Not everyone has the good fortune of getting a good boss. Plenty of people struggle everyday working under bosses that are unreasonable, bullying or just plain don't give a shit about their employees. This problem is so common that if you complained about it, the most sympathy you would get would be a shrug with maybe some platitudes thrown in.

I have the distinction of working under a boss who actively wants me to die. No, wait, that's not quite right. My boss doesn't mind me dying as collateral damage. Not that its any better.

My bladder nearly loosens from the combination of shock and stress. Needless to say, eavesdropping on the Supervisor and Barkhant had placed me in a very precarious position. If either of them knew I was hiding behind the nudist statue with the big ball, I would be wearing a pair of concrete shoes in very short order. Shrinking back into the shadows, I cower with my heart in my throat as the quarrel between the pair continue.

"You will do no such thing," the Supervisor snaps at Barkhant, raising a fist threateningly, "other than getting the fuck out of here immediately."

"Latour stole one of our brothers from us." Barkhant fires back adamantly, "The Brotherhood will not give up what is rightfully ours!"

"No!" the Supervisor insists, "I will not allow you to conduct a kidnapping."

"But performing an assassination is fine, I suppose?" the sarcasm in Barkhant's voice is heavy and contemptuous.

"Stern is ours." the Supervisor insists with finality, "He was brought back by Latour and the old Grandmaster."

"Stolen by Latour." Barkhant comments, "After the child bathed once in the Fire of Baiji. He is ours Mark, no matter what sophistry you use."

"You're insane if you think that Phoenix Guild would let you snatch one of its members tonight." the Supervisor, "Right in front of all the ball's guests."

"No one's going to be snatched." Barkhant plays with his rat companion, petting it tenderly, "I sent my friend here ahead to scout. The boy is in the ballroom right now, isn't he?"

"And what are you planning to do?" the Supervisor asks cautiously.

"Just to have a talk with him." Barkhant explains, "The boy must be in great pain, not having learned how to master the Fire. He needs to return with me to undergo proper training."

"Stern has his duties with us." the Supervisor shoots down Barkhant again, "And I will not let you make a scene here."

"You're afraid." Barkhant laughs humorlessly, "Afraid that Stern will agree to leaving with me."

"And you're forgetting your place!" the Supervisor snarls, bolting forward in a blur of action.

Barkhant is roughly shoved backward into a wall and before he can even react, the Supervisor's fist smashes the spot right next to Barkhant's head. Flakes of plaster stain Barkhant's shoulder as the Supervisor's knuckles grind out a large crater at the point of impact. Barkhant's rat squeaks in alarm as he attempts a sidestep to escape, but the Supervisor's arm lashes out again with lightning speed. The second punch barely misses Barkhant's head by a whisker, but the point has been made.

Huh, this looks weirdly romantic from a totally not homo kind of way.

"Keep trying me." the Supervisor warns, "My patience isn't infinite, Barkhant."

Taking advantage of the ruckus, I begin sneaking out of the storeroom while both men are too preoccupied with each other to notice little old me. The smell of barbeque intensifies behind me and the room is suddenly illuminated by a harsh flare of sparks, forcing me to abort the escape by diving behind a stack of dusty crates.

Barkhant's given up trying to escape from the corner he has been forced into and instead extends his arm toward the Supervisor. The entire sleeve of Barkhant's tux is ablaze and a small tongue of flame flicks outward, whipping the Supervisor squarely on the cheek.

"I can cause a scene right now, Mark." Barkhant taunts as the Supervisor jumps back holding his cheek and swearing.

"Bastard. That hurt." the Supervisor curses as he nurses a large blister, "Don't think I'm going to allow you to act out though."

"Oh? Those sound like fighting words." Barkhant sneers as his burning arm ratchets up the room's temperature. The rat darts out of Barkhant's clothes, ready to start clawing at the Supervisor again.

"You think Phoenix Guild will let your sect go if you cause trouble here?" the Supervisor snorts, "We'll raze that dump you call home again. Just like Delacroix did it the first time."

Barkhant clicks his tongue as the flames on his arm reluctantly retract, revealing a charred network of burn scars carved into his flesh.

"Your Brotherhood only survives because of our goodwill." the Supervisor hammers the point home, "Remember that."

"Aren't you're supposed to be loyal to Delacroix?" Barkhant scowls, "And yet here we are. Conspiring with each other."

"I am loyal to the Grandmaster. All this is to safeguard his legacy." the Supervisor dismisses, "Not that it concerns you. Your Brotherhood should instead concentrate on doing your jobs and not being fuck ups. Got it?"

There's only sullen silence from Barkhant as he looks down despondently. The Supervisor snaps his fingers in front of Barkhant's face.

"And forget about getting Stern back. He became Delacroix's property a long time ago. Understood?"

"Hnh." Barkhant grunts, clearly dissatisfied. The Supervisor doesn't bother to pursue the matter though.

"Alright, now let's see at getting you out of here." the Supervisor begins to hustle the scarred man along. Taking the Supervisor's comment at the signal to make myself scarce, I resume sneaking my way to the Storeroom's exit. The doorway grows steadily larger but at the last moment, the long boots of my footman's costume betray me.

"What's that?" Barkhant growls at the creak of leather coming from my boots.

Casting caution to a wind, I throw the door of the storeroom open and dash out in a mad sprint, my only hope being neither the Supervisor and Barkhant had caught sight of me yet. As my feet pound furiously on the marble floor, I make a sharp turn at the corridor, breaking line of sight with the Supervisor and Barkhant. Thanks to taking the Supervisor and Barkhant by surprise, I had a healthy head start over them, but that lead won't last. Especially if either of them bring their class skills into play.

"After him!" the Supervisor yells, his voice rapidly drawing closer.

Desperately scanning the area for some kind of reprieve, I notice one of the doors marked "DINING HALLS". This should be where the buffet would be held later. Experimentally trying the doorknob, I sigh in relief as the door opens easily.

Ducking inside the dining hall, I find myself in a darkened room with a long serpentine table twisting its way around the perimeter. A small door partitions this dining hall from the one next to it and moonlight streams through the ornate windows, provide a stunning view of the Opera House's grounds. Fresh tablecloth has been spread for the buffet, but its still too early for the catering staff to start setting up the food. The room is completely deserted except for my presence.

"Check the rooms!" the Supervisor orders Barkhant. There goes my hope of hiding out here.

Thinking quickly, I pry one of the windows open, letting the winter air into the room. I then exit through the door leading to the adjacent dining hall which has also been decorated in a similar fashion. Slamming the partitioning door shut, I grab a chair and wedge it under the door, hopefully jamming it tight and buying me some time. I place my ear on to the door, listening in on the progress of my pursuers. I don't need to wait for long.

"Where did he go?" the Supervisor demands, coupled with the sound of Barkhant and him searching the dining hall I had just left.

"Maybe outside?" Barkhant suggests. Good, they've taken the bait of the open window.

"Go check it out." the Supervisor's voice responds, "You and that rat can cover more ground."

"How about you?" Barkhant grumbles back.

"I'll continue to sweep the interior." the Supervisor says, "And I can move freely inside the ball."

"You just want to get rid of me, don't you?" Barkhant harrumphs.

"Yes. So get going." the Supervisor patronizingly dismisses the Ranger. There's the sound of Barkhant climbing out of the open window, leaving the Supervisor by himself.

I jump back as Mark struggles with the jammed doorknob, the chair I had wedged under it wobbling dangerously. Hopefully this should be enough to convince the Supervisor that this door is locked and the room's empty.

"Tricky, tricky boy." the Supervisor sing songs from behind the door, "Think you can hide from me?"

I stay silent, refusing to allow myself to be baited. The seconds pass and the Supervisor stops jiggling the doorknob. As my heart begins to steady, a section of the door shatters, the Supervisor's fist piercing cleanly through. He then reaches over to the offending chair to dislodge it.

"Oh fuck." I mutter. I can't outrun the Supervisor from this distance. I'll be caught for sure. Time slows as the Supervisor's fingers clamp on to the chair.

And I lunge forward with my knife, aiming straight for the top of the Supervisor's hand.

"AUUGGHH" the Supervisor yells, the knife nailing his hand on to the chair. I had put all my weight into the blow alright. Twisting the handle of the blade, I send the Supervisor's screams rising several octaves. As satisfying as that may be, it has caused a new set of problems for me. All this ruckus was bound to attract attention. Meaning Barkhant would be doubling back to investigate.

Pulling the knife free, the Supervisor's hand quickly slips back through the hole in the door as he collapses on to the ground. I carelessly clean the blade on the white tablecloth, knowing full well that time's against me. The Supervisor's warrior class skills would be kicking in soon, dulling pain and bringing him back into the fight.

If Barkhant is doubling back, than heading outside should be safe. There's no guarantee, but I'm going to have to take a chance. Opening one of the windows, I take a quick peek out, confirming that Barkhant's patrolling nowhere nearby. In fact, the only thing I notice is a limo with several motorcycle escorts driving toward the Opera House's grand entrance, where several of my fellow fake footmen have gathered to welcome to the final VIP.

No time like the present to make my own appearance.

Jumping from the window sill, I land lightly on the cobblestones outside and make my way to the safety of the crowd.

But for how much longer would I be safe in Phoenix Guild?