PartyBuzzDrugs Inc. 47th floor.
Main Drug Lab

“Romeros! Romeros! For the 50th fucking time dammit, ROMEROS!” Shouted a loudspeaker voice blasting thought the lab floor to get his attention, while he was trying to focus on keeping up with the others, as he did not want to back up the factory line or cause trouble. 

“The hell do you want?” Drake shouted up to the sealing, knowing full well the supervisor heard him. His already sour mood turned even worse as he was working on the keeping the drug powder filling machine full as it churned out the nightclub drugs that the company specialized in. “I was working for chirstsake! Can’t I get a damn break from your yapping mouth?”

“Knock it off, Romeros. I need your ass right now!” barked the factory supervisor. His tone was not in a mood to argue as the supervisor watched Romeros told one of the free guys to take over his position as he headed up to the overwatch. He walked into the clean room to decontaminate himself and then to the main office where the heavily overweight supervisor sat in his wheelchair with his computer pad.

“Ok, fatass, I’m here. Is it something that needs my attention or am I playing messenger boy this time?”

“Today is your lucky day, shitbag.” The supervisor grunted as he pushed the lever on his wheelchair, pushing his large mass of the body towards Romeros. “Management has gotten eye on how you’re costing the company money, but your training has proved….”

“Just cut to the chase, amigo. I ain’t really interested in what you got to say because ever since I began working here, you’ve just been spitting or yelling in my ear and barking orders at from day one. So what is it?” Romeros huffed as he rolled his eyes at the tub of lard the man was made out of. 

The supervisor sighed and glared at him as he clenched onto the arm of the wheelchair. “Pack your shit. Since you are too valuable to be simply fired, we have decided to trade you for an FTL chemist with more experience and is willing to do your job… CONSISTENTLY!”, roared the fat supervisor as he started to cough from the phlegm in his throat.

“Well... if you look at the company standards, you know that the ‘standards’ are pretty shit. I do quality, not quantity. Ok? Maybe management liked me enough so I…”

The supervisor growled at him and simply had enough of his complaining. Beside him, lunch scraps contained a empty styrofoam cup in which he grabbed and threw it at him giving his last warning to leave. Romeros ducked under it as it hit the wall causing ice to fly all over the place and startled him as he was cut off. “The fuck, man?”
“GET OUT!!!!” shouted the fat man, just as his coughing forced him to breath though the oxygen mask 

“Ok… I’m gone… Jesús Cristo…” 

Security only gave him a few minutes as he headed down to his locker and grabbed whatever he could carry. It only took him a while to get his stuff out and into his backpack just before he left the building and into the parking lot, prepping his facemask as he managed to walk to his bike and drive out to the FTL offices.