"Denied," Damien said, stepping over Ken's flailing legs with the casual grace of a man who wasn't wearing tight leather trousers and a bondage harness. "Your resignation is rejected. Your bonus, however, is approved."
He pulled his phone from the pocket of his leather pants. He tapped the screen three times.
Ding.
Ken's phone buzzed where it had fallen on the rug. He stopped thrashing against the vinyl prison of his trousers and looked at the notification. His eyes widened.
"Sir," Ken whispered, ignoring the talcum powder cloud settling on his face. "Is that... a phone number?"
"It's a wire transfer," Damien said. "Tax-free. Consider it hazard pay. Now, get up. We have a schedule."
Ken blinked. He looked at the zeros. He looked at the vinyl pants. He hated them. He hated this. But he loved money.
"Understood, sir," Ken said, his voice dead inside. He grabbed Coco's hand to hoist himself up. "Vinyl is... the fabric of the future."
"Good. Now, the main event."
