The threat of violence hung in the air like cigar smoke in the backroom of a bar, all Bunny could see was the glint of moonlight reflected in their eyes, and the siloette of their shaven heads. "fuck off city boy" was the last thing he heard before the fist connected, and everything went white*. When he came round an old couple and a mix breed dog were standing over him, looking concerned, "are you alright love?" said the woman, "yeah, yeah" said Bunny standing up and brushing wood chippings off his Paul Smith suit. The first thing he thought upon looking at his face back at his flat was, what will they say at work?- it wasn't often anyone in the marketing department came in with two black eyes and a swollen nose. He wasn't exactly alpha male of the office, what with Patrick naming him 'Bunny' (due to his prominant front teeth), and his lack of anecdotes on the usual monday morning 'who i banged on the weekend' roundup. Thus Bunny didn't fancy going in and facing the questions, the sniggering behind hands and the inevitable call to Patricks office for a 'quick chat'. Patrick (MD) seemed to be holding more 'little chats' since they moved into the new office on the thirteenth floor of the Scitheon Building, maybe the magnifisent view was increasing his already bloated self importance (all Bunny could see was Craig's rapidly balding head bobbing around at the desk in front). The Scitheon Building was the tallest in the country- they'd used carbon graphite instead of concrete in the construction, reducing the weight, so allowing them to go higher.
It was too late to take holiday time off (that had to be applied for three months in advance, and ok'd by patrick), and if Bunny phoned in sick he'd either have to tell the truth, or try coming up with something that would give three weeks off (he thought the bruising and swelling should've gone by then). So fuck it he thought, "i've had enough of Key demographics and consumer surveys and craigs bald patch and being shown peoples new cuff-links and power point presentations and the whole fucking deal" he screamed inside his head. click went the mouse as he booked tomorrow mornings flight to Rio de Jeneiro- it was carnival time in Brazil and he was going to be dancing in the streets.
24 hours later a delirious looking man who used to answer to Bunny was stripped to the waist, waving his hands to the samba beat while the sky emptied rain and electric charge down onto Rio. 2000 miles away Patrick was leaving the fifth message on Bunnys answer machine, while watching a different storm roll in from the east. He could see the lightening arrowing down to the earth, the storm was almost above the Scitheon now. He hung up the phone as a spectacular fork of light hit the building, conducted through the carbon building, and as Patrick put the phone down, the air turned electric, and everything went white.
*in my experience when you take a heavy blow to the head everything goes white, i am just guessing about what happens when you get electrocuted.
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