Frank lived in a crumbling apartment building at the edge of the city, where the walls were stained with age and the hallway lights flickered like they were struggling to stay alive. The place smelled faintly of rust and damp concrete. It wasn't much, but it was home.
He wasn't rich, far from it.
But in this city, maybe that was a blessing.
The wealthy lived behind towering walls and electric gates, guarded by cameras and security systems. They had everything money could buy, yet they were constantly hunted by ruthless criminals who saw them as walking vaults. Frank sometimes wondered if poverty was a kind of camouflage.
Still, surviving wasn't easy.
Frank worked for one of those rich men.
His employer owned a massive mansion in the hills overlooking the city, a palace compared to Frank's collapsing apartment. The man himself was arrogant, the kind who spoke to people like they were tools instead of humans. Frank had swallowed countless insults over the years.
But money was money.
And Frank needed it.
One morning, while Frank was on his way to work, his phone suddenly rang.
The sharp buzz broke the quiet of the street.
Frank pulled the phone from his pocket and answered.
"Hello?"
A cold voice responded immediately.
"You're fired."
Before Frank could even process the words, the call ended.
The screen went dark.
Frank stopped walking.
For a moment, he just stood there on the sidewalk, staring at the phone like it had betrayed him.
"Fired…?" he muttered.
There had to be some mistake.
Without wasting another second, Frank hurried toward the mansion.
When he arrived, the massive iron gate was shut tight.
The property looked quieter than usual.
Frank stepped closer and shouted toward the security camera.
"Hey! It's Frank! Open the gate!"
No response.
He shouted again.
"Hello?! What's going on?!"
After a moment, movement appeared on the balcony above the courtyard.
It was the boss's son.
The young man leaned lazily against the railing, looking down at Frank with an expression that suggested he had been expecting this moment.
Without saying a word, he tossed a cardboard box over the gate.
Frank instinctively stepped back as it crashed onto the pavement.
Inside were his belongings from work.
His gloves.
His ID badge.
A few tools.
The son finally spoke.
"Get out of here," he said flatly. "We don't need you anymore."
Frank's chest tightened.
"Is that it?" Frank shouted, anger creeping into his voice. "You're just going to fire me after everything I've done for your family?!"
The young man didn't answer.
He had already turned around.
Without another glance, he walked back toward the mansion and disappeared inside.
Leaving Frank alone outside the gate.
Hours later, Frank sat in his apartment.
The television flickered in the dim room, casting pale light across the peeling walls.
Some loud game show played in the background, but Frank wasn't really watching.
An empty bottle sat on the table beside him.
Another rested in his hand.
He took a slow drink, staring blankly at the screen.
For the first time in years…
Frank had nowhere to go tomorrow.
And somehow, deep in the pit of his stomach, he felt like this was only the beginning of something much worse.