Some jobs are made for certain people, then there are some people made for certain jobs. Those are the two categories every employer and employee has to choose in the period of employment.
The employee asks himself "Is this the right person for the job? and the employer wonders to himself "Is this the right job for me?"
At the onset, being a security guard for a big time bakery shop seemed like the right job for me.
I had a big build, looked menacing enough and I was naturally a night owl, plus nobody dangerous enough would come for a bakery shop... unless it's a severely cake hungry robber.
When I got the job, I suspected the only intruders I'd see were mice, but I wasn't paid well enough to deal with those so they would be let in.
Looking back, tonight was an odd day. The employer went late and he looked like he was in a rush.
"Stand firm as Always Dozz." He said to me, holding my eye contact.
"Of course sir." I replied with a salute. While he nodded, entered his car and drove out.
He had never once done that, and it made me wonder if he knew I spent the night streaming TV shows with the Free WiFi.
Despite the odd exchange the night went on uneventfully, until I heard a noise that didn't come out of the episode of Totally Spies that I was watching.
I paused my show and listened again. After a few seconds I heard it again.
A sharp muffled clank. The type that is made when a padlock has just been cut. Slowly, I dropped my phone and picked up my baton.
In the movies it always shows the security guard pointing a torch and yelling "who's there?", while that looks good on show it is highly inconvenient and simply stupid.
Firstly you're giving away your position and secondly did you really expect the intruder to answer?
All you'd do is scare him off or make him more prepared to welcome you when you go to meet him.
So, without a sound and with the darkness as my cover I creeped up to the sound of the noise and saw the chain and padlock cut cleanly on the floor.
Slowly I walked around, looking through the windows room after room, searching for the intruder.
This was what I was employed for, and I planned on doing it right. After a few minutes of silent searching, I saw him. A hooded man in the kitchen with a big bowl who nearly caught me off guard.
I spied at him from behind the door, he had turned on the fire and filled the pot with water.
One would expect a robber to go check the manager's office for money or try to steal one of the fancy equipment, yet this is the first time I'm seeing an intruder start to cook.
I watched him some more, when the water started boiling he began adding different ingredients to the pot and was chanting.
It was clear he wasn't baking, and I didn't plan on letting the cooking session get any weirder than this.
I opened the door and walked in. "Stop what you're doing right now."
He didn't stop, in fact he seemed to start chanting louder.
"Hey, didn't you hear me?" I shouted yet he still didn't regard me.
Cautiously, I held his shoulder but immediately felt disoriented. It seemed as though something in the air had shifted. My eyes were dimming, ears were ringing and the room was turning, I looked at the man in the hood to see he had finally turned to me, sporting the most hideous face ever, at that moment, I blacked out.
I woke up tied to a chair. The hooded man was stirring the pot now and still chanting, the kitchen had an eerie green glow and the smell was something that should never be in a kitchen.
"Who are you? What are you doing?" I asked, straining at the rope that tied me.
"No need to shout, the night is best enjoyed quietly." He replied coolly.
"Who I am is not important, nor is what I'm doing any of your concern. You should, in fact, be more concerned about yourself."
He dropped the spoon he was using to stir and sprinkled something else into the pot which made it have a minute explosion then changed the color of the room to purple.
He then turned to me and I could see clearer the bizarreness of his face.
Scars slashed across it with no eyebrows and flat nose. He looked like Voldemort if Voldemort wrestled with a bear.
He took a syringe and sucked up the liquid from the pot, it shines purple from the see-through syringe as he walks up to me.
"Luckily you came in just when I needed guinea pigs."
I realized he intended to inject me with whatever potion he made there and I struggled even harder with the bounds. The chair seemed to be glued to place and the rope felt like chains.
"Stop, please..." I begged.
"Help!!! He-" My voice was cut off. I screamed but not a sound was heard.
"I remember telling you that the night is best enjoyed when quiet. Don't worry, the potion isn't painful. It shouldn't be..."
He held my leg and injected it in.
"But if it does hurt, don't sweat it. Make sure to squirm and signify. After all, that's what Guinea pigs are for.
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Story written in response to 
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