One man stands alone in a board room that has long since cleared out. He is of average height; he wears a rather expensive Italian suit. He stares at the monitors. His dark red hair is combed back. His expression is one of tiredness and fatigue. Yet he still stands, apparently waiting for someone.
Styrofoam coffee cups, and sheets of paper are all that remain on the long table that dominates the room, evidence that there was recently a meeting. The glasslike shine on the long table shows the reflection of the lone man that stands at the end of it.
The room itself has no windows, and only one glass double door. The room is lavishly decorated in dark, corporate colors. Each of the twenty chairs at the table are shiny steel and leather, expensive chairs that were most likely made in some godforsaken third world country, where the workers were paid pennies an hour.
Before the man, were forty twenty inch monitors arranged vertically on the wall. On each monitor was a different news story from around the world. Each monitor was turned in to every major news network on the globe.
On one monitor, an ambulance is flipped over by an armed group of people. They crowd around the vehicle, ripping it open and going for the supplies in the back, which in this day and age are more valuable than gold. The government employees that drive it are dressed in hospital garments, and each carry small caliber pistols and fire erratically into the crowd. After they fire off all their ammunition they are then one by one dragged out by the mob, and savagely beaten.
Another shows a gunfight between a group of six police officers in riot gear armed with shotguns and men dressed in body armor that hold automatic weapons. The men in the body armor wear black ballistic combat vests, over gray jumpsuits. The news reporter makes it clear that members of the terrorist group NSF (Northwest Secessionist Forces) ambushed a shipment of "Ambrosia" and had engaged a group of New York Police Department Riot Police Officers. Then the fight takes a turn for the worst. One of the NSF members pops up from behind his cover to let off a long burst at a police officer. One of the police officers is hit several times and crumples to the ground. The remaining five officers fire at the lone terrorist who has exposed himself, literally blowing him apart. A helicopter flying overhead illuminates the remaining terrorists with its search beam. The terrorists, blinded by the bright light, fire on the helicopter, which in turn unloads hundreds of 7.62 millimeter rounds into their bodies.
Yet another monitor shows a camera in a hospital. All around the camera are gurneys. They are covered by white sheets. The ones that aren't show lifeless pale bodies, their facial expressions contorted in pain. Those dieing are lined up against one side of the room in hospital beds, nothing can be done but to make their last moments on earth comfortable.
The silent, almost inaudible sound of the door swinging open and closing does not alarm the man at the head of the table. He is expecting this, and has grown impatient with his guest's absence. The new man calmly strolls to the head of the room to join the man already there.
The new man is vastly different than the man he goes to join. Standing in around five feet eight inches, and with the physique of an athlete, the shorter man strolls to meet the man at the head of the room. He wears a leather, Kevlar plated coat. The bulge at his side is proof that he carries some kind of heavy weapon. His face shows the bulging blue veins and wires around his temples, signs that he has been augmented with nano-machines. A surgery few undergo, and even fewer survive.
He walked silently up to where the man was standing in front of the monitors. He was a footstep away from the mans side when he was challenged.
"Your appointment to FEMA should be finalized within the week; I have already discussed the matter with the senator." The business man said to the augmented man, talking in a political voice, a voice that could easily speak fact or fiction, a voice of a man who had the gift of the silver tongue.
"I take it he was agreeable." The man in the trench coat said, his voice showing little emotion. His dead facial expression showing not the slightest flicker of emotion.
"He didn't really have a choice." The man in the suit said, and smiled a cold, evil grin.
"Has he been infected?" The emotionless augmented man asked, with his low automotive voice.
"Ah, Most Certainly." Again, a chuckle along with his toothy shark grin, the businessman replied. He looked down at the expensive thousand dollar watch he wore on his wrist.
"The rioting…. It's intensifying up to the point where we may no longer be able to control it." The augmented enigmatic man spoke, businesslike as usual.
"Hah. Why control it? Let the bodies pile up in the streets. In the end, they will beg us to save them." The businessman said. He reached into his pocket, and produced a long gold case.
"We are receiving reports of armed attacks on shipments, the under-classes are starting to get desperate, there just isn't enough vaccine to go around." The man said, and turned to face the Businessman. Who was lighting a long cigar he produced from his pocket.
"It's Cuban." Came out muffled, as he started to light the cigar.
"No. It's bad for my modifications." The augmented man spoke up, and pointed at the large blue veins protruding from his temples. Then he continued. "I hope you're not underestimating our problems. They may be the ones behind the problems in Paris."
"A bunch of pretentious old fools playing at running the world." The businessman spoke as he exhaled, getting slightly agitated at the topic.
"Yes, though what about Savage and his team." The augmented man spoke up
"We have located them; there at Vandenberg Air Force base in Nevada, we can strike when we please. Besides, our bio-chem corpus is far in advance of theirs, and their "Ethical Inflexibilities" have allowed us to make great progress in areas they won't consider." The businessman replied calmly, and took a puff of his cigar.
"The augmentation project?" The augmented man spoke up.
"Among other things…. Although I have to say, I have been somewhat disappointed in the performance of the primary unit." The businessman said, and took another drag on the cigar.
"No need to worry. The secondary unit is online, and if necessary the primary can be terminated." He spoke in his cold, deep voice. Ignoring the pungent smoke that came from the other mans cigar.
"We've had to endure much you and I, but soon there will be order again, the coming of a new age. Aquinas once spoke of the mythical city upon the hill. Soon we will be crowned its kings." The man said, and put out his cigar. The faintest smile could be seen in the eyes of even the emotionless augmented man.
"No, better than kings. Gods!" The rich man spoke, and thrust his arms upward in emphasis.