Chapter 227

8.u.

John Q Public sat in his office.  The walls were once again black and all the lights were off except for the malicious red glow of the console buttons at the desk.  A low hum buzzed and he took a deep breath.

“Come in,” he said.

A door slid open, white light poured in, and a man strode into the room.

“I have the samples,” the man said.

“Ah… Wonderful.  Let’s see them,” said John Q Public.

The man held up a t-shirt.  On it was a slogan. 

Light ‘Em Up Then Light ‘Em Up.

“The crosshairs are a nice touch,” said John Q Public.  “But don’t you think the pot leaf cheapens it?”

The man shrugged and said, “Focus groups show a twenty percent higher return on drug related merchandise and the pot leaf–”

“Yes, yes.  I know all about focus groups,” said John Q Public.  He continued to scrutinize the shirt.  “Is there any news?”

“Yes,” the man said, apparently understanding his boss’s vagaries.  “Senior Executive, as you know, has accepted and is settling in quite well.  He and General Apathy appear to have patched things up.  Business Woman has declined.  She has convinced Franklin Buck to do the same and has taken on the girl, Molly, as an apprentice of sorts dubbing her, Junior Partner.  They are currently in the old Union headquarters by the river.”

“As expected,” said John Q Public.  “No doubt working in secret with Senior Executive.  Acquire majority shares in any businesses investing in her enterprise.  Offer direct funding as well.”

“Already implemented,” said the man.

“You have my approval on the shirt.”

“Of course, sir.”

John Q Public sighed and then said, “Well then.  On to business.  New t-shirt design.  Possible poster offering.  A headstone with glasses and a tie.  Epitaph reads, “Here lies Corporate Man, the unbearable dream.  Subheading, lower case, in quotes and fancy script, to read:

      do not succumb to death, oh dream

      rebel

      subject yourself not to financial slavery

      rebel, revolt, rebel

      hold accountable the fiscal tyrants

      demand reparation with intelligent 

      revolution

                                                        

-Don Jones

“Seems a bit long for a t-shirt,” said the man.

“Yes.  Also, spread rumors to insinuate that the previously mentioned quotation was Corporate Man’s final words,” said John Q Public.

“Is this true?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Then you’re positive that we should proceed with this?” the man asked.

John Q Public stroked his luscious moustache, but said nothing.

“Sir?  Shall I place the order?”

Again, the Big Bossman made no response.

“Sir?”

THE END

Chapter 225

8.s.

“So what now?” Business Woman asked.

“Now?  Nothing,” said John Q Public.  “You’re free to go if you wish.”

“I feel dirty and useless,” she said.  “And a little sick.”

“That’s business,” said General Apathy.

“Did we seriously just watch him die?” asked Franklin Buck.

“Yeah.  And we didn’t do anything.  We let it happen,” said Senior Executive.

“That’s usually how these things go,” said John Q Public.

No one said anything for a long while.

 “Well now,” said General Apathy, breaking the silence.  “This is getting morose.  And boring.  Let’s all remember, nothing personal in business.”

“Shut up asshole,” said Business Woman.  She looked at John Q Public and said, “So how do we get out of here?”

“Oh.  Well… I was sort of hoping you’d stay.  I mean…  Do you like this building?  This office?  Cause I’m giving it to you,” said John Q Public.

“What?”

“Yeah.  This black diamond room is actually an elevator that will take you anywhere in the building.  And, up to now, I’ve pushed all the buttons.  Except one.  This one,” he said, striding over to a large, blinking, white button.  “Go on.  You push it.”

Business Woman looked at Senior Executive and Franklin Buck.  Each of their faces a mirror of similar confusion.

“Up and out,” said John Q Public.

“Are you… What?  Really?”

“No.  Of course not,” John Q Public said, pressing the white button.  All the walls on the black diamond office went clear.  “Fantasy.  You see?  All that goody good be good crap will never get you a chocolate factory.  Only in books and musicals.”

“You know,” Business Woman said.  “People may not give a crap about helping others, but stunts like that will piss them off and then you’ll get a reaction.”

“A reaction?  What?  Like a revolution?” John Q Public asked.  “This is a generation of sugar fattened pussies who we’ve retarded with mass media.  No, I’m afraid it will take decades of living like paupers to affect any kid of change.”

John Q Public stroked his luscious moustache with his gloved hand.  Then the Big Bossman turned and strode through a side door, out of the conference room.

“Wait.  What about him?” Business Woman asked.

“You mean his body?  My minions will attend to it,” said John Q Public.  He stood in the doorway for a moment and then said, “Listen.  You’re all free to work for me.  I have high level positions that would benefit from your particular skills.”

“I accept.  I don’t care what the job is,” Roger said.

“Not you, you’re due back at the help desk in the morning.  Business Woman, Senior Executive, Franklin Buck the One Hundred Dollar Man.  Regardless of your decision, you are free to go and my building will remain open to you.  If you choose to decline my offer and start a competing enterprise, you have my blessings.  I’ll even invest if you wish.  There’s no need to decide yet.  Confer amongst yourselves and get back to me.”

John Q Public nodded and left them to their decision.

Chapter 219

8.m.

“I assume, from your statement,” said Corporate Man, glaring at the man in the white suit and black tie, “that you’re the one who put me in that hospital and kept me an invalid for a decade.”

“Guilty,” said John Q Public.  “It’s too bad we don’t have time to go over the particulars of the Florida campaign.  I think you’d appreciate the genius of it.  But we have an agenda and I’d like to remain focused on that.”

“The future of the economy,” said Corporate Man.  “So you said.”

“Yes.  Well it’s a bit about that, but mostly it’s about your future.  Your immediate future.  And the limitations thereof.”

“Are you threatening us, John?” Corporate Man said and stood up.  His lapel seams casting a harsh glow on his face.  “I knew this was going to turn into a fight. What?  Is this office some sort of death trap?”

John Q Public held up a gloved hand and said, “Please.  Sit down.  You misunderstand me.  I am not threatening you.  When an economic forecaster predicts a price drop in a certain commodity is he or she threatening that commodity?  No.  Merely reading the signs.  And I’m not referring to the whole Union.  I’m confident that these three,” he gestured to Business Woman, Senior Executive, and Franklin Buck, “will survive this meeting and make it into that future in one capacity or another.  It’s just you, Corporate Man.  I fear for you.”

“I’m sorry.  That still sounds like a threat to me,” said Business Woman.

“The sands in the hourglass are almost spent,” said John Q Public.  “Am I at fault for noticing the impending fall of the final grain?”

“Get on with it then,” said Corporate Man.  “Say what you have to say.”

John Q Public too a deep breath and said, “You’re a fairytale, Corporate Man.  A figment of a naïve imagination.  There is no place in the world economy where you fit.  By the end of this meeting you will concede that point.  And you will cease to be.”

“That’s bullshit,” said Senior Executive.  “It’s bad out there, but the Union is back and we’re changing things.”

“No.  You aren’t.  You’re simply a colorful distraction.  Nothing more.  At most you’re something to give a small amount of hope to an ignorant populace so they’ll take comfort knowing that someone else is fixing their problems and will turn a blind eye and let us resume our financial pillaging.”

“You don’t believe that, John,” said Corporate Man.

“Don’t I?”

“No.  I know you.  This isn’t you.  It’s that asshole.  He’s influencing you,” Corporate Man said, pointing at General Apathy.  “Throw his ass out of here and lets all work together to fix this mess.”

“Fix it?  It is what it is.  You can no more fix the ocean from being wet than you can make our financial system into anything that benefits anyone except a select few.”

“I don’t buy that,” said Senior Executive.

“Really?  Everyone else seems to,” said John Q Public.

“I doubt it,” said Business Woman.

“Let me illustrate.  Everyone has deep seeded dreams of becoming one of the elite.  It’s not only inborn, but we foster this through various media channels.  Deep down, subconsciously, they are aware that if they fight to create or support a system which equalizes everyone then they effectively kill any chance for that dream of possible future success to ever materialize.  They cannot become rich and powerful if everyone is the same.”

“That’s irrational,” said Franklin Buck.

“It sure is,” John Q Public said.  “Let’s review a recent political conflict over a proposal to raise income tax for those earning over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.  How many people in this country exist at an income level well below that mark?  How many of those people’s yearly income would have to more than quadruple to gain that plateau?  If your response was ‘the bulk of the work force’ then you’d be correct.  Now, in a logical world, those people would realize that if their income somehow quadrupled, taking home the higher taxed, quadruple amount would leave them far better off than hanging on to that lower taxed, meager pittance of what they currently earn.  But, oh no, in their minds, they will be rich some day and no way is the government going to take a bigger chunk of their money.  The public only considers themselves, and its not even themselves as they currently exist, but an idealized fantasy version of what they hope to become.”

For a long while, no one said anything.

“We’ve been dumbing down the populace for years,” said John Q Public.  “In an age of information you’d expect an increase in intelligence, but we flood the culture with mindless entertainments, blind them with shiny celebrities and easy to follow programming.  Children are trained to be consumers, practically from infancy.  Aggressive advertisements bombard them between television shows and those shows feature spoiled, self entitled kids whose only function is outsmart dumb adults.  The messages are clear.  Buy stuff.  The world revolves around you.  Adults are stupid and have nothing to teach you.  And, most importantly, you will be stupid when you grow up.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Franklin Buck.

“I agree,” said John Q Public.  “But that’s what we peddle and that’s what Americans buy.  We can sell them anything.  Just recently we convinced them that the word ‘retarded’ is a bad word.  And do you know why they bought it?  Not because of any serious offense that the word incites.  Any word that separates out one group of people from another will inevitably be seen as offensive simply because of its implications of difference and the unavoidable debasement involved at labeling one group normal while forcing the other to accept the inference of abnormality.  Retarded is offensive because Americans are sensing how stupid they have become and they subconsciously fear that they, in fact, are retarded.  Instead of exerting energy toward increasing their mental faculties they choose to erase a word that they perceive as a disparaging to their ignorance when it has no relation whatsoever.”

“People are not so blind,” said Senior Executive.

“Some.  I’ll give you that.  But on a whole they are willing to accept the state of cultivated ignorance,” said John Q Public.  When his statement was met with a round of head shakes he continued.  “If you’d like further proof, let’s talk immigration.”

“What is this?” said Corporate Man.  “Is this economics or politics?”

“Isn’t it all one in the same?”

“Let’s talk about us.  Let’s get to the part where we hold you accountable for the things you’ve done.”

“Oh, yes.  Let us,” said John Q Public.

“You don’t think we can?” said Corporate Man.

“Old friend.  Please.  Until we clearly define the canvas upon which I have been painting, the brushes and pigments at my disposal, I don’t think that we can judge method or technique.”

“I think we can judge effect of action.  Death of colleagues.”

“If you think you must,” said John Q Public.  “But who is to be the judge? Who is to sit on my jury if I am on trial?  I merely wish to define the pool from which we would draw.  The public.  I cite immigration as an example of the ineptitude of that public.  It’s an argument continually cropping up amongst our fellow Americans and we generally see two camps form about the issue.  Those who wish to accept border jumpers with open arms and those who fear that foreigners, Mexicans in particular, are scaling a big fence and coming up here to steal jobs from us hard working Americans.”

“That’s not exactly the–” Senior Executive started.

“Yes it is.  Because that’s the line of thinking that we’ve sold them.  The reactionaries want all the illegal Mexicans deported to protect good honest Americans yet they fail to realize the irony of the situation.  America was founded by foreign immigrants who invaded the country and stole land from the populace already living here.”

“Yeah…  I guess if you really think about it, the most American people today are the Mexicans,” said Franklin Buck.

“Precisely,” John Q Public said, “Now, if Americans are so intelligent and not the manufactured retards I claim them to be, then how come the outcry in regards to the immigration issue isn’t about the shady businesses hiring, or more accurately, actively recruiting illegal workers?  Jobs aren’t being stolen by illegals.  The good ole American entrepreneur is offering them up willingly and the dumb American public is blaming the guy who’s just grateful to have the opportunity for a decent wage.  Comparatively anyway.  We don’t stop to think or ask ‘why are all these people coming here?’  We’ve already been sold the ‘stealing our jobs’ line.  And some of the most anti-immigrant morons out there are the same dirt-bag business owners that hire illegals to pad their bottom line.”

Chapter 218

8.l.

For a long while no one said anything.

Then a bored sigh slipped from General Apathy and he said, “A most riveting dialogue.  I can’t seem to tear myself away.”

He glanced around at everyone for a brief second, shrugged, and then walked into the black pyramid office.

John Q Public stroked his luscious mustache with his black gloved hand and said, “Join me in the conference room and we’ll get under way.”

“Wait a second,” said Corporate Man.  “”You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

John Q Public grinned and said, “Actually, I don’t.  There’s no one on this planet that I need to explain anything to.  But, if we considered your assertion in hypothetical terms, wouldn’t a conference room be an ideal location in which to do the explaining?”

With reluctance, they walked into the black pyramid.  The corner doors sealed behind them.  It was dim except for a faint red glow emanating from several scattered console buttons.

“Set lighting.  Conference,” said John Q Public.

The office flared a brilliant, clean white though no discernable light source could be identified. 

“Through here,” said John Q Public.  He gestured to a set of heavy looking, glossy black doors with white ivory handles.

The doors opened automatically.

The room inside was black with white framed photos of blackness.  The table gleamed its own white light and black chairs huddled around it, perched on bleach white carpeting.

“Hmm.  Blatant color scheme?” said Business Woman.

John Q Public nodded and said, “Yes.  Now, please sit down and let’s discuss your future.”

“No.  How about we discuss what you did to Supply and Demand.  To Fair Wage,” said Corporate Man.

“To you,” said John Q Public.

“That’s… That’s right.  What you did to me, too.”

“Join me at the conference table and we’ll address whatever we wish.”

The Union eventually sat down.  Business Woman and Corporate Man on one side, Senior Executive and Franklin Buck on the other.  John Q Public took a seat at the head of the table.  General Apathy remained standing, towards the back wall, on John Q Public’s right.

“The future of the economy,” said John Q Public, “is fairly dismal.”

“Thanks largely to you,” said Business Woman.

“Agreed.  But now is not the time to point fingers or credit or praise.”

“Praise?  Are you nuts?” said Senior Executive.

“I assure you, I am in control of all my faculties,” said John Q Public.  “In fact, I could simply end that sentence at control.  Wait, I’m forgetting something.”

“Added nostalgia and visual drama,” said General Apathy.

“Oh yes,” John Q Public said, eyebrows lifting in allusion to some impending greatness.

An electronic strum sounded as light flared from everyone’s suits.  The flash diminished, but the seams lines on all of their clothes remained white and glowing.

“Are… Are these our old power suits?” asked Corporate Man.

“Reasonable facsimiles,” said John Q Public.

“These would have come in handy against Bear Market and The Crash,” said Business Woman.

“They aren’t functional.  Merely aesthetic for the final meeting,” John Q Public said and tossed out a wink.  “One of the reasons your clothes were stolen on the 26^th floor was so these could be made.”

“That must have cost a pretty penny,” said Franklin Buck.

John Q Public shrugged and said, “Like I said, I am in complete control.  I’m the head of this global business empire.  The U.S. division of Incorporate Business Corporate Incorporated owns a majority of everything on this planet.”

“Not for long, pal,” said Corporate Man.

“Good.  Then we’re on the same page,” said John Q Public.

The Union members threw each other confused glances.

“You see,” continued John Q Public, “I’ve grown bored.  I claimed lordship over not just this company, and not simply this country, but over the world economy at the turn of the century and it’s been far too easy ever since.  I miss the old days.  The financial crime fighting.  The excitement.  That’s why I cancelled funding for the medications that kept you comatose, Corporate Man.  That’s why I woke you up.”

Chapter 217

8.k.

The next staircase took up the entire side of the last tier of the pyramid structure.  General Apathy stood on the third step and gestured upward.

“Right this way,” he said.  “And congratulations on making it all the way to the top.”

“What’s up there?” asked Franklin Buck, his hair oddly misshapen from his recent encounter with the business end.

“Were you not paying attention?” said General Apathy.  He pointed upward, flared his eyes in a manner that could be mistaken for nothing other than outright mocking, and said, “Up there is the top.  The Big Bossman awaits.  You should probably keep him from waiting any further.  This has all gone on long enough, don’t you think?”

They walked up the stairs.

Their feet made hollow clacking noises on each step.  The sound echoed back to them sounding of crystal, soft metal, and freshly minted paper currency.  A chill air swept down as they approached the top of the rise.  Each shivered as their flesh goosed.

When the last of the Union stopped atop the platform, all sound went out of the room.  In front of them the diamond shaped pit gaped, sidewalls dropping into the floor, meeting at a center point far below.

“Okay, so now–” Business Woman started, but General Apathy held up a finger in front of his face to silence her.  His hand moved with such speed and forceful command that it actually worked.

A low bass hum shook the room.

They could feel the vibration in the cloth of their pant legs and the short hairs on the backs of their necks.  A futuristic, pneumatic, clunking hiss erupted from the great black diamond shape at the apex of the ceiling as it drifted downward at a slow, steady pace.  Eventually, it seated in the diamond shaped pit in the top of the platform.  A pleasurable sigh exhaled from the strange shape.

Nothing happened for a painfully long time.

Corporate Man glanced at Business Woman and then at Senior Executive.  Franklin Buck glanced at no one and continued to stare at the black pyramid.

A noise shattered the pregnant silence.  It sounded like a robotic samurai sword with a crystal blade being unsheathed from a dry ice.  Lines of white light split the bottom corner of the pyramid.

Then it opened.

Two doors swung away from the corner like arms opening outward, readying for an embrace.

A man stood inside the pyramid, silhouetted by the intense light behind him.  General Apathy rolled his eyes and glanced at his watch as the man walked forward.

“Welcome,” he said as the light of the room caught his features.  “I’m glad you could make it.”

“John?” said Corporate Man.

The man did not reply, but his grin widened.

“John?  Who’s John?” said Franklin Buck.

“John Q Public,” said Business Woman.  “He’s one of us.”

Corporate Man shook his head, “I… I thought you were dead.”

John Q Public, the Big Bossman, shrugged and said, “Well you never can tell.  Can you?”

Chapter 206

7.c.xv.

The Big Bossman grinned.  In front of him, on the monitor screen, The Crash continued to destroy the thirty-ninth floor. 

Strewn about him were obsidian and ivory chess pieces.  Embedded in a wall panel was a CD, the words “strategies and tactics” showing on the section of disc that remained visible.

He moved his hand to a glowing red button and fingered it with a flourish.

“Prepare for guests, General,” he said.  “They are on their way up.”

Chapter 173

6.v.

He wasn’t quite sure if he could hear the sound through the microphones of his surveillance system or if his mind simply imagined it from the reactions of all the people on his monitor screen.  It didn’t matter.  The Big Bossman had heard that sound before and understood what it meant and the utter terror it inflicted on those in the vicinity.

And he smiled.

The next part would be entertaining, he was sure.  Lots of panicked fleeing and property damage.  The inevitable loss of life; perhaps even some limbs.

Cocoa.  He needed some hot cocoa for this.  Perhaps a little nip of rum in it.  And a cookie.  Preferably shortbread.