My income is derived from my position at the firm. The work itself lacks excitement, but that is inconsequential to me; I’m not there for amusement. My compensation package is substantial, with a high salary and an abundance of stock options, enabling me to sustain both my luxurious residence and my opulent lifestyle. I allocate funds towards a diverse array of music soundtracks, with a particular fondness for Huey Lewis and The News. Expenses such as dry cleaning for my bespoke suits, high-end furnishings for my apartment, dining at exclusive restaurants, and other such necessities are routine. In essence, my wealth is merely a conduit for indulging my elaborate fantasies.
My ambition is straightforward. I simply desire to be superior to everyone else. It’s no secret that I am a paragon of human excellence, but that’s insufficient for me. I crave more—and I will stop at nothing to attain it, regardless of the consequences or the cost involved to others. Human life is meaningless to me. Morality is irrelevant to me. I have no regard for anyone other than myself. I would kill for it. I would torture for it. I would even murder my own family for it. Yet, I have never been close to death. Naturally, that should not surprise you, but I would willingly stare death in the eyes for it—if he could handle my gaze.
As I was walking down the road one day, returning to my immaculate apartment from my prestigious job, I encountered something so vile, so revolting, that I couldn't restrain myself. A homeless person, crouched in an alley with a dog, both of them filthy and ragged, contaminating the very air I breathed. I couldn't tolerate such an affront to my sensibilities, so I manipulated the man into believing I was there to help him, then shot him without hesitation. The dog ran away before I could deal with it accordingly. This is precisely why I now keep a silenced pistol concealed within my suit at all times.
I suppose I can describe three very important people in my life. The first is Henry. Henry is impeccably groomed, with a meticulous morning routine. He is a highly accomplished individual, living in my house, and acts as an intermediary, dealing with all the insufferable people I must interact with daily. Their mere presence repulses me, yet Henry navigates these social interactions with ease, maintaining a veneer of civility I find both admirable and convenient.
The second person of note is my secretary. She is efficient and reliable, performing her tasks with a precision I demand. However, beyond her utility, she holds no particular significance to me. She is a tool, a necessary component in the well-oiled machine of my life.
The third person doesn’t exist. They are a figment, a placeholder for the void where genuine human connection should reside. In truth, I require no one else at all.