The sight you woke up to was the same one it had been for the past two years: a blank ceiling with a thin long crack traveling from your overhead lamp to above you solitary window. But any ceiling cracked or not was better than no ceiling at all. Your eyes traced their way along the familiar scraggly path. You hated waking up back in your run down apartment, it reminded you of what you’ve had to to do to keep a decrepit roof over your head. You had been raised with morals after all. From an upstanding middle class family; your parents always told you to work for what you wanted; stealing was wrong. Now you stole for work for what you needed. That was a loophole right? Not one your parents would be proud of.

     Staring blankly for a moment before getting up you went to make yourself some coffee, the only fuel your half awake body could take in the morning. You had yet to turn on the room lights, allowing the bit of streaming morning sunlight to filter through as you sipped at your drink. As you held the mug in your hands, you at a chip on the lip of the cup. You had one and a half sets of plate and silverware. Only two plates with one cup and a single  coffee mug. Your employer had paid you fairly well for this last parcel but you never felt comfortable spending it on anything you didn’t actually need. Who needs more plates than people in a lonely apartment. You never had company.

    Inconsistent money was all your job had to offer. A great job you had; no skills you could flaunt to future employers for obvious reasons and no steady income, in fact, you could remember after your first major paycheck, back when you thought the weasel who paid you off might have some kind of loyalty or humanity, you had gone five months without a single message about a job. You had come dangerously close to eviction that time and had learned a valuable lesson: rely on no one. Especially not the tall grease weasel.

    Thinking of him, you glanced at your cheap mobile. His behavior yesterday was off putting-- not that you were worried, but for such a carefree guy, it was odd.

     ‘Stop thinking of the . He’s always been weird. Don’t let him ruin your day off.’ You ignored the pit in your stomach and looked out the window. From your view you could see the street and laundromat you went to when you had to. The neighborhood wasn’t nice but it was clean. This was the place you ended up in after leaving your family for “bigger and better things”. Your parents hadn’t supported or bought into your unrealistic dream, you shouldn’t have either. You left your small town with little opportunities to become a music writer. You had wanted to fulfill your dreams in the big city. So much for striking out on your own to become a capable, successful adult. You were scraping by on stolen goods.

    When you were younger you used to play piano and guitar well. You could carry enough of a tune to not make anyone’s ears bleed and get the melody across. Music writing just seemed right to you. You never wanted a big spot light, but you were creative and knew you had talent. So you moved away from sheltering strict parents to make it big time. Well at least you could say you managed to stay out of the spotlight-- a somewhat important part of you job. You scoffed slightly at the irony. You continued to sip coffee watching the nearly empty street.

    Your phone vibrated on your countertop.

From Weasel: [Be ready in 10 pack only essentials] -- 8:47 am

    Your eyes widened at the message. Be ready? To leave? Why?

    Your employer had never asked anyt