Undercover (Larry Stylinson)

2. not so secure

It was 11:30pm when Harry headed out of his house for the first time that Thursday. He was a certified physical therapist - he went to school for six years just to get his license - but this town hardly had a functional hospital, let alone a physical therapy facility. In fact, the only job that popped up when Harry searched online was "Nighttime security guard, 4 nights a week, no experience needed."

The pay was shit and so were the hours, but there were no other options. He applied online and two days later, he received a phone call.

"Hi, how are you?" Harry said.

"Good," the job recruiter replied. "When can you start?"

If only things were always that simple.

Tonight was Harry's first night on the job and he wasn't looking forward to it. Grunting, he pulled himself out of bed and shut his laptop, which was currently playing the discontinued British Netflix series "Cuckoo."

He opened the door to his closet and grabbed his uniform, a pair of black slacks and a black coat with word "security" written on the back. It was the only thing hanging on the rack, as he hadn't bothered unpacking his suitcase. What was the point of moving into this house? What was the point of anything anymore?

Sighing, Harry put on the uniform. The jacket was way too big, but the pants were extremely short on his longs legs. They looked more like capri pants than anything else.

Harry grunted, making a mental note to request new uniform pants, and headed out the door to his Ford Focus. It wasn't the best choice of car, but it was the best thing he could find to lease in such short notice. If it were up to him, he would spend weeks going from dealership to dealership, meticulously inspecting each car before he made his decision. But he just didn't have that kind of time.

As Harry began to unlock his car, his phone buzzed, causing him to jump back in surprise.

413-257-8932: Hey, Campbell. It's Murphy. Are you still coming to relieve me at midnight?

Harry typed a quick 'yes' and then got in his car, driving quickly down the long, empty roads of the countryside.

As anticipated, the security job was incredibly boring. There was no crime in towns like this. There wasn't anything in towns like this. He was guarding a fucking strip mall, which only had three stores, one of which was a homemade ice cream shop.

For the first few hours, Harry watched Netflix on his phone to pass the time, hoping that Greg Davies' dark sense of humor could distract him from his thoughts. But around 4 AM, with another four hours to go, his phone died.

"Fuck!" Harry yelled. It was so quiet that his own voice startled him, sending him jumping upward in his seat.

With nothing better to do now, Harry stepped out of the car, walking the perimeter of the strip mall parking lot. The job had given him a nightstick in case of emergencies and he had it stashed in his holster.

"You can bring a gun if you wanna," his boss said upon giving him the uniform. "But we don't provide them. Has to be your own."

"Don't have one," Harry replied coolly. "But I don't think it'll be a problem."

Unsurprisingly, there was nothing to worry about in the strip mall at 4 AM. Aside from a large rat he saw emerge from the sewage drain, there seemed to be no one around. It was just Harry and the stars.

Circling his way back to the car, Harry stretched out his arms and legs one more time before he got back inside the car.

That's when he heard a gunshot. And everything started going blurry.