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The voices in the corridor behind the door had fallen silent an hour ago. Of course, this wasn't the end of the working day—everyone had simply returned to their places after lunch. The office was lit by a lamp on the ceiling, its light casting over the thin shoulders of the man bent over the papers. The clock on the wall ticked quietly.
Too quietly, and far too annoyingly.
Leith, who had been carefully writing on a sheet, suddenly crumpled it in frustration, throwing the useless wad into the trash bin at the end of the office with a sharp motion. He then slumped—no, literally fell—into his chair, rubbing his face in anger. His tired eyes, after hours of writing, began to sting.
“Sharon!” he called out. From the hallway came the polite hum of the lamps. “SHARON!”
He struck the table furiously, but instead of the secretary appearing out of nowhere, only shards scattered across the floor. The mug bounced, tipped over, and proudly rolled down, shattering into a beautiful pattern, accompanied by the remnants of coffee. Leith gritted his teeth, ready to curse, but quickly realized it was pointless—Sharon had the day off. He was the one who gave it to her—swayed by Stella’s pleas, who had been doodling sticky notes for him all week until her nervous twitch and frustration over the chaotic notes became too much. He sent the secretary home for the day, just so her blonde companion wouldn't hover around. Now he regretted it. Not for giving her the day off, but for not firing both of them to hell.
He sank to his knees, carefully picking up the broken mug pieces. Fortunately, the coffee had frozen hours ago, so there was no risk of burning himself. Well, except from his own boiling anger. He sighed. The man grabbed a mop from the corner to clean the coffee stain. The pieces of the mug, forming something like “Boss #1,” were thrown into the trash.
It didn’t matter. He had bought the mug himself. He would bring a new one.
After filling the bucket with water, Leith returned to the office, dragging the mop across the tile with furrowed brows. How humiliating. He really shouldn't have given Sharon the day off. She might be an idiot, in his opinion (and Leith’s opinion was the most truthful truth in the world—at least, that’s what he thought), but at least he didn’t have to deal with a million things like gathering papers, arguing with equipment, and running to the cafeteria for lunch. He hated disorder more than anything. And disobedience. But alas, the whole company was one big mess, with complete disrespect for management—take the warehouse, and Rich, who once again screamed at the whole floor when Leith entered the factory.
This company definitely lacked normal people. But as long as Leith was paid enough, he was willing to set the employees straight. Even if later, an invoice for psychotherapy services with an angry emoji showed up in his email.
A message popped up on his computer, and Leith carefully set the mop aside, approaching the screen.
---
Exp. 1187. Vlog #37.
| - New complex completed #291;
| - Introduced drugs #13 and #81;
| Other details and conclusions in the audio attachment.
| Have some decency, don’t delay passing it to the management.
Leith ground his teeth. Damned company, damned employees.
"Go to hell, Harley."
He quickly sent a reply with the same content and returned to the mop.
It was smarter and more malleable than any experiment or employee in this damn hole.
Sometimes Stella asks how they even sleep at night. She stands, staring out the window at the running children. No emotion on her face, though usually, one could say the whole company thrived on her positivity. Harley shrugs, lighting a cigarette right in the observation center—an outrageous safety violation, but it’s not the only one. And the absence of any norms or rules has become the norm—just like the countless incidents barely covered up with money, connections, and fake smiles. Who cares about the orphans? Eddie remains silent, staring at the same scene as Stella, nervously tapping his foot. Leith shudders.
He hasn’t slept peacefully in a long time.
Sometimes he has nightmares. But more often—faces of the orphans.
He didn’t know how Elliot felt, but his serene expression sent chills down even Leith’s volatile spine. Leith scanned the other senior executives sitting around the table—the main killers responsible for the horrific circus they had created, hidden under the guise of plush toys.
They were all insane here, from the smiling, mentally ill Elliot Ludwig to Eddie, nervously cracking his own hands and fingers. Stella had an empty stare, Harley had madness in his voice. But Leith had long stopped being afraid of them.
He was just as much of a monster.
If anyone knew what went on behind these walls, they’d burn them all alive, beat them, and mutilate them without a second thought, just like they did to others. They all deserved hell.
But that’s for some other time. For now...
For now, the one who is strongest wins. Leith knows this, having received a letter from Harley. The man curses and writes about some Rowan Stoll, who would now need to be eliminated. And, as luck would have it, that’s exactly what happens. If Elliot knew, they would all be fed alive to their own creations. Leith’s a hypocrite, but he fears for his soul. He might justify himself by saying it’s not just him. Harley is shouting, shaking the scientist who missed Rowan, roaring like an angry bear, making Leith’s hair stand on end. Stella and Eddie have long gone mad. They’re already gone. Only Ludwig has nothing to lose.
Leith would say he hated what he was doing and hated himself, but he’s insane, and money rules the world. Maybe he has nightmares, but it’s just the poppy gas, and blood washes off hands easily with cold water from a shiny new tap.
Maybe he’ll be scared when judgment day comes.
There’s a knock at the door, and it opens immediately. Leith doesn’t have time to put the mop back and shoots a deadly glare. Of all the people who still hadn’t learned that the door shouldn’t be opened before Mr. Pierre allows it, only...
“We’re both going there, buddy.”
Harley smirks, holding his head high, looking down at Leith, who is a head shorter—looking like a miserable little dog with nervous twitches. Essentially, that’s what he was—and he bites well. But Harley opens his mouth first.
“Did you sign up to be a cleaner?” He steps closer, hands behind his back, leaning over the mop. “Had no idea! Buddy, if Sharon outdid you, I promise, I’ll marry her!” He straightens up quickly, probably to avoid getting hit with the mop. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to offend! If you need money, just say so! How much can I lend you, sunshine?” He laughs, barking like a dog.
Leith snaps, swinging the mop with full force and slapping the laughing scientist across the face. Harley freezes for a second, but immediately smiles.
“If you keep going, I’ll strangle you with that same mop and feed you to your favorite creations,” Leith hisses venomously, as if he plans to eat his prey. All would be well, but Harley knows these games too. He’s not above tussling for the mouse.
“I’ll show up as one of them and personally tear your throat out in return,” he smiles, revealing his teeth. His eyes gleam with pure madness—he’s not joking. Leith is a hundred percent sure that “Dr. Harley” will gut them all to the end if he turns into a deadly monster. Here they are, the predators of the mad world.
Thankfully, Leith is just as insane. He won’t be eaten in this cruel world of predators if he fights back.
So, he yells:
“What the hell do you want in my office?!”
His voice hits a high note. Whether accidentally or not, Leith’s thought about how he’ll howl in this madhouse plays as a joke. Fortunately, Harley has much more reason to piss him off.
He tosses a folder in his hand, catching it by the corner. Leith only notices he came with papers.
“Data input. Come on, head of the innovation department with total amnesia, we promised.”
Leith clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes. Harley grins as he enters the office without permission.
“I see you already had your coffee. Want some more?”
“Do you plan to spit in it on the way? No, thanks.”
“I’ll go get some, and you get ready to work,” the scientist puts the folder down and stretches, heading back, grabbing the surviving mug from the table. Leith's actually, but who will stop him?
---
The downside of money is that some things are impossible to buy. Leith wouldn’t say this applies to love, health, and life—but he’s sure you can’t buy a normal character. Some people, definitely not. Unfortunately, that "somebody" sits next to him.
“Through ‘e,’ not ‘a.’ We’re not writing about superheroes, you fool. Didn’t you go to school?” Harley slaps him with the data sheet. Leith is sure that at some point, he’ll just rip the paper and stomp it into the ground. And then, if he's lucky, he might even feed it to the scientist.
He grinds his teeth but stays silent. Arguing with Harley, like with a scientist, about concepts is pointless. Even if Leith made a mechanical mistake in haste, there’s no convincing him otherwise.
He seriously considered paying Harley for good behavior, but he refused, saying that annoying the head of the Innovation Department was more interesting. When Leith gave him a small brain figurine for his birthday and said it was Harley’s brain, Harley spent the next two weeks bragging. "Look at my perfect brain!" — and then he would grab Pierre’s hand, pull him closer, almost embracing him, and with undisguised delight, declare, “By the way, this is his gift! Leith Pierre himself admitted that I’m perfection!” He’d smirk in Pierre’s ear, so much so that the latter’s face would burn. From anger.
That made Leith so mad that, after some time, he found out that Sharon had been wisely turning back every immortal fool who decided to ask how Mr. Pierre was doing. The girl was given a reprimand. Harley laughed hysterically, theatrically holding his stomach.
Still, Harley could be given credit for achievement-he was a damn evil genius, cunning, vigilant, determined. But as a human being he was simply unbearable - that was a constant, and the scientist himself had proven it time and time again.
Leith felt the leaf run over his head again. The mocking voice was heard again.
" "W". There's a "w" here, not a "v.""
"Will you shut up for once in your life!" - Leith spun around in his chair in one jerk, nearly knocking the computer over. Then he froze. Harley, seemingly having lost the last of his conscience, positioned himself right on his desk, staring incomprehensibly.
"Just to remind you, I'm saving your ass. If Elliot knew how uneducated you are, you'd be long gone".
"I make mistakes because I'm in a hurry!" - Leith felt himself blush with anger. I bet his ears were steaming - it would fit the cartoon factory style. - "And because I'm listening to you, you idiot! Stop hitting me with that sheet and mocking me, and get off my desk, now!"
Harley frowned derisively.
"Isn't that too much to ask? I know you're the head of innovation, but I'm not a computer. Why don't you tell me what to do first?"
Leith jumped up from his seat like a scalded man, and having shortened the distance between them by a single step, pulled the scientist to him with all his might, by the collar of his robe.
Close.
Burning with a fierce look, Leith, cutting off every word, whispered:
"First, stop acting like a goddamn clown".
Surprisingly, Harley was silent. He sat still for a couple of seconds before he managed to say something.
"I protest. And I can even prove why you're wrong".
Leith groaned in frustration, bracing for yet another pointless show from the scientist. Harley loved to prove even the dumbest points and arguments in his wise, proud manner. There was one time when he spent three hours explaining to another scientist why sandwiches should be eaten with the filling side down. The poor guy only realized too late that if he just told Harley he was right, Harley would stop the explanations.
Unfortunately for Leith, Mr. Pierre hated admitting Harley was right. So, without a second thought, he began his tirade.
"First of all, the theme of our establishment" — He started pacing around the room, touching the computer, the bookshelves, the desk, and finally even the top of Leith’s head, who, in turn, sat with his face in his hands. — "We’re a children’s toy factory, aren’t we? Kids love clowns, except for the other fifty percent who faint because of them and have trouble sleeping at night. But essentially, we have a mascot — Bonzo the bunny, who’s kind of clown-themed — so, proven! Second argument..."
Leith stood up, grabbing the mop again, realizing he would never be able to focus and fill in the data properly while this blabbering mistake of nature was wandering around. However, Harley wasn’t discouraged — he happily continued walking, now following Pierre.
"...of course, the word "clown" can’t really be considered a reasonable insult, since it’s a profession, and it’s important in its own way" — The scientist stopped behind him, watching as Leith moved the mop across the floor. — "That’s also an argument. There’s a stain by the table leg. On the left" — Pierre sighed in annoyance, and Harley realized this was his moment. — "Third argument, and the most important one — someone has to bring some fun into your boring life, or you’ll soon become a wilted cactus. Though, you’re already a rotten vegetable" — He smiled. — "But maybe, one day, you’ll even smile! And who else would do it, if not me?"
"Someone more sane".
"You’ve scared off all the sane people with your presence".
Leith felt his eye twitch. He put the mop down, as far away as possible, and turned to face the triumphant scientist.
"Stop being such a thorn".
"Only if you stop making mistakes with simple scientific concepts".
"I’m going to punch you".
"You suggesting we fight over who’s right and who’s wrong?"
"...I’m not opposed".
Harley froze for a moment, thinking over his decision. Leith also stood still, not taking his eyes off his opponent. No one ever knew what to expect from the "Doctor," but everyone agreed on one thing: it definitely wouldn’t be anything good. After all, he was crazy.
But Pierre wasn’t exactly sane either.
Harley suddenly comes to life.
"That’s not how things are done" — He walks around the confused Leith, heading for the door. Raising two fingers, as if to say, "Two minutes. I’ll be right back."
Leith blinks. Harley’s definitely gone off to get some poison or something.
It’s not two minutes, but a full half hour before the door opens again — this time without a knock — and Harley appears in the doorway. What’s surprising is that he’s holding a mop as well.
"I told you, you scared everyone off! I barely found a janitor, he was cleaning so quietly! When I told him I needed the mop to beat you with, he almost fell to his knees, stammering" — Harley looks at him, a bit reproachfully, but laughs. Leith, never taking his eyes off the mop — calculating how to disarm the psycho — replies.
"Hearing from someone who suggested doing...experiments-" He stammered, averting his gaze to the scientist's face. - "Why did you bring that?"
He grins.
"We're going to fight".
"Like with swords? Are you out of your mind with your experiments?" - Pierre straightens up, holding the mop a little forward.
Harley twirls the stick skillfully, and Pierre is lost when he notices how deftly his fingers twirl the base.
"Why mops, exactly?" - He steps back.
"I used to fence" - the Scientist, in his adored ostentatious manner, proudly displays his chest, draws back his weapon. - "That's why I can beat you, and maybe kill you at the same time".
Leith frowns. Badminton is hardly the same as fighting with a cold weapon. But he can swing a mop at least.
"Here we go".
Leith rushes forward, swinging the mop as if it were a fight to the death. Punching with all the bad power he can muster. Harley, every now and then, loops around in his own way. Sometimes he blocks a punch, but generally he just dodges.
Sneaky bastard. He won't be the first to get eaten in this world full of the crazy and horrible.
Harley smirked. Leith put all his dissatisfaction, rage, and emotions into his strikes. He was so angry that it seemed like steam was about to come off him; his jacket, which had been unbuttoned earlier, had slipped off one shoulder, and his tie looked like a flag in the wind. The mop struck once, then twice, narrowly missing the scientist’s head.
Neither of them knows mercy.
The moment Leith lost focus and stumbled for just a second, Harley went on the attack. He struck without restraint, targeting the weakest spots—Pierre barely managed to defend himself, only just managing to block the blow at the last second with the mop.
Harley, too, was driven by emotions, only he didn’t let them go for a single second.
It all ended too quickly. Leith, retreating backward, collided with the table, dropping the mop in surprise. Harley pressed the mop to his neck, almost striking him. Both of them were breathing heavily.
Leith lost.
Of course, Harley wouldn't miss the opportunity to gloat.
He leans in closer, right next to Leith’s face, but misses, ending up near his ear. His warm breath scorches the skin.
"Dead. If this were a sword, you'd be dead."
He laughs, pulling back — not far. He looks at Pierre with sparks in his eyes. They dance, frolic.
He's definitely insane.
Then again, so is Leith.
A couple of minutes pass in silence, with the two just staring at each other, before Harley finally pulls away completely, putting the mop aside, and Leith realizes, surprisingly, that not a drop of anger is boiling inside him, not even because of the loss.
The scientist waves the mop around, humming.
"You lost! I beat Leith Pierre! I should tell the janitor," he laughs smugly. "By the way, this means I can keep annoying you! Are you happy about this, Mr. Pierre?" He extends the end of the mop like a microphone. Leith shoots him an annoyed glance.
Clown. Fool. And yet—damn evil genius.
He pushes the mop aside.
"Go to hell, Harley."
Harley, back to his usual self, keeps waving the mop, grinning smugly.
"No way! Now I’m—...Oops."
The sound of a broken cup makes both of them turn. That’s it. The mug with the inscription “I’m not crazy, I just don’t like idiots” shatters into beautiful shards. This time, the remnants of the coffee are still warm.
The men blink, staring at each other.
"I didn’t mean to."
"You clean it up." Leith throws Harley the second mop, hitting him. Harley grimaces, and this sight — or maybe the entire situation — makes Pierre involuntarily smirk. It’s bold, cheeky.
But a smile.
Harley doesn’t miss it.
"You smiled! I told you! Two-zero in my favor!"
"Two-one. You owe me a new mug."
Leith laughs maliciously, rubbing his ear.