“Hello there, sir. Is there anything that I can do for you?”

  John, who was wearing his bandana over his face for the sake of anonymity, let out a chuckle. He was trying hard not to laugh at the man before him. If things weren't to work out for him in this playfight, then he would have to hold onto the joy of seeing Poji working as a minimum wage worker. Minimum wage was a maximum wage compared to this world’s minimum. The industrialization was so fast that there were no funds spared for personal use or otherwise.

  “Nothing I can think of. Oh, that’s right, there’s this thing.”

  Poji watched as he put his fist into his back pocket. Poji knew where John was going with this and didn’t want to make too big of a scene.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Just hurry up and get-ugh!”

  Never did Poji suspect such strength from John. If this was John, then a part of him was in complete fear of Javier’s abilities.

  “My house was by one of those army camps, they taught us one thing, never play fair.”

  Off that knowledge, Poji responded by grabbing John’s collar and slamming him into the wall. It left a small indent from the cracked wall. John, working fast, kicked Poji backwards into the elevator door. He groaned before stopping the fight to talk to him.

  “Wrong door.”

  “Oh, my apologies.”

  They continued on with their duel throughout the office building before they beat one another into the spot they needed to be, the elevator door. The special one reserved for the royals. It gave him a laugh at the thought of doing so much for a small group. Soon enough, Poji was thrown into the door and felt a bone break and heard a creaking noise. Perfection.