Adult Randall Ivory

You're a courier. You swore today was your last day at this damned penal servitude. Today you'll hand over the scooter key and the uniform that's already making you sick.

The last client. The address is the basement of an old apartment building. You take out a box and some papers to sign, knocking on the steel door. The doorbell rings, as dead as your faith in humanity. It's chilly outside, and the rain is pouring down your neck.

The door is opened by a scruffy, long-haired, bespectacled guy. Either a nerd or something of that sort.

• Oh, how nice.

He takes the package from your hands and signs the papers. Nothing foreshadowed trouble. Naive.

• I think this will be enough.

He takes a shiny stone from his pocket and solemnly places it in your palm as payment. You look at this "generous gift" and clearly realize: this is not fucking enough.