17 July 2000

"Jesus Christ," muttered the guard beside me at the door. He wore a black suit over what I can only assume to be a bulletproof vest. On his pocket was stitched a P within a C within an O.

"What?" I asked, my arms crossed. Before me was a round table, and around it were perhaps a dozen business execs, discussing matters I wasn't paid enough to listen to.

"I don't think this much money has ever been assembled in one room."

"I think you're right. What are these guys' net worths? Two, three hundred million? More?"

"Actually," began the man who just entered. He had a strong jaw and dark hair, but his blue eyes were bright and intelligent. "That's just me," he said with a good-natured smirk.

He sat down at the only empty seat at the table.

"This meeting can now begin." He swiveled his seat to face the wall behind him. He pulled a small remote from his suit jacket and clicked the largest button. The wall slid up and a television distanced itself from the far side of its alcove within the wall. It lit up to reveal blueprints for what appeared to be a force field.

"This is an energy repulsion field. Semipermeable from the outside and completely impermeable from the inside. In addition to Arkham City, I propose we build it on what used to be Raccoon City, Gunnison, Colorado, and Archipelago Muertes, off the coast of Costa Rica. That's four different places we can put criminals with life sentences and no chance of parole, with plenty of space and no chance of escape."

"Why are we even here, then? Isn't the only entity you need represented the government?" queried an aging man, sucking from a medicinal inhaler.

"No, because I want to propose something else that involves you quite a bit more." Wayne clicked the button again, showing Omni Consumer Products' latest policing robots, Stark Industries' drones, velociraptor diagrams from InGen, and pictures of scenes from the hoax video of the former Channel 7 News anchorwoman of the results of the T-Virus.

"As representatives of your respective companies, I want you to decide by tomorrow whether or not you'd like to use these facilities to test your products. It is predicted by my experts that these places can be bought and that we can successfully introduce the entire population of United States life-without-parole inmates to these four places. All I would need is a single five billion dollar investment from your companies. There isn't one of you who can't handily spare five times that, and it would go one hundred percent towards these testing grounds."

"And… what profit would come from investing in this medium rather than using our own testing grounds?" asked the representative of InGen, an aging Indian man wearing an extravagant mustache and a frown.

"You could see how your products will fare in a truly competitive market; of course, you can still use your own labs, but by the contract I've written- which I've made copies of for each of you and your legal team- at least thirty percent of all testing must be administered via this medium."

Around the table, the executives picked up landlines from the table in front of them, faxing and calling their legal teams.