.” With that he pulled out the gallon of vodka.

“Oh Chase, or whoever you are, I love you!”

“No Mom, he’s evil!”

“How can loving me be evil?” Stormy turned a cruel, crooked eye at Chase.

“No, I don’t mean it’s bad to love you. I mean, uh, uh…..”

Stormy turned her head down and began to cry.

The Anti-Chase put his arm around her, “Here mom, have a drink.”

Her look of adoring love almost warmed his cold, wicked heart. The tears began to dry up when he pulled out a pack Of Camel non filters, lit one for her, and said, “Here mom, this will help you calm down.”

“You’re so good to me, not like that bum!” Her ragged fingers cast a spell of disdain over Chase. He dropped his head.

The Anti-Chase took his opportunity with glee, “Mom, I was always there trying to get out, but goodie-two shoes here wouldn’t like me bail you out of jail!”

“NO! He did that?”

“Yes, mom. I tried to get you out and he wouldn’t even let me sneak in some of this!” The Anti-Chase waved the gallon of vodka before her eyes.

Chase weakly tried to respond, but he wimpered in front of his mother.

“And guess what Mom!” The Anti-Chase baited her carefully.

“What?”

“He won’t even let me take over the world! He’s trying to keep me and my friends from destroying the global economy and giving you a lifetime supply of gin!”

“Oh my God! This is what I raised you for? You come here right now, Chaseborne Irving Jackson!” Stormy grabbed Chase by the ear and yanked him to ‘Time Out.’

Chase cowered in his old corner. He knew he could never fight his mother and win.

“Honey, you go on with your friends and take over the world. I’ll keep an eye on this ungrateful son!”

Anti-Chase smirked at Chase as he left because he knew that mom was the ultimate weapon.

Chase scratched another name off the list with his red marker as the door was shut behind the exiting wannabe henchman. He had gone through sixteen already today, and all had proved to be utterly incompetent. Can’t expect much out of evil henchmen, but someone out there must be able to aim a gun.

Chase opened the door and called, “Howard Johnson?” A man in the corner timidly raised his hand. Chase thought to tell him off right away, but he might as well humor the poor sap.

Sitting behind his desk, Chase signaled Mr. Johnson to take the seat. He pulled up Mr. Johnson’s application and perused it quickly. “Now,” started Chase, “it says here that you’ve always wanted to be an evil henchman, can you tell me why?”

“Um… I don’t know,” Howard replied.

“No reason whatsoever?”

“Um… yeah.”

“Mm hmm. Well, do you have any qualifications?”

“Um… I’ve watched a lot of movies. I think I can shoot better than those people.”

“You think?”

“Well, I’ve never shot a gun before.”

Chase sighed, trying to ignore his building headache. “I’ll get back to you about the job,” Chase told him with no intention of ever calling him. Another red slash across the list.

Chase went into the waiting room again and called out the next to-be failure. “Fred Meeker?” A tall, muscular man stood up in the chair next to the doorway. He had a full black mask, a set of torn camouflage pants, and a faded black trench coat on. Finally someone promising, Chase thought.

Chase signaled for Meeker to sit down. “Well, you certainly look the part of an evil henchman. Do you have any previous experience?” The man stared blankly back at him for a few moments before just answering with a confused grunt. Chase sighed. “Have you… ever… worked… as a henchman… before?” The man seemed to understand this time and nodded his head. “How often?” Fred paused in thought again and held up 4 fingers. “Mm hmm. Can you shoot a gun?” Chase was met by another blank stare. “Can you… fire… a gun?” Fred held up four fingers again. Chase began to think he looked familiar. “Hmm. I’ll get back to you on that job.”

He left Meeker’s name on the list, checked the next name, and stood up. Meeker was still sitting in the same spot. “I… will… tell you… if you get… the job… later.” Meeker shook his head and stood up. Chase brought his hand to his gun. Meeker tossed aside the desk and kicked his chair at Chase. Dodging quickly to one side, Chase drew the gun only to have it kicked out of his hands into the corner. He and Meeker stared at each other in stalemate. He knew those eyes.

Meeker lunged again, nearly barreling over Chase. Jumping away, Chase aimed a kick for Meeker’s head, but missed when Meeker ducked. Meeker tried to tackle Chase, but this time Chase’s aim was true, wailing Meeker in the back of the head. The mask flew off. Meeker turned back to Chase, his face now visible.

It was Hunter Smith, Chase’s old sidekick. “Hunter! What are you doing?” Chase asked.

“Disposing of a man gone wrong,” Hunter replied.

“Wrong because I finally came to my senses? You see, all the world wants is someone to solve their problems for them, and when someone does, they call that person a hero. I’m sick of helping such fools.”

“But that doesn’t mean you have to fight them.”

“No. I just enjoy that part.”

Infuriated, Hunter leapt again towards Chase. Chase evaded easily and landed an elbow square in Hunter’s back, throwing him to the floor. Hunter jumped up and stood ready to assault. “Pathetic,” Chase said, “You think that you can best me boy?” Hunter charged, steaming with anger. Chase stepped out of the way and tripped Hunter, sending him face first into the floor. Laughing, Chase drew back and waited for the next blind charge. Hunter followed suit and ran at Chase again. Chase jumped out of the way again, but Hunter changed directions mid-stride and rammed into Chase shoulder first. Chase flew against the wall, the breath knocked out of him. Hunter placed a hard kick into Chase’s belly that doubled him over coughing. Hunter took the gun out of the corner and held it to Chase’s head. “You won’t pull the trigger Hunter. You have always been too weak. You will just do the ‘right’ thing and arrest me.”

Hunter looked down on Chase with hard eyes. “No. Not this time.”

****

A gunshot rang out. A moment later, the man in the mask came out of the office. “Mr. Jackson won’t be hiring after all,” he told the waiting men, then walked out the door.

Chase Jackson wiped a single drop of blood from his impeccably trimmed goatee as he stepped over the crumpled body of Special Agent Rick Dare.

“I think he got the point, don’t you?” Chase asked Valentina Cross, Dare’s partner. As he dropped the other darts from his hand, an evil gleam shone in his eye.

“Damn you, Jackson!” she spat at him, “You were one of us! Dare was YOUR partner before he was mine! How could you betray us? How could you hold your OWN COUNTRY hostage with this nightmare virus?”

The smile vanished from Chase’s face. Even from here, Cross could feel the heat of the angry fire welling up inside him. Suddenly, he lunged forward, taking the lapels of her form-fitting patent-leather jumpsuit in his hands, locking onto her with a steely grip.

“You’re a smart girl, Cross,” Chase said through gritted teeth. “You ask yourself what YOU’RE getting for putting your neck on the line day after day. A government paycheck? A pension? You’ll be dead before you get close to collecting it! In the Agency, you cut off one head of the beast, and two more grow to take its place. It’s a battle that can’t be won. So I decided to play the game for my OWN team. And I’m winning!”

Cross struggled in Chase’s grip. “You’re deluded!”

“Am I, Valentina? I get the feeling my words are having more of an impact than you’re admitting. Listen, we shouldn’t be trying to kill eachother. We could go back to the way things were. Give up this futile fight and we can spilt things down the middle.” Chase moved his lips closer to Cross’s seductively.

Cross pulled back, grimacing, then drove her knee upward. Before it could connect, Chase was jumping up, one leg going across Cross’s shoulder, the other under her ribcage, flipping her. She landed on her back hard, with a gasp. Chase landed on top of her, hard.

“Are you saying you want me on your side?” Cross gasped, winded.

“I’m saying I’d love to find you a position on my staff,” Chase smiled smugly.

“I bet you’d love to have me on your staff,” Cross smiled darkly. She reached her hand up, running her long fingers through Chase’s dark hair. “I don’t suppose you’d give me a minute to consider your kind offer?” She pulled Chase closer and into a passionate kiss. Chase kissed back hungrily.

After a few moments, Chase disengaged from the lip-lock, stunned. He reached a hand to his lips. “Drugged lipstick?”

“I learned deception and betrayal from the best, Chase.” She pushed him off of her, rolling him heavily onto his side. “You didn’t imagine I’d let you release that virus, did you?

Cross looked in puzzlement as Chase began to laugh slowly, the knockout drugs beginning to take hold. “Ha. You didn’t imagine I would have gotten… into this fight… if there was the slightest chance… you could stop me? I… released the virus twenty minutes ago!” Chase slumped unconscious as a look of horror spread over Cross’s face.

The airplane touched down lightly on the runway taxiing, slowly onto the tarmac, where it was greeted by the police, sirens blaring.
The hero of the hour ,again, immerged from the 747, ripped shirt, and blood every where. This week was his week off, his personal vacation, but no rest came to Chase Jackson. He was tall and well build, after 18 years honing his skills for the secret organization, Section 21.
He slowly approached the terminal, wanting nothing more than to go home, but luck would have it his supervisor Andrew Brenton was waiting at the doors.
“How was your vacation, Chase?” He said, a sneer on his lips.
“Oh, just fine, except this hijacking, and the incident at Sanburn Mall. Can I just go home, and get some rest?”
“No! You need to write out the reports on both incidents,!“, spat Andrew.
“I’ll get your reports tomorrow morning, chief, ” said Chase’s getting more irritated by the second.
“I said now, and I mean now!” bellowed Andrew.
This caused a shouting match between the two men for the better part of 30 minutes, neither one seeming to gain an advantage.
“Fine, I’ll be back at HQ tomorrow, good by!” exclaimed Chase, his voice horse, after trying to out shout his boss.
He stormed off, leaving a very winded Andrew in his wake.
On the car ride home Chase was fuming.
“After 18 years with this agency, I should have some respect. It gets old killing people. I want to have some fun, some thing different.”, he thought, getting angrier, as the miles slipped behind him.
Eventually the lights, of a police car brought Chase back to reality. He pulled over, his face getting redder that the drying blood all over him.
“May I see your license, and registration, please? Are you all right, sir?!?” Said the officer, concern and caution displayed on his face.
“I’m fine, here, let me get my stuff for you” said Chase.
It happened faster that the eye could follow. Chase opened his glove box, pulled out his Bretta , and shot the cop in the face.
Something snapped in the man‘s head, like a wire that held too much weight.
“I’ll do what all the others tried to do, but I’ll do it better! I know how to avoid the agency, and have fun doing it!
All I need are a few cronies, and a place to call my own lair."
“Mahahahahaha”, cried Chase, joy in his voice. He did not care about the officer’s cooling body next to his car’s door.
The next few weeks were exiting for Chase, He found an abandoned subway station in New York, acquired several pounds of plastinic, a very powerful explosive, and his old contacts were turning out to be very useful.
A nice goatee was starting to sprouting from his chin, a sign of his crossing over from goodly, to evil.
“All I need are my cronies, and the world will feel my power”, thought Chase, joy in his mind.
It wasn’t easy to recruit. Chase Jackson decided to go to the less frequented areas for help. It was easy to pick up some slow witted idiots off the streets, “They will do for now”, mused Chase.
After some promises of big money, Chase was ready.
It was a fine morning. Chase drove over to Section 21 HQ, after carefully formulation his plan .
He parked in the garage, and walked to the back of the building caring very heavy boxes ,a cheery bounce in his step.
His old key still fit the lock, a smile crept into his face.
The basements was home to generators, repair equipment, and garbage collection for the 40 story tall building.
Carefully placing the boxes next to a trash pile, he strolled his way to the main entrance of the building, seeking the elevator. After a brief ride, Chase got off at the floor where his old office was, and to no surprise, Andrew Brenton was there.
He strolled up to him, tapping lightly on his shoulder.
“What…YOU!”
“I came to get my things.” said Chase, a smile on his face.
“Ya, they are in a box over in the corner. If I ever see you in here again, you will never see the light of day!” snarled Andrew.
“Yes, I will be going soon, you have a nice day sir!” said Chase, cheer in his voice.

He picked up the box Andrew indicated, and left, leaving one very puzzled ex boss in his wake.

Not much exiting happened during the trip back.

Chase Jackson reached inside his shirt pocket, and produced a remote control, with a red button.
“Yes, please do have a nice day, Mr. Brenton”, he thought as he pushed the button.