The winds of change began to blow on the first cold day of November.

Once the news trickled down to the boys in the pit, attitudes grew foul. The Uppers decided it was time to line their pockets even more, as if they weren't lined enough already. They'd made millions off the back of the lowest members in the workforce.

The ones who sacrificed time with their families, broke a sweat daily, and ensured everything ran smoothly. The greed within The Company had grown and was now rearing its ugly head.

A well oiled machine was soon to become a broken down shell of itself.

The Uppers laughed in their sprawling digs as the "regular men" stayed steadfast in their work. The temperature of the pit was now fueled by the anger of it's workers. Tempers flared as they discussed their level of disgust for the fat cats upstairs.

Those with the lavish lifestyles that were strangers to real problems. Their only problems were what color hooker they wanted to screw behind their fat wife's backs, or what time they'd leave work to enjoy the day drinking with the other Uppers.

Hell, they couldn't even call what they did work, they didn't have the right. Those bastards didn't sweat, shit, they'd most likely forgotten what it was like to be broke. The idea of not having money to pay for things they wanted was foreign to them, but the boys in the pit knew it all too well.

They'd made an acceptable wage for years, it had grown due to the hard work and time they'd spent on the job. Time they'd missed with loved ones due to their commitment to The Company made the changes sting even more. The fact that the Uppers would pull the rug from under their feet really came as no surprise, but that didn't make it easier to swallow.

As the days dragged on, the mood worsened. As the Uppers flaunted their riches and fancy lives, a small group of workers grew intolerant. They began to hatch a plot that would send the Uppers world spinning out of control.

Something as simple as offing one of the fucks would have been blunt and to the point, but to really hit them were it hurt they'd have to take what was most important to them. Their money.

The workers knew slacking at work would only make themselves more poor, so they decided blackmail was the answer. The Uppers had a tendency to air their dirty laundry from time to time. Finding a way to snap a photo or a quick video of one of them misbehaving wouldn't be that hard.

Learning the habits of them proved to be a task, but with a little persistence and a lot of desire, stage one was complete.

The unsuspecting Upper first on the list was referred to simply as Mister. He had a real power trip going and wanted to always, and he meant always, be called mister. So the worker's nickname for him quickly became mister, followed by any derogatory term they could think off.

After a couple weeks the workers determined he would go to his mistress's house twice a week and spend at least two hours there. Afterwards he'd spend a few hours of his day driving from job site to job site checking on the workers progress, all while drinking, followed by the occasional bump of cocaine. Mister would then join up with the other Uppers at company headquarters.

Most days he'd leave early and head home to his wife, who didn't work, or cook, or clean. She seemed more useless than Mister. He'd have his maid prepare dinner and after eating he'd go to bed.

During his next little endeavor to the mistress's house one of the workers was able to slip up to a window and capture some pictures. Let me just say, these photos were not for the faint of heart. One shot had Mister dressed like a little girl while the redhead spanked him, another depicted him with, well, let's say a huge member placed somewhere it normally shouldn't have been. The workers had at least a good twenty or so photos of Mister and his friend.

The time was at hand to put their plan in motion.

The snapshots taken were delivered directly to him at home along with a note that read;


We've been watching you. We see what you do and we aim to stop you. You're wicked ways will soon be the end of you.
Your wife will receive a copy of these this afternoon. We hope you've had fun.

His hurried pace to the Company solidified the fact he was in a panic.

Once there he spent time in his office making calls and looking paranoid, much to the enjoyment of the workers.

Several hours passed and Mrs. Mister wandered through the door, the pictures clutched in her hand, black eye make-up running down her face. She screamed his name at the top of her lungs and tossed the photos in the air. Mister made his way downstairs in a frenzy, looking embarrassed.

"I want a divorce, you son of a bitch!"

The workers giggled as Mister's face turned red. His wife, now surrounded by the workers, pointed a chubby index finger at him.

"I'm gonna take you for everything you've got, you sorry bastard," she yelled.

"But dear, I...."

"We're done, you'll be hearing from my attorney," she announced as she stormed out.

Mister stood silent, the workers looked on as he turned and walked upstairs. He paused at the door to his office, looking down at the workers.

"Get the fuck back to work!"

The workers moved slowly, murmuring as they shuffled to their desk. After a few minutes the other Uppers entered his office. The conversation began to get heated. Accusations flew at light speed.

"Which one of you bastards did this?"

His tone was a low growl, as he choked the tears back.

The Upper the workers called Mumbo Jumbo sat in disbelief. His nickname came from the fact that no one could understand what he said, ever. He had a heavy accent, but no one knew for sure where he was from. He was a bit on the heavy side as well.

The one they called the Wizard was immediately pissed at the accusations.
He was the man in charge, so he thought. The nickname was derived from The Wizard of Oz and the fact it resembled his last name. He held the illusion of being great and powerful, but was really just a figure head. Mister and Mumbo Jumbo really called all the shots. The Wizard seemed to be the only one that didn't know he wasn't really in charge.

The Wizard asked, "How the hell can you blame us for this?"

Mumbo Jumbo muttered some incoherent bullshit that made the other Uppers just kinda gaze his direction in wonderment.

"You fucks want me out of the way, you want my cut of this company," Mister said.

"Don't be ridiculous," said the Wizard.

"No, no, I get it," he said as he stood up, "you want my money, my share."

The workers had gathered again, watching the shouting match from the lower level, phones in hand recording the action.

"Sit down," Mumbo Jumbo managed to say.

Mister began to slide his top desk drawer open and reach inside.

"No, no, no, I won't let you motherfuckers take what's mine," he exclaimed.

His voice reached a fever pitch, filled with anger and hate.

The Wizard stood just as Mister produced his nickel plated 9mm. Mumbo Jumbo rolled out of his chair onto the floor.

"Here's what you can have of mine," he shouted as he aligned the sights on the Wizard's face.

"Now wait a goddamn second."

Those were the Wizard's final words as the 9mm barked. The bullet pierced his forehead and ripped through the back of his skull shattering the office window. The Wizard's brain matter and skull fragments showered down on a now crying Mumbo Jumbo.

"You'll never take what's mine," Mister screamed hysterically.

His face was a twisted mess of anger and desperation. Mumbo Jumbo was now crawling through shards of broken glass and the Wizard's bloody brains. The Wizard's body was now laid back in his chair, his head hanging over the back with its contents pouring onto the floor. Mister charged around his desk stalking his next victim.

The workers retreated as the shot rang out. Most of the workers left the building, calling the police as they ran. The workers that had sent the pictures stayed, their curiosity piqued, their cameras recording everything.

Mister moved with purpose as he found Mumbo Jumbo cowering in a corner, his pants wet with piss, vomit down the front of his three thousand dollar suit.

Mister stared a hole through his counterpart as he asked, "Why would you bastards do this to me?"

"Weeb didenlt do anythung tool you'll," Mumbo Jumbo whimpered.

He was covering his face as he tried to squeeze three hundred pounds of man into a tiny office corner. He vomited again as he tried to speak, his face covered in tears.

"Plez live me alive," he begged.

Mister pointed his weapon down and pulled the trigger at least ten times. Mumbo Jumbo screamed in agony as the bullets ripped through his chest. Mister laughed as he emptied the gun's contents.

The police had arrived during the excitement and had reached the top of the stairs just as Mister had finished killing Mumbo Jumbo.

"Drop the weapon and place your hands on your head," the officer commanded.

Mister turned to face the officers. Sweat dripped from his brow as he raised his gun to his head. He gave a sort of crying smile as he squeezed the trigger.

The officers rushed in and grabbed him as he stood crying with the empty pistol to his temple.

As they walked Mister out of the building, the workers stood by silently. He cried as he was placed into the patrol car.

After several weeks the workers were given severance packages, each of them received six months salary. The three that had plotted, planned and executed the beginning of the end all went their separate ways, they never spoke to each other again.

Those that make a path to glory out of the people that have made them, will never truly be glorious. They'll simply be known as the ones that walked on the backs of the true heroes. The greedy, evil men that enslave those that have less will not rule the world, they will in fact, destroy each other.