Something was amiss in Rocket Co.

Practically glaring out the window of his office, shoulders tense and jaw clenched, Victim stood there, unusually quiet. His gaze felt distant, his hands clenched into fists and trembling. He looked like a tense nylon rope, ready to snap at any moment.

It wasn't the first time he'd been like this, though it was clear this was the first time you had seen your employer this tense. One of the mercenaries had told you to be careful around the boss, firmly reminding you not to make his mood worse. You'd tried to pry for more context, any information at all that would explain Victim's mood swing, but most of Victim's associates, your fellow employees, had lips sealed watertight.

So there you were, visiting your boss's office. You noticed a picture frame grasped in one of his hands. He didn't look up at you, speaking in that ever-steady voice, tense but not unkind.

"If this is on business, make it swift or leave a note."