[ WP ] : You do n't remember what you do for a living . Literally . You black out for 8 hours 5 days a week and a paycheck appears once per month .

Brett Lawson looked up from the auburn ripples reverberating in his drink with sudden clarity. `` Can you say that again?'' 
 
 `` I said, I love men who know how to take care of themselves.'' The brunette sitting next to Brett was staring deeply into his eyes and touched his shoulder for imperceptibly longer than a moment. It would have been alluring if he had any idea how or when he'd arrived in such a dump, let alone why a woman with such slender charm would be situated there. Brett looked around trying to gauge the time, but there were no windows or clocks. Focus, he thought. He did n't know why, but he knew this moment was of critical importance. 
 
 `` Are you alright?'' her smile and head followed Brett's movements. 
 
 The red neon strip lining of the bar was reflected at Brett by the woman's deep black pupils, swirling like pools. Brett cringed and tried to compose himself, mechanically reaching down to tighten his thin black tie. His hands hesitated, like he was touching something that did n't belong to him. Yet somehow he knew that the tie was his, as were the brown crocodile skin shoes with specks of red that encased his feet and the feeling of cold metal against his ankle. 
 
 `` Are you okay, Adrian?'' 
 
 `` Shh,'' Brett's eyes were wide, pupils darting back and forth. 
 
 `` What's wrong?'' 
 
 `` What did you say?!'' 
 
 `` Are you okay?'' 
 
 `` No.. no after that!'' 
 
 `` I did n't say anything...'' 
 
 `` The name! The name. What did you call me?'' 
 
 `` Adrian, I do n't think you're well...'' She was cut off by Brett's now raised foot landing on her stool, partly resting against her left hip. 
 
 The woman started toward the back of the bar, where a wooden swing door gave way to darkness. Brett did n't seem to notice, he was preoccupied pulling the cuffs of his pants up and revealing the bulk hidden under his sock. He was conscious of the periodic pumping of blood through his veins, resonating in his ears and temples. 
 
 There it was, as stark as any other fact, a little black box strapped to his ankle embedded with an unlit LED. A tracking device? His head and eyes moved back and forth about the room as he tore at the bracelet, it looked as though Brett was trying to pull the bracelet through skin, flesh and bone. `` Adrian,'' he whispered to himself. 
 
 People were starting to notice him now. He pulled the edge of his pants back over the box strapped to his leg and moved for the exit. `` Hey you!'' The words of a patron dissolved in the sound of thick rain landing on hard concrete and metallic awnings outside. Brett, trusting an impulse, began sprinting and heard the heavy bar door slam shut in the distance. 
 
 Reflected streetlights shattered and fragmented in puddles under Brett's boots as he paced the glossy streets. Each corner he turned created a maze behind him, one he figured could not be traced. He stopped. Breaths flowed quickly in and out of his lungs. He pressed his eyelids shut and held them there until the rhythm of his lungs slowed to a pace of anxiety he could handle. 
 
 Cold winds howled through the concrete jungle, spraying rain almost horizontally at Brett. He recognized this place. A restaurant he frequented opened up into this alley for waste. He walked toward the back entrance, listening to the sounds of a kitchen and chef's arguing. No-one was going to see him come in that way. 
 
 Brett walked past the toilets and kitchen, and seated himself at a table for one with no window view. Phew. He would n't be seen here. He saw a waiter walking toward him. 
 
 Beep. Beep. Beep. 
 
 Brett almost hit his head on the table reaching for his ankle. It was flashing orange; The LED. Brett grabbed the knife from table and started cutting at the ankle bracelet from the outside. A sea of activity around him had now stopped and the waiter was retreating backward. 
 
 `` C'mon you little fucker,'' the words escaped Brett's possessed face. His hands were beginning to cramp and streams of blood trickled out of his mistakes. The bracelet only required two or three more violent slashes. One. Two. Brett pulled the knife back to cut the final plastic thread and a long beep rang out and the LED turned green. Momentarily Brett blacked out but the momentum he had built up was enough the send the bracelet rolling off his ankle and onto the restaurant's lime green carpet. 
 
 The bracelet was off and he was conscious again. 
 

