<em>It had started out a normal day. Wake up at 'oh dear gods why' in the morning, head like the underside of a bar stool, and the bottle still half full in his hand. The other four bottles, empty on the desk and broken on the floor around him, however, explained the headache. It did not explain the three men in his office, or the gun with a barrel large enough to stick his head down. A moment of thought, and then he decided to ask the obvious question.<br/><br/>"Arggggh?"</em><br/><br/>And so began another fucking day in paradise. He sighed, and tried to move, only to collapse out of the chair, and blearily stare up at the ceiling. A moment of frantic screaming seemed to get his brain working, but then he realized it was in his own head. He gurgled, a decent attempt at a grumble, and carefully pulled a small vial out of the wooden box on the side of the desk after levering himself up to hang off the side, the lid opening to one side so everyone in the room could see what he had in it. A couple vials, a dozen empty ones, a pack of cigarettes, and a dead roach. He pulled the top off of the vial he had selected, and carefully placed it to his lips, and then swallowed it.<br/><br/>And promptly fell out of his chair again, this time thrashing. "Oh dear gods, why did I put toenails in it!?!?!"<br/><br/>Done with trying to hurt himself yet again, he pulled himself back up into the chair for the second time, and glared at the mobsters. "If you are here about the promised item, the sample sent was defective. The positronic inverter was missing, the 'not weapon' mounts were backwards, and the power source was a decomposing, three legged hamster on a wheel. I sent a strongly worded email of protest to the supplier, and a letter bomb. I suspect he will find the bomb before the letter."<br/><br/>He then slammed his head down on the desk, and moaned as the aftereffects of the vial started to kick in. "Gonna be sick in about a minute."