19:30
The continuous murmur, like television static, vibrated through Viceroys ears. 3 hours have passed since the information leaked and he’s already cutting lose ends. Several employees thrown under the bus. Every intern forced to sell tapes, every accountant that filled a shady check, every higher up that contacted the illusive filmmakers. All collected into a spread sheet and sent to police. An act of compliance to get the authorities off his ass. He rubbed his shaven face. The bristles of left over hair tickled his fingers. He didn’t want to show stress, emote panic. He was fucking Viceroy McMullin. Nothing scared him, nothing should scare him. But Black Death did. Sure, throw him in prison, give him life for all he cared. That wasn’t gonna stop the Plague Doctors. He’d be the next hot commodity in the snuff industry if he lost his use. A use that was slowly diminishing. He felt small while standing behind the curtain, like an ant in front of a group of anteaters, every one of them looked hungry. They all circled him. PR representatives, the CO, the CFO, what was left of Human resources, all seemed itching to sell him out. Remove him from his perch, fight amongst themselves. He smelt their aura; they were bloodthirsty. Unable to tell if it was his imagination or reality. They all smelt like gore. He peeked ever so slightly through the curtain. Out in front waiting, gossiping, were the reporters, the journalists, the snakes. Watching every mouth water and smack together in gibbering messes of rumours and accusations. All against him. Their eyes yellow with predatory glee. Ready to record his confession.
“How do you plan on fixing this Viceroy?”
A voice, no, a whisper comes from behind him. Its muffled call startles him, like a ghost tickling the back of his skull. The metallic nails tracing a line down his brain. Turning to face the spectre his face only meets a sight that causes a slight sigh to leave his mouth. Disappointed by the creature in front of him.
“Outing those responsible of course. Got so many rat traps hidden in plain sight. They’ll trip them eventually.”
With a cocky smirk Viceroy greets his advisory. In front of him. Bound to an automated wheelchair was the COO. Montgomery Winchester. A frail older man with serious burn damage across most of his body. His fingers replaced with metal implants, skeleton like they grip hold of the wheelchairs arms. His lower face was covered by a metal rebreather that held his mouth together. His legs seemed shrivelled in their paralysis. His hair was wispy, like strands of cobweb stuck to his scalp. For Viceroy he was a problem, a character of higher morality than himself. Someone that would have exposed him long ago. If it wasn’t for the car bomb mangling him into submission. Even with his mouth completely covered. Viceroy knew that he was smiling.
“Even after everything you still play koi with me?”
Monte’s voice acts as a whistle. Nothing leaves his mouth without that cold ringing joining every new syllable he creates. Viceroy wanted this man dead. An obstacle easy to remove but difficult to hide. He was already suspected in the car bombing. Not wanting to take any more chances. He plays along with the broken businessman. Alowing him some form of power to keep him quiet.
“Still think of me as this devious corporate renegade. Dear friend are you sure it wasn’t just your body the bomb mangled?”
An evil smirk crossed Viceroys lips as the conference behind him began to gain a lively atmosphere. Muffled discussion was replaced by one lone voice. A media representative, Courtnety Hewitt, a lovely American girl who Viceroy enjoyed pleasuring on his off days.
“Thank you for attending this impromptu conference. On behalf of the Leviathan media conglomerate, we stand here wanting to offer clarity, answers and consequences for the leaks and their contents. On that end, please let me introduce to you. Our esteemed CEO. Viceroy McMullin.”
Her voice is soft, innocent. She knows just as much as the reporters. Viceroy preferred the oblivious ones.
“My time to shine old man. Be careful with leaving tire marks on the carpet. I’d hate to pay for new ones.”
Viceroy fixes his tie while starring arrogant daggers into Monte. The businessman just quietly hisses to himself.
With Viceroy now in the public eye he dropped his smile and imitated a serious look and posture. Hours of practice to perform a somewhat real state of shame took months to portray. Working between the ability to seem pathetic and sympathetic. Right now, he felt he was conveying a bit of both. He nods at the audience as he takes a seat. Gathering his surroundings, the conference room was small compared to the rest of the headquarters. Claustrophobic walls painted blood red with the floor a collage of checkered symbols in red and black. In contrast the occupants of the refurbished leather chairs wore light colours. He saw some in yellow and blue. Others dressed more in ugly greens and browns. Their hair reflecting the glow light locked tightly into the ceiling. Everyone’s eyes where a bright yellow. All where recording. Drones hovered around the background, their flash almost blinding to the eyes.
“What has been revealed today is shocking, disgusting and worrisome. I would like to firstly state that I had no idea about this distribution operation inside of our organisation. I know that places me in a position of incompetence, but I assure you. It was only missed due to my trust and love for my employees, a trust that has been broken and left me embarrassed and ashamed for naiveite.”
The room was silent. He knew that everything he said would be broadcasted live around the sector, maybe even the whole city. He had to be careful.
“In the past three hours my associates and I have compiled a list of known benefactors in this crime who, approved and distributed these horrible movies. This list has been passed over to NSY officers who are currently searching for and arresting all known associates listed. However, it is unfortunate to note that the list is still ongoing, and more names will be added according to accurate evidence found. Until all names have been officially serviced. No names of potential contributors will be announced currently.”
Viceroy spoke with a purpose. A narcissistic purpose to lie. He felt them pecking at his palm. Eating away at the shit he spewed. He felt his brain beckon him to grin.
“Leviathans official statement to the media is simple. We did not know about this distribution circle. We do not condone the licensing and purchasing of these videos, and we most certainly wish to bring to justice all who took advantage of our trust and of our love. We also wish to state that we demand a public announcement on the British governments behalf confirming or denying the accusation of accepting bribe money from these criminals. We at Leviathan do this In the name of Princess Diane who we all know has become a victim of these terrible snuff film distributors. Now with the brief time you have me. What questions do you wish to provide me with.”
Arms shoot up, some higher than others. A noodle like metal arm reaches higher than all. A comical bounce to it as it acts like some old jack in a box.
“Yes, at the far back on the right.”
The goofy armed gentlewoman stands to her feet. Hat and jacket of purple, blue tinted shades adoring her dark complexion.
“Do you know how the company was infiltrated and how the hacker managed to acquire so much information?”
Viceroy smiled at a question he could easily answer.
“We’ve narrowed It down to a either a single or a group of digital engineers who have been hired by us to create an updated fire wall. They had full access to our servers and the data in their has the potential of being easily reached if the right person knows how to look. We’re dealing with a skilled cybernaut who knows their way around the digital space. Again, this shows incompetence on our part, but I assure you we have everything under control.”
Viceroy knew he was making himself look stupid. A worthwhile risk compared to the alternative
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The woman sits down, and more hands seem to appear.
“Gentleman closest to me.”
He points at a nearby early 20s rookie ecstatic to be asked a question.
“In your estimation how, many conspirators exist inside of your company?”
His voice was nasally, he seemed to be struggling to swallow.
“A tough question to answer. So far, we have identified 30 conspirators in a company of over 1000, so it really is a difficult process to decipher who’s, who. However, with our estimation we believe there to be at least 100 conspirators in the building.”
He sits back confident in his answer. The more accurate answer would see most of the company in on the crime. Still, he couldn’t allow himself to get too exact. The company couldn’t look that incompetent.
“Next question.”
More hands shoot up. Another woman in a red dress sits to the middle left of the crowd.
“Yes, the beauty in the red.”
Rolling her eyes, she stands. Gleam in her stare, she has been waiting for Levithan to slip up.
“What is your reaction to the recent protests? Your company has already received public backlash for your media monopoly and also your terrible handling of the Trudy Howler investigation. How do you think the public will react to this?”
Viceroy rubs his head in annoyance. Cursing the beauty in his head. The smart ones always seemed to hate him.
“Well, I doubt it’s going to be a good look for us, but this is just how it happens. The children wish to dismantle the system. A system I happen to be apart of. In fact, I attached myself to it when I had nothing else. The system saved me, as it did everyone else here. Those outside they failed to grasp it and that leads them to showing a lot of hate towards people like me. I say let them protest. Let them think what they think. It wont affect profits, it wont affect sales. My only job here is to satisfy our already massive consumers who trust us in our distribution of media and experiences. As long as I can win them back after this betrayal, I will sleep much easier.”
“What about the consumers now joining the protest? Do you plan on winning them back?”
“We plan on focusing on the ones sitting on the fence for now. Those corrupted by the propaganda of the unremarkable will be harder to win back. We need to show them that our consumers are protected and respected. Hopefully when the results start to appear they’ll see their mistake and return to us.”
The woman in the red dress, seemingly unsatisfied but out of points, sits back down.
“Ok we can have one more?”
Viceroy points out to the crowd and choses the last reporter. A taller gentleman with a camera monocle stuck into his eye, clearly more of an augment than a slick digital attachment of his headset.
“What are your opinions of those accusing you of being the ringleader of this underground distribution group or even as the head of Black Death yourself.”
The man stands at a solid 6 foot 3, built like a brick wall and dressed in a shabby trench coat. It slightly intimidates the CEO as he prepares his answer.
“Well, I think they’re simply preposterous. I like to believe myself to be a well-established businessman. The dirt I get my hands covered in is the hard work I battled through to get to this position. This is show business, nobody’s hands are squeaky clean but the shit that covers the hands of these lowlifes, that stinks, radiates around us. You smell me, I smell like roses, there’s nothing in these hands that could taint that smell. So, I’ll say this with the highest confidence. I am not responsible for this. I will however find out who is. People can say what they want. I know what I have done, and I’ve never lied about it. You can right that down in your notes, record it on your leviathan distributed eye cameras and you can tell the world, that Viceroy McMullin is innocent. Thank you for your time, this conference meeting is over.”
With a swift wave at the crowd. Viceroy disappears behind the curtain. Leaving the crowd outside to disperse.
20:30pm
“You love the sound of your voice don’t you kid?”
Alone now in Monte’s office, Viceroy listens to his co workers insults. He carries a rocks glass filled with bourbon around, delicately grasping the rim with all of his fingers. He stares at Montes portrait as he sips away. The image of a healthy middle aged scouser stares back at him. Beard immaculately trimmed and a head of slightly balding, yet smooth auburn hair. Looking back now at the man he would become; Viceroy couldn’t help but smile.
“Well, I prefer it to your voice. All garbled whispers with no fucking energy. I’ll take my slick dulcet tones to your burnt oven mouth any day.”
Taking another sip with the cheekiest of grins. He joins Monte at his side. Sitting on a leather chair next to him. Monte’s office overlooks the back of central sector, going as far as too look out to Southern Sector. The change from techno utopia to bio dystopia clashes just as it did in its original state. Green trees overgrow across the roads, reaching skyward above most houses. Dips form in the landscape and remnants of a society left flooded exist below. The tumour above living off of whatever life it had left. The failed attempts at reproducing an effective ecosystem almost destroying the Southern section of New Britannia.
“What a view you got here Monte. Get to look at the green remnants of Old Blighty. Tell me what was she like?”
Viceroy rested his arm on the head of the chair. Leaning into Monte sipping recklessly as he did.
“You don’t give a fuck about what she used to look like. Read a data pad for all I care. I’m sure the library has some interesting volumes.”
Montes whistling grows louder indicating anger.
“Alright well maybe not England then. What about Southern Sector itself? Before the civil war before the floods. What was it like?”
Vice’s words are soft. A sign of interest? It was hard to tell. The gentleman was a fantastic actor.
“Used to be just forest around here. We had a lot of that for a time. Then when the panic hit, and the water began to rise. We cut it all down, burnt it and began to build. Then the first remnants of New Britannia were born. Really not that interesting. Of course, there’s a lot more to it. Southern Sector was supposed to be the last remnants of England. It become more of a museum to old English traditions. Everything got tossed out and covered by New London. Its more depressing than interesting. Appreciate the fact you never got the chance to love it before it disappeared. It makes living here a little bit easier.”
Monte trailed off, looking out the window with an iris full of memories. Viceroy felt he could imagine Montes life through his pupil, relive a childhood he never got the chance to have himself.
“I think being the owner of a multibillion dollar media monopoly makes things easier for me old man. If this place was still a forest, I’d happily cut it all down to build something more. The land has nothing but potential and just leaving it grow more, with the possibilities of what to build atop it. Well in my eyes that’s just good potential wasted.”
“I can’t argue with that. I’ll never agree to your statement, but I can’t deny it happened. I can’t deny that I’m sitting here profiting. I can reminisce all I want. Fact of the matter is I’m just a responsible for this metal jungle as you are. Maybe being saddened but profiting makes me far more wicked?”
Monte’s voice is hushed, saddened by his realisation. It only encourages Viceroy more.
“That’s what’s different between me and you. I’m honest. I’m not a hypocrite. You can sit there and sulk all you like. You still work here. You still make money. I look out at that Southern Sector, and I smile knowing that I’m here and they are stuck. They get to live out their miserable lives in an agricultural experiment gone wrong. I get to live here, so fucking powerful that I can spew corporate bullshit to reporters and have the public still providing grade A falatio to my metal cock. What does that say about you huh? A barely living co-worker who sits in a wheelchair that I bought him, with medical bills that I paid for and a position I recommended him too just so he keeps quiet about my dealings with snuff producers.”
Viceroy was becoming aggressive. He was standing now. Leaning over Monte’s wheelchair, like an army commander talking down a recruit. There eyes meet and Monte could see the burning fury in the CEOs eyes. Pupils of red. Violence surrounded him. Vice seemed to covered in metaphorical red energy. Electrical currents bouncing off of his body and around the room. An incredible and dangerous aura hid beneath his suit. Monte felt how powerless he was in that moment, a sudden fear manifested in his dying eyes. A fear Viceroy could easily notice.
“I’m done talking to you.”
Viceroy pushes the now mute COO away from him. His wheelchair slowly colliding with a desk behind the cripple.
“I don’t have time to deal with pussy’s. Figure out what you want or get the fuck out of my company. Forests, who the fuck cares about forests anymore.”
Viceroy begins to leave as Monte sits in silence. An eerie violent tension wabbles like a heat wave across the horizon of Montes vision. Something was different about Vice now. He seemed dangerous. Always cocky, but never dangerous. It frightened the old businessman. Viceroy wants Monte to bite, wants an argument but nothing leaves the rebreather. Not even a whistle.
“Piss me off one more time old man. And I’ll finish the job, plant a bomb under that wheelchair. I’ll pull the fucking trigger myself and watch you explode into several pieces. As you start to slowly unpeel from the ceiling, I will laugh. I’ll laugh till I cant breath. Tears streaming from my face making me almost vomit. I didn’t come here to shoot the shit with you old man. This is a warning. Don’t fuck with me. Not anymore. Either leave or stay in line.”
Viceroy marches his way to the exit, knocking over fragile ornaments and stationary tech, a sudden chill enters the room once he slicks back his hair and fixes his suit, as if the boiling anger receded. He kicks over Montes mesh rubbish bin spilling pieces of paper and coffee cups everywhere.
“Clean your shit up Monte, you know I hate neglected workspaces.”
Monte stared at the satanic grin around Viceroy’s face. As if possessed. The CEO seemed to be trying his best to come across as intimidating. Even if he was trying too hard. Monte felt his skin being to prick. Viceroy was desperate and Monte finally felt some semblance of fear towards the cocky playboy. He was no longer taking chances. Viceroy had plans. And he was going to stop at nothing to see them through.