The Revenge of Anthony Riggs

0002: The Edge of Tolerance

The hum of activity in the office building contrasted sharply with Antony's inner turmoil. As he moved through the gleaming tile floor, his footsteps echoed in the vast, modern space. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a cold glow, illuminating the marble walls and the impassive faces of his co-workers. Antony's ID card hung around his neck, swaying slightly as he walked, a reminder of the corporate identity he wore like a second skin. Around him, other employees, some familiar and some strangers, shuffled through their routines, barely acknowledging each other's presence.

At the security checkpoint, Antony joined the single file line. The security guard, a man dressed in a navy blue combat shirt and black joggers, held the scanning device with practiced ease. When it was Antony’s turn, he spread his arms wide, allowing the guard to sweep the beeping device across his body. “Good morning,” Antony offered, his voice polite but distant.

The guard nodded with a faint smile. “Morning.”

With a curt nod, Antony was cleared to move into the heart of the building. The elevator ride to his floor was silent, the metallic hum of the machinery the only sound accompanying him as he stared blankly at his reflection in the polished doors. The reflection showed a man who was beginning to feel like a ghost in his own life— going through the motions, but increasingly disconnected from the world around him.

When the elevator dinged softly and the doors parted, Antony stepped out into a sea of cubicles. The open floor plan was a testament to the efficiency of modern workspaces, with rows of desks cluttered with computers, documents, and the occasional personal touch— a framed picture, a small potted plant, a coffee mug with a witty slogan. He exchanged a few half-hearted waves with his co-workers, acknowledging their greetings without really seeing them.

As he approached his desk, his mood soured further. The mess that greeted him— a disarray of pens, papers, and files scattered across the surface— felt like a personal affront. “Who’s done this again?” he muttered under his breath, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior.

Antony despised disorder, especially in his workspace. It felt like a reflection of the chaos creeping into his personal life. With a sigh, he began to tidy up, placing pens and pencils back into the holder beside his monitor and neatly stacking the papers that had been carelessly strewn about. It was a small victory, restoring a semblance of control in a world that increasingly felt beyond his grasp.

Once his desk was back in order, Antony turned on his computer. As the machine whirred to life, his gaze drifted to the framed photograph sitting at the corner of his desk. The image showed him, Veronica, and their daughter Emma, beaming with joy at Emma's fourth birthday party. He picked up the frame, staring at the bright smiles frozen in time. The memory of that day washed over him like a bittersweet wave— Emma’s laughter, Veronica’s radiant smile, the sense of warmth and contentment that had filled their home.

But that was two years ago. So much had changed since then. The laughter had faded, replaced by terse conversations and long silences. The warmth had given way to a cold distance that no amount of effort seemed able to bridge.

Antony sighed, placing the photo back in its spot on the desk. The past was a different world, one that seemed impossibly distant now. With a determined effort, he turned his attention to the glowing monitor in front of him, pushing the memories to the back of his mind. There was work to be done, deadlines to meet, responsibilities that couldn’t wait for the luxury of introspection.

Yet, as he began typing away, Antony couldn’t help but feel that the life he once knew was slipping further out of reach, no matter how hard he tried to hold on.

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'NEARLY TWO HOURS LATER'

Antony's focus on the glowing computer screen was abruptly shattered by a sudden, sharp pain at the back of his head. The force of the blow sent a jolt of agony through his skull, making him instinctively clutch the spot as he winced in pain. "For fuck's sake!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with both surprise and anger. He spun his chair around, his eyes narrowing into slits as he searched for the culprit.

Standing behind him, towering with a smug grin plastered across his face, was Edward—his co-worker and perpetual tormentor. The sight of Edward, with his broad shoulders and hulking frame, only fueled Antony's mounting fury. He shot to his feet, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Edward? Are you a fool or something?" Antony's voice was edged with barely contained rage, his body trembling with the effort to keep himself in check.

But Edward, unfazed by Antony's outburst, merely burst into hearty laughter. The sound echoed around the office, drawing the attention of a few nearby colleagues, though none dared to intervene. Edward found the whole situation endlessly amusing; after all, this wasn't the first time he had pulled this stunt. To him, Antony's reactions were a source of entertainment, a way to break the monotony of the workday.

Still chuckling, Edward leaned closer, his towering presence casting a shadow over Antony. "Oh, relax, Antony. You’re always so uptight. It’s just a little tap to wake you up, nothing more."

Antony's fury surged. His vision blurred with anger as he took a threatening step forward. "One of these days, Edward, you're going to regret all this crap. And today might just be that day."

But Edward remained unimpressed. He folded his massive arms across his chest, his grin never wavering. He had always been the bigger, stronger man, and he knew it. For months now, he'd been baiting Antony, pushing him to the edge, hoping to provoke a reaction that would justify a fight. It was a twisted game for Edward—a chance to prove his dominance once and for all.

"Go ahead," Edward taunted, his voice low and mocking. "I'm right here. Let’s see if you’ve got the guts."

For a few tense moments, the air between them crackled with unspoken challenge. Antony’s fists remained clenched, his jaw set in grim determination as he stared into Edward’s eyes, trying to weigh his options. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to retaliate, to wipe that smug grin off Edward’s face once and for all. But as much as he wanted to, Antony knew better. A fight would only make things worse— for him, for his career, for everything he had worked so hard to hold together.

Finally, with a frustrated sigh, Antony unclenched his fists and forced himself to take a step back. "You're not worth it," he muttered through gritted teeth. "I don’t have time to waste on a nuisance like you."

Edward smirked, clearly satisfied with his small victory. "That’s what I thought," he sneered before turning on his heel and striding away, his laughter still echoing in the air.

As Edward disappeared from sight, Antony collapsed back into his chair, his body shaking with the remnants of adrenaline. He could feel the eyes of his co-workers on him, but he didn’t care. The knot of anger still twisted in his chest, but he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. There were more important things to worry about than Edward’s petty games.

But even as he tried to concentrate on his work, Antony couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over. Edward’s provocations were becoming more frequent, more intense. Sooner or later, something had to give. And when it did, Antony wasn’t sure if he’d be able to hold back.