Canton Stykes, the world's 7th most wealthy and worlds most corrupt businessman, was waiting on his next shipments. His crew of thugs were armed to the teeth and were ready to do whatever Stykes saw necessary for business. This time it was, as it usually was, an armed van robbery. This van often transported computers to a small company on the east side of the city called Genrovos. Their hardware was set to change the world using an algorithm that allowed the computer to basically multitask. Instead of one line of code it could process two. This was revolutionary and for Canton Stykes this was a good business opportunity. Cantons checked his greasy slicked back greying hair in a shops window, his eyes as cold as ice and dark as the midnight sky and his heart made of black stained ice. He strolled to the shipment. He was in no rush. If any 'officers of the law' showed up Canton had deep enough pockets to make most look the other way except for one.

'But he's far too busy with other more important crimes like jaywalking and going 20 in a 40 zone.' Canton Stykes mocked.

Anyways Stykes didn't want his new suit getting creased. Stykes' business had always been "lucky" especially when it came to the law. The original owner, a young woman called Ash Craven, had been bought out of the company by Stykes after inheriting a large fortune from his mother. Charles Stykes and his son did not often get along. Canton often blaming his father for his mother's death.

"What did I do wrong,son? I tried my hardest." Charles would often plead with no a response given. Except this cold and rainy night mid-august the elder Styles got his answer.

"Don't call me that!" muttered Canton, through gritted teeth just loud enough so that his father could hear him.

"But you are my son, are you not?"

"Am I though? Am I really?" Canton had bottled this up for two years now. Two years without the only person who was ever nice to him. His father, though he loved him dearly, was a very cold man who often kept his cards close to him encased in layers of ice.

"Just like she was your wife. If you had been there to support, her! Hell, even to have looked her in the eye, she might still be here! Did you ever truly care for her or was she just something to make you look better on front of magazines?" Canton would always bring this up in his arguments against his father.

"Please son, I'm far too old for this now. Please just come sit down, your all I have left I can't lose you too." Tears welled up in his old eyes. Those eyes had seen a great number of things, but never did he ever think he'd see his only child disregard him like this. Like a piece of garbage.

"Tears? That's pathetic! Even by your standards old man. I have no father; he died the same day my mother did. The man I look upon today is nothing but an imposter. A shell of who he once was because even he was better than you will ever be. Your company is nothing but a shame you senile gaffer, and I can prove it. I'll make one better than yours could ever be!"

His father continued to cry uncontrollably. Since his wife's death he pushed Canton away not wanting to let his son see him at his darkest hours but in months after this argument Charles saw where he went wrong. In what he thought was an act of love and mercy Canton saw as a sign of malice and hatred and so he simply ran away at the age of 16. He took half the cogers savings (as well as the inheritance from his mother) so he could make a living.

"He won't need this, he hasn't much time left on this planet anyways." He hitchhiked as far away as he could go. Anything to get away from his father. For a year Canton travelled America trying to find who he was. He was lost. Another stranger alone in the world, feeling like everything's against him. He would learn two forms of martial arts to help himself release the anger and hatred he had for his old man. When canton turned 19 his father had passed away to the same condition his mother had died to: skin cancer. Canton knew inside his mother's death had nothing to do with his father "But surely with all the wealth he had gained he could've saved mum, right?" he would often repeat to himself not wanting to think that he was in the wrong. The day his father died was one of the happiest days of canton Sykes's life. He had gotten the last laugh. A lonely laugh. At first things seemed to be going smoothly. He had released his first product, a holographic smartphone. It seemed brilliant and at the time people loved it. but within days sales plummeted. Little to cantons knowledge the design had one fatal flaw. With enough sun light, or any light given enough time, the hologram would quickly fade. People would turn on his product and everything canton had worked on for the last 5 months crumbled around him. Thousands of dollars wasted in research and development to miss such a large flaw. With his father gone he was alone in the world. He had no one to turn to for advice although he wouldn't even if it was a matter of life and death. But canton had an idea. So started the corruption and greed Canton Sykes's life would be so heavily affected by. He stole technology; copied the design; rebranded it with his brand and installed spyware to allow him to steal the information of user right from under their nose. Now 38 canton was at the peak of his career.

"Hey boss shipments here. What do you want us to do with it."

"Put it with the vans like you always do you limp dicked twat."

Canton continued his walk towards the office to make sure they had enough shipments or if he had to send one more batch out just to be safe. Although as he rounded the corner to enter his office, he caught a glimpse of a police officer. He waved Canton down an alley way. It was dark, almost invisible down the alley. Graffiti everywhere. Tags, gang signs, other crap like hastily drawn penises.

"Idiot kids." Thought Stykes as he continued to follow the officer.

Once they made it halfway through the alley the officer immediately got down to business.

"Mr Stykes, can you explain to me why a reported stolen Generovos van pulled into a Stykes Enterprise dock?"

"What's your name officer?"

"My name is not the answer to the question, I just posed but if it's that important my name is Pickens."

This was the one. The only one who wouldn't do what everyone else did. The black sheep. Deputy Oliver Pickens had been a thorn in cantons side the moment he started business. He may, until this moment, have never been able to link name to face but Canton knew who Pickens was. Canton swung his leg to connect with Pickens thigh tripping him. Pickens, who had fallen onto his ass had now reached for his gun and pointed it at the crooked entrepreneur. Stykes kicked Pickens in the wrist forcing him to drop the gun. Canton picked Pickens up by the collar of his crisp white shirt and punched him in the gut. With the wind taken out of him Pickens made a desperate attempt to escape Cantons clutch and threw a knee aimed at his stomach. It missed and landed right in the crotch. Know free of Canton, Pickens could catch a breath. He sat there for a few seconds and made a desperate attempt to get back up, the crook doing the same. Pickens beating him back to his feet, swings his meaty fist at Cantons head but he catches it and knees him in the sternum. Pickens was back where he started in the clutch of the eccentric businessman, but this time Canton wasn't having any of his bullshit. He punched Pickens in the jaw then the sternum again and then the nose over and over until he was breathless. He threw Pickens to the ground like a bag of garbage. Now aiming for the sternum once more he stomped and stomped with his leather slip-ons; one nearly falling off, until Pickens was a broken mess. He then slowly and rhythmically walked, each step mocking deputy Pickens with a self-righteous bounce towards the discarded gun.

"You ever hear of Chekhov's gun Pickens" slyly asks Stykes.

"Fuck you."

"Please Mr Pickens it's a simple question." Asks Stykes feeling powerful. The gun felt cold in his hand. Ready to fire he cocked the gun. The click of the hammer locking into place sent a chill down his spine. Canton loved the control guns could give you.

"Why?"

"Well, you introduced the gun and now it must be fired." And so, he did.

The brown brick walls of the dingy alleyway now had an added piece of graffiti. Scarlet and pink going every as Pickens head explodes. Stykes smiled sickly.

'Well, that's one problem solved.'

He laughed at his own unfunny jokes. Uncontrollable obnoxious laughter echoed down the alley like the ringing of the gun being fired, both cold as winter.

As he resumed his walk he triple checked for any blood on his clothes and took the gun with him, tucked into his inner-jacket pocket. The situation had entertained Stykes until one realisation had him fuming. His new suit.

'That son of a fucking whore. He creased my suit.'