The principal's office was a realm of polished mahogany and calculated calm, now poised to become a stage for abrupt disintegration. The principal, a portly man with a perpetually stern expression, sat behind his imposing desk, his gaze unwavering as he delivered the pronouncement.
"Professor Lockwood, your employment here is terminated."
Jonas Lockwood, initially stunned, felt a surge of disbelief give way to a potent cocktail of fear and incandescent rage. "But I have served this institution for over eight years!" he retorted, his voice strained, fear of immediate destitution mingling with an escalating fury. "You cannot simply fire me!"
The principal remained unmoved, his features as unyielding as granite. "Your undeclared mental condition renders you unsuitable to interact with our student body. You deliberately concealed this critical information from the university administration."
"No," Jonas seethed, the word a desperate plea more than a defiance. "You cannot do this."
The principal offered no verbal response. Instead, with a slow, deliberate motion, he slid a document across the vast expanse of the desk. The letter of termination, stark and official, came to rest directly before Jonas.
With a sudden, explosive movement, Jonas snatched the letter, his grip crushing the paper into a crumpled ball. In the same motion, his hand became a fist, and he launched himself forward, delivering a brutal punch to the principal's face.
"Fuck you!" Jonas roared, his voice raw with a primal, unrestrained aggression. He scrambled onto the principal's desk, straddling it, his posture wild and menacing. He seized the principal by the collar, dragging the man's sputtering face close to his own. "You should not be concerned with my mental condition, you pathetic excuse for an educator," Jonas snarled, his eyes blazing with a feral intensity. "You should be far more concerned with your physical condition!"
The principal let out a strangled, terrified scream. "Security! Security!"
Jonas, heedless, continued to rain blows upon the principal's face, his fists connecting again and again with sickening impacts. Within moments, the heavy office door burst open. Two burly security guards surged into the room, quickly converging on Jonas. They seized him, grappling with his frenzied resistance, struggling to pry his hands from the battered principal.
The next scene was a tableau of utter desolation.
Jonas sat on the cold, unforgiving pavement of a nearby footpath. His once crisp clothes were torn and disheveled, mute testament to the violent struggle he had just endured. A scattering of fresh wounds—abrasions, a split lip, a bruised cheek—adorned his face and hands. Beside him, a crumpled, tear-stained document lay discarded, the crushed letter of termination is kept beside him.