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 216

8.j.

“This set of stairs will place us amongst the Shareholders.  Trust me when I say, though I doubt you will heed my warning, you do not want to have anything to do with these creatures,” said General Apathy.  “Move along at a quick, even pace.  Avoid getting too close to them and never make eye contact or verbalize any sort of acknowledgment of their existence or your own.”

He turned and ascended the flight of stairs.

The floor was made of gold, hand wrought and hammered flat with jeweler’s mallets.  The path was narrow, bejeweled with diamonds and sapphires, and hugged the exterior edge of the platform.  There was no guard rail.  A rusty chain-link fence separated the path from the space in which the Shareholders dwelt. 

Large canopies obscured the Shareholder enclosure, billowing with silk and breathing out exotic incense smoke with a undercurrent of tangy body odor.

As they walked along the narrow path the Union caught glimpses of movement in the flowing silks.  Shadowed forms that stalked the periphery.

When they neared the first corner of the pyramid structure General Apathy paused and then whispered, “On this side there is a gap in the protective fence.  This is where the Shareholders entertain the occasional, albeit very rare, visitor.  Again, eye contact is to be avoided, and stay as close to the edge of the path as you can manage.”

He turned.

And they continued their walk.

The rusty chain-link fence ended after a handful of steps and the silken canopy retreated into Shareholder territory revealing a satin-pillowed landscape.  Clusters of low, lustrous tables pocked the terrain.  Tawdry financial magazines spread themselves like dirty fans across their surfaces.

There were creatures gathered around the tables.

The faces of these things were nondescript and vacant.  Their mouths hung agape; constantly salivating.  They wore expensive, tailored suits which were pressed and immaculate.  Except for the chest.  Here the suits were pulled open, revealing bare flesh.  I looked as if a cavernous wound had punctured the center of their naked torso and, left untreated, the cavity had healed into something dented and grotesque.  Thick lines of scar tissue radiated from each wound which left their chests looking like giant, puckered assholes.

One of the Shareholder creatures stood at a table near the path, mouth breathing and swaying like a praying mantis.  As the Union approached he swiveled toward them in a slow, fluid movement.  The pucker scar in the center of his chest twitched in quivering spasms, like the ass of a dog about to shit.

The path widened into an oval at the center of the fence gap.  The Union instinctively hugged the exterior edge of the platform.

Franklin Buck glanced at the Shareholder. 

The thing jerked into a crouch and flashed his teeth with a succession of quick, shuddering tugs of its upper lip.  Franklin Buck flinched away, nearly topping from the platform edge.  He overcorrected and veered toward the low set tables in a spastic stumble.  When he caught his balance, he was less than five feet from the Shareholder, stuck in a crouching position.

There was a sound, like the inhalation of breath, almost like a lizard hiss.

The Shareholder sprang forward.  Franklin Buck tried to run but was quickly overtaken.  The Shareholder’s grappling arms wrestled Franklin back down to his knees.  Then it moved in, pulling Franklin Buck toward its chest.  The puckered scar opened and the One Hundred Dollar Man’s head disappeared into the pulsing chest-butthole.

“Back!  Back!” General Apathy shouted.  He smacked at the Shareholder’s face with a rolled up financial magazine and tugged at Franklin Buck’s suit collar.  The Shareholder fought to maintain its grip and received another battery of disciplinary smacks.

There was a wet sucking sound, like the one that accompanies the loss of an expensive shoe in an unexpected patch of mud, and Franklin Buck’s head came free of the life draining orifice.  General Apathy gave the Shareholder another solid whack and then dragged the One Hundred Dollar Man back to the path.

The Shareholder strode to one of the low lying tables and sulked on satin pillows.

Book Two Photo Challenge

Book Two of The Tragic Death of Corporate Man is available in print form (here https://www.createspace.com/4148636 to precise) and, like Book One (here https://www.createspace.com/3903289 if you somehow don't own a copy yet), I will be posting Satisfied Customer photos of those fortunate enough to own either of these (though both is best) books.  

This time, I am issuing a challenge.  Produce something incredible, a picture worth a thousand words, and to the most worthy image goes an unbelievably wonderful prize.  Be creative.  Everything will be taken into account.  Unusual or apt settings, implausible poses or extreme circumstance (though I will not be held responsible for injuries obtained during attempts of corporate intensity), well composed and lit, or just out and out strange.  The only real requirement is that the Corporate Man book (One or Two or both) must appear in the photo.  No Photoshop please.  Unless its really cool Photoshop.  An automatic win of a secondary prize for anyone sneaking a copy of Corporate Man onto the floor of the New York Stock Exchange and capturing an pic.

Below are a couple of the more impressive photos from Book One.

 

First Prize: A copy of THESE ODD MORSELS.  My forthcoming book of short stories.

Special NYSE Prize: Shhh.  It's a surprise.

E-mail corporatesuperhero@gmail.com to submit or to inquire for further details.

Chapter 215

8.i.

The second level of the pyramid structure was significantly narrower than the first.  The path hugged the inner wall and a rich velvet rope separated the walkway from the remaining space.  In that remaining space, standing like androids, were rows and rows of men and women in expensive business attire.  Next to each man and woman was a small wheeled cart.  It held various electronic equipment and was laden with dials and blinking lights.  Wires sprouted from these portable diagnostic machines and connected with the men and women somewhere around back.

“These are the most advanced, state of the art, high level CEOs in existence,” said General Apathy.  “The rope is for your protection.  Do not cross it, please.”

“Why?” asked Franklin Buck.  “What happens?”

General Apathy sighed and said, “Yes.  It’d be too much to ask you to just take my word on the subject.  If you cross over, the CEOs will take that as an invitation to approach and sell you something.  They will sell you until your ears bleed.  Literally.”

Franklin grimaced.  An echo of his facial expression appeared upon the faces of his economically powered companions as well.

There was a strange hum that resonated from the CEOs.  Sort of like a beehive, a dentist drill, and a live microphone all luxuriating in a post coital spoon.

When they rounded the corner of the pyramid they were startled by a freestanding CEO.  He was milling around by the velvet rope, almost halfway down the length of the path.

“Apparently we have a malfunctioning unit,” said General Apathy.  “It would be best if you avoided eye contact and simply ignored him.”

As they approached, the CEO unit looked up and appeared pleasantly surprised.  He said, “Hey.  Any of you guys from the Mind Hive?”

Senior Executive’s jaw flexed.  He stopped walking, but remained just out of the CEO’s reach.

“Oh, well don’t listen to me or anything, Junior,” said General Apathy, not turning back.  “I wouldn’t know anything.  Better to dismiss what I say.”

“Don’t sweat it.  I’ve got this one,” said Business Woman.  She slapped the CEO across the face.

“Care about the company and the company will take care of you,” the CEO said, his face flinching from a nervous eye tick.

“Try it.  You’ll feel better,” said Business Woman.

Senior Executive slapped the CEO.

“Listen.  I’ve got an idea that’s basically a license to print money,” the CEO said, leaning forward, whispering in a rushed hush.  “Do you own a clinic?”

Senior Executive’s brow furrowed.  “What?”

“A clinic, man.  A place to treat sick people.”

“No.”

“Well… get one.  Then here’s what you do.  Start running prostitutes as a side business.  Encourage unprotected sex to boost business for the clinic.  You with me so far?” the CEO said.

“You’re sick,” said Senior Executive.  He turned to walk away and the CEO grabbed his arm.

“Don’t!  You’ll be walking away from a fortune,” said the CEO. 

Senior Executive yanked his arm free and said, “What?  Treating STDs.  The people frequenting your prostitutes won’t be from the same area so your clinic wouldn’t see the benefit.”

“You’re missing the point,” said the CEO. “You develop a strain of herpes which has as its primary side effect, nymphomania.  Inject this super-herpes into your prostitutes.  This has a two fold effect.  It increases the frequency of the visits from your customers and spreads the disease much quicker.  Then, having synthesized a treatment for your super-herpes, your clinic will be the only one armed with the necessary medications for the affliction.  You patent the new herpes gene and start charging fees to all those people whose body it infects.  If they don’t pay, you sue them for patent infringement, especially if they transmit it to someone else.”

A look of further disgust came over Senior Executive.

“Interesting,” said General Apathy.  He tilted his head towards the militaryesque decorations on his chest.  “Cancel tech squad order for CEO 5318008.  Unit operations appear stable, possibly at peak.  Prepare a field kit and place according to need.  Recommendations include medical field and/or sex trade.”

He turned, glanced at the Union, nodded, and they continued their journey.

Chapter 214

8.h.

They moved across the carpeted runner, almost reverently, making their way along the perimeter.  At the end of the walkway was a staircase that would take them up to the second level.

The featured of the executives gradually took on a more porcine appearance.  Upturned noses and sweaty, slappy skin.  The frequency of obesity and abundance of refuse collecting in office-sized wastebaskets was on the rise as well.

As they neared the stairs a group of portly men hovering around a snack filled table caught Corporate Man’s attention.

“So I drafted a report for all the major banks urging them to charge heavy service fees for cashing checks, even their own checks, from anyone who didn’t maintain an account with their establishment,” said a very generously proportioned man with quivering jowls, extra chins, and a piggish nose.

“Wait.  Aren’t banks the place you’re supposed to go to cash your checks?” asked a smaller, but still body-mass-endowed man, his brow glistening with triglycerides.

“What?  For Free?” asked the bejowled man.  “Next you’ll be telling me that the banks should make change for people without getting some kind of cut.”

“Well of course,” said the small but body-mass-endowed man.  “They’re banks.  Isn’t that where the expression comes from?”

“What expression?”

“You know.  What do you think I am?  A bank?”

The bejowled man shook his head, scowled fiercely, and said, “They’ve got to pay those tellers that are making all that change and cashing all those checks.  Where do you think that money comes from?”

“Doesn’t all that interest they collect on loans pay for all that?”

“Look asshole, that money goes to the executives and the shareholders.  What makes you think–  Wait… Wait… You’re fucking with me, right?”

The small but body-mass endowed man grinned.

“Oh man.  Good one!” said the bejowled man.

The rest of the gathered portly all broke into fits of raucous laughter.

“You know what?” said Corporate Man.  “You greedy bastards need a good ass kicking.”

He left the carpet and marched over to the table of grease-sweating tycoons.  He poked one in the chest, his finger sinking deeper into the swollen flesh than he thought it would.

“Where do you want it?” Corporate Man said.

The bejowled man rubbed at his chest, his face a swollen mix of offense and utter confusion. 

“Where do I want what?” he said.

General Apathy set his hand on Corporate Man’s shoulder and said, “The bottles of champagne and the whale blubber hors d'oeuvres.  My friend here has been inspired by your… accumulation and wishes to send along his compliments.”

“Oh,” said the bejowled man.  “Thanks for the recognition.  Just have it brought to the table.”

General Apathy nodded and gently escorted Corporate Man back to the carpet and to the next set of stairs where the rest of the Union awaited him.

“How gallant,” said General Apathy.  “How pointless and futile.  I do recommend that you curb your antics and remember where you are.  Violent confrontation is nearly non existent on the fifty-second floor and I doubt those on the upper levels will tolerate such an attack.  Especially the shareholders on level three.  Do we understand one another?”

He looked at Corporate Man.  Corporate Man looked away, hissed out a breath, and then inhaled, deep and slow.

“Great,” said General Apathy.  “Please follow me.”

They ascended the next flight of steps.

Chapter 213

8.g.

The first level of the pyramid structure was wide and flat.  A stubby guard rail ran along its edges, the chief function of which was to keep the furniture, various desks and tables, from toppling over the side.  The floor was highly polished wood and a carpet runner divided the space unequally leaving twice the width toward the center as the area nearer the edge.

General Apathy led them down the carpeted path.  He gestured half heartedly at the executives who sat comfortably behind their desks or gathered around tables, and said, “The aforementioned financial advisors and corporate strategists.  Please do not pet or feed the animals.”

As they walked along the path, snatches of conversations drifted in the Union’s direction.  Corporate Man paused.

“Look,” a man at a desk said into a chrome plated phone, “it’s a surefire way to increase sales.  Yeah.  Change your label.  Go with something simple.  Lose the serifs on your font and do away with anything ornate.  Customers are having a rough go out there and an expensive looking label with just make them think you’re flaunting your wealth in their face.  No it’s true.  Focus groups have proven it.  I understand that you’ve had the same label for decades and that it’s considered iconic, but that’s going to work against you now.  Customers will see the new label and know that you gave someone a job.  You sacrificed your iconic branding to do this.  Yes.  Yes, exactly.  No, you’re the first I’m sharing this with.  Exactly.  Alright.”

He hung up the phone, consulted a list on a chrome clipboard, and crossed off an entry on the fourth page with a chrome pen.  He dialed a number from the next line down and after a moment he said, “Dick!  How’s it hanging?  Yeah, I’ll bet. Listen, I’ve got a line on something big.  It’ll boost sales through the roof.  Yep.  No, it’s simple.  Change your label.”

“Corporate Man,” General Apathy said.  “Please.  Let’s not delay too much, shall we.  No need to steal industry secrets or anything.  All will be available soon.”

They continued along the path.

More conversations wafted past them like rancid gas.

“…thinking?  I told you–  No.  No!  That whole ‘I can help you’ line is tired.  Everyone is using it now. Same with the ‘is there anything else I can help you with?’ closing.  From here forward…”

 “…the next level.  It’s time to add a big screen television on the sales floor to broadcast the game.  Everyone’s wearing paraphernalia of the local team, the TV deepens your commitment in the customer’s eyes and they will shop longer because they’ll want to…”

“…solely black and white.  No color unless it’s on a tie.  Clean and clinical, that’s what we’re going for.  Yes.  Yes.  I understand there’s an element of fashion to your industry, but try to think of your employees as displays upon which the fashionable eyewear is to…”

They turned the corner and walked down the next side of the pyramid.  There was more milling around in this area.  More tables, less desks.  Executives grouped around each other like gossiping teenagers.

Near the guard rail, each indulging in fantastically small cups of Turkish coffee, were two executives.  One said, “I told him, listen, outsourcing is good for America.  We save a ton of money by sending jobs to foreign countries.  This helps build up those country’s economies, right?  Then, down the line, when those countries have amassed a measure of wealth, they’ll want to cut some corners, save some cash, and they’ll outsource a bunch of crappy jobs that no one living there wants anymore.  And who do you think they’ll try first?  Us, I say.  So really, outsourcing is a way of creating jobs for Americans.  It’s an investment in our future.”

Corporate Man stopped again. 

The callous, shortsighted greediness.  He was about to step off the carpet and approach the two executives with his slapping hand when he felt a light touch on his wrist.

It was General Apathy.

“And what good would that do?  What would you accomplish?” the General asked.

Corporate Man opened his mouth, ready to fire off a string of benefits that his actions might bring about. 

Be he could think of nothing.

So they moved on.

Chapter 212

8.f.

The Union decided to accept the offer of new clothes.  General Apathy spoke a command toward the decorations on his uniform and a few moments later a small staff appeared with a rack of clothes and privacy screens.  The suits on the rack were crisp clean replicas of the overworked clothing each member of the Union currently employed.

When the rack was wheeled away, three suits, two of purple and mauve, one of brown, still hung from it, swaying slow and melancholy.

They stood, facing the General.  An awkward silence hovering about them.

“Shall we?” said General Apathy after a painfully long time.

“What?  Go to the meeting?” said Corporate Man.

“Exactly.  I’m sure the Big Bossman is eager to get things started.”

“Who’s this Big Bossman?” asked Business Woman.

General Apathy gestured toward the black diamond shape at the apex of the building and said, “Why the head of the company, of course.  The man in charge of it all.  Let’s not keep him waiting.”

The General turned abruptly and strolled toward the center of the fifty-second floor and the odd tiered pyramid that stood there.  The Union followed, though with noticeable reluctance.  When they were halfway across the floor, the General tossed a look over his shoulder.

“Junior.  You’ve been quiet this whole time,” he said.

“It’s Senior Executive now.  And eat shit.”

“Hmm.  What a remarkable financial recovery.  Congratulations.  As to you latter comment, I think I will politely decline,” said General Apathy.  A moment later her cast another look back and added, “Do you think I could still call you Junior, just for old time’s sake?”

The resulting glare from Senior Executive bought a wry grin from the General.  They continued the trek across the floor in silence and when they reached the base of the pyramid structure they halted at the bottom of a set of stairs.

The pyramid stood four stories high.

“Those steps will take us up to the first level,” said General Apathy.  “A mix of top level financial advisors and corporate strategists are seated there.  Please do not interrupt their work or encourage them in any way.  It will only delay us.”

He turned, without much conviction, and walked up the steps.

Corporate Man and the rest of the Union began to follow.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said General Apathy, turning back.  “Commander Credit.  You’re dismissed.  Have some diagnostics–”

“Wait a second.  What are you–” Senior Executive started.

General Apathy held up his hand and silenced him.  “Did you think the Commander was your ally?”

“He doesn’t work for you,” Senior Executive shouted.

“Not exclusively, no,” General Apathy said.  “Technically he’s a freelance agent, but who do you think pays the majority of his salary?  Which agency was responsible for all of his repairs and upgrades?”

Senior Executive shot a look at Commander Credit.  The Commander shrugged.  Senior Executive reddened and started to shake.

“Why was he helping us then?” asked Corporate Man.  “The Crash is your operative.  He’d never–”

“What?  Work for those who employ The Crash?”  General Apathy asked.  “Think of it as a squabble between employees.  Something that’s been escalating for a decade or two.”

“I took the job to get another crack at the bastard who took my arm.”

“Yeah.  You did a bang up job getting your revenge,” said Franklin Buck.

“Beaten into unconsciousness.  That’s quite the comeback,” Business Woman said.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Commander Credit.  “My contract with Senior Executive ended on the twenty-sixth floor.  Check the paperwork.  I stuck with you because I knew what lay in wait on floor thirty-nine.  Now…  Now I’m done.”

Commander Credit walked off, strolling leisurely across the open floor.  A team of tech boys appeared with diagnostic machines on wheeled carts and began attending him.

“Ah… Such a tricky, dangerous thing to manage that Commander Credit,” said General Apathy.  “Oh well.  Shall we?”

He turned and strode up the stairs.

Chapter 211

8.e.

The inner tube beneath Corporate Man shifted and his feet failed to find adequate purchase for the attacking leap he had intended.  Instead, his arms flailed and his torso twisted in a manner that was far from heroic.  His attempt to engage his necktie came a moment too late and he sputtered against the wall, pathetic, clumsy, and eventually submerged.

“I told you,” said the man in black.  “I said, ‘Just wait and it would be a less awkward exit.’  For those of you still on your tubes I would urge you to look to Corporate Man as an example of the forewarned awkwardness.”

Corporate Man climbed back onto his inner tube and they waited for the water to finish filling the elevator shaft.

After forty seconds, or so, Franklin Buck asked, “Apathy?  As in Captain Apathy?  My father mentioned him.”

“Yes.  But as some of you may recall.  I was promoted.  I’m a General,” said General Apathy.  “How is your father these days, Franklin?”

Franklin Buck’s face darkened and his jaw flexed.  “You know exactly what happened to my father,” he said.

General Apathy shrugged.  “Quite true.  More than you’d want to know I’d wager.  But you exacted your revenge.  Hopefully that takes some of the sting out of it.”

“What do you mean?  What revenge?”

“Your performance on the thirteenth floor.  The way you man-handled Professor Inflation.  Quite poetic.  Fit for a Hollywood movie,” said General Apathy.  When Franklin Buck looked away without responding, General Apathy continued, “You mean you didn’t know?  That’s rich.  And here I get to be the bearer of such wonderful news.  Consider your father avenged, One Hundred Dollar Man.”

The water level finally reached a point where the Union could climb out of the pool without much effort.

“And I see you’ve reclaimed his gold standard,” General Apathy said as Franklin Buck pulled himself from the water.  “It would seem as though all wrongs done you have been righted.  As for the rest of you, would you like to continue on in wet clothes or would you prefer a quick dry off?  We can even have new suits here within the quarter hour.”

The Union stood staring at General Apathy, filtered, geothermally-heated glacier water dripping from their torn suits.

“So…” said Corporate Man.  “Are we gonna do this?”

General Apathy’s face took on a confused but bemused expression.

“Do what?” he said.  “Choose from the options I mentioned?”

“No.”

“Then please explain.”

“Well, fight, I guess,” said Corporate Man.  “You know… Attack each other.  Battle to the death.  That stuff.”

“Why?” asked General Apathy.

“Why what?” Corporate Man said.

“Why battle to the death?” said General Apathy.

“Well, isn’t that… I mean, I…” Corporate Man said.  “It’s kind of how this whole place has worked so far.”

“Nonsense,” General Apathy said, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.  “Who have you killed?  Who’s dead?”

“How about Fair Wage?  Supply and Demand?” said Business Woman.

“Unfortunate things occur during conflict, but the point of each exercise was not death,” said General Apathy.

Corporate Man cocked his head, narrowed his eyes, and said, “Are you saying that, after everything we’ve been through, all we’ve overcome, we’re not going to fight?”

“Precisely,” said General Apathy.  “This floor is the executive suite for the entire company.  You’ve made it to the top.  And here at International Business Corporation Incorporated we don’t fight.  We aren’t savages.”

“Then what do we do?” asked Business Woman.

“We have a meeting, of course.”

“That’s it?  We have meeting?” said Corporate Man.

“I believe my prior statement should have confirmed that,” said General Apathy.

“After all you put us through?” said Senior Executive.

“Oh, I’m sorry, but I don’t recall inviting you up to the office.  You came of your own accord and if you encountered difficulties during your trespass I do apologize.”

“So there’s no else waiting to attack us?  Mr. Unemployment isn’t going to crawl out from a floor panel when we least expect it?” said Corporate Man.

“I should think not,” said General Apathy.  “I wish I could accommodate your request but, like I said, we don’t operate in that manner on the top floor.  And besides, Mr. Unemployment is a little busy right now don’t you think?  I doubt we could get him here if we wanted to.”

Chapter 210

8.d.

A word on the fifty-second floor.  It is massive.  Nearly as tall as thirteen stories its single room comprises the entire width of the Jacob Center Tower building.  In one corner is a small pool which acts as an elevator.  In the opposite corner is another set of paneled doors which open into the floor.

That set of doors is only opened on very special occasions.

In the center of the fifty-second floor there is a tiered pyramid.  Each tier houses desks or conference tables and is populated by a variety of high level executives; the upper echelon of their fields.  In order to ascend from one tier to the next, one must walk a circuit around the entire level’s perimeter to the next set of ascending stairs.  Getting to the top can be a tedious process. 

The top of this pyramid is a flat area with a pyramid-shaped pit in the center.  The reason for this pit hangs at the apex of the fifty-second floor.  Suspended at the very pinnacle of the Jacob Center Tower is a diamond shaped structure; two four-sided pyramids arranged base to base.

This diamond shape is usually obsidian black, but it’s constructed of a material that will shift to crystalline clear at the touch of a blinking red button somewhere inside.

But it’s almost always black.

Chapter 209

8.c.

“No you wouldn’t believe the things that exist in the bowels of this building,” Franklin Buck said as they slowly drifted up the elevator shaft on glacial blue water.  “There’s a weightless room, big as football field, teaming with schools of Middle Men.  I only survived cause this weird Siamese twin named Profit/Loss was in a positive mood and–”

“Was this after you escaped the boudoir of the provocative Pink Slip?” asked Commander Credit.  A wry smile curling on his swollen lips.

“Hey, shut up about her.  She had some sort of… power.”

“I’ll bet she did?” said Senior Executive.

“That’s called business acumen,” said Corporate Man.

“Quit!  Anyway, it doesn’t matter.  She fired me.  After that I found myself in a colony of mindless children.  They’re forced to watch television ads all day long.  Poor things walk around with this glazed look in their eyes and their mouths hanging open.  The whole place is run by Baron Advertisement and The Duke of Marketing.  Well, these bastards sent a whole legion of these kids after me, controlling them like drones using simple visual cues and jingling tones.  They had me surrounded.”

“How’d you get out of that one?” Senior Executive asked.

“I just started punching them.  They’re kids, you know, and kids hate getting punched.”

Business Woman shook her head and glared.

“What?  What would you’ve done?” said Franklin Buck.

“Well, for starters, I wouldn’t–”

 A hissing noise, followed by a metallic clunk, silenced the conversation.

They remained adrift on their float tubes.  Each scanning the walls for a set of doors, but finding none.  Then a seam opened in the ceiling and bright beam of light cut across the water.  Two panels slid open above them, whisper quiet.

“This could get nasty,” Corporate Man hissed.  “Be ready.”

They continued to float up to the edge of the shaft.  The bright light stung their eyes and prevented them from seeing much of anything.  A soft clicking, faint at first, grew steadily as they rose.  Then, through the haze of the blinding light, a black form emerged.  A man.  He had pale skin and dark rings under his eyes.  His hair was jet black, cropped short, and had a round shape. 

As he approached they saw more of him.  He dressed entirely in black.  His attire looked like that of a military officer by way of goth obsessed designers.  The stripes, insignias, and pinned on pendants were all black as well.

The man yawned and then polished his trim, black fingernails against his chest.  He continued to stand there as they floated up toward him.  Finally he said, in a low, disinterested voice, “That’s the problem with this pool elevator.  It saps all the drama out of an otherwise intimidating entrance.”

Corporate Man shifted on his inner tube.  There was no effective defensive position, bobbing in a small pool as they were.

“Please,” said the man in black.  “Just wait for the water to rise.  It’ll be much easier and less awkward in the end.”

“Wait.  I know you,” said Senior Executive.

“Indeed,” said the man in black.  “And I welcome you back into the fold.  Junior.”

“Apathy!” Corporate Man shouted and leapt from his inner tube.

Chapter 208

8.b.

It’s been long suspected by the poor that the super rich live for extravagance.  This is mostly true.  And in the cases where it proves false, those in the super rich majority believe that this financially humble minority suffer from an acute mental disorder of one variety or another.

In the case of the elevator connecting the thirty-ninth floor of the Jacob Center Tower to the fifty-second floor the theory upheld by the poor proves true.  Instead of a common elevator, or even a decadent lift, executives ride on float tubes made of walrus hide.  Why walrus?  The mere whim of whichever big wig initially decided on float tubes.  And the float tubes?  Also flights of fancy.  A high powered CEO had lunch with a childhood friend, remembered times spent floating around on a lake, then proposed a pool-elevator design based on his noontime nostalgia.

The water in the pool is imported glacial run off, heated by a geothermal spring, filtered and piped across two states into this single chamber.

Chapter 207

The Tragic Death of Corporate Man

a hero for capitalism;

champion of the working class

by Tom Landaluce

Section 8:

Office of the Pyramid.

8.a.

“What the hell is this?” said Franklin Buck gesturing to a pool of water where the elevator should have been.  Nothing about the elevator shaft seemed quite right now that he looked at it closely.  It was too well lit and gleaming white.  Small circular lights squatted against the sidewalls and dashed an intermittent line all the way up the shaft and down below the water’s surface.  The water was a questionable glowing blue and smelled like lemons with only the faintest trace of chlorine.

“Looks like water,” said Business Woman.

“I can see that,” said Franklin Buck.

“There’s a cabinet full of inflatable inner tubes out here in the hall,” said Senior Executive as he joined them in the peculiar shaft.

“So… what?  We’re supposed to relax?  Take a cigarette break?  Go for a dip?” Franklin Buck said, his hand gestures becoming a little more pronounced.

“Don’t know about you, but I could use a soak,” said Business Woman.

“Are you serious?”

She said nothing and walked out into the hall to fetch an inner tube.  When she returned she pressed a button on the side of the device, and it self inflated.  She tossed it into the water, jumped in, and then pulled herself up onto it and floated.  A large grin spread across her face and a dark red stain spread across the water.

“This is crazy,” said Franklin Buck.

“Ah.  See now that there is what I missed you Franklin.  You were the voice of… well not reason, but whatever.  I don’t care why this pool is here, but here it is and I got blood, and who knows what else, all over me and I’d just as soon have it washed off since a good deal of it belonged to a colleague of mine.”

Franklin Buck bit his lip and looked down.  Then he walked out of the elevator room, retrieved an inner tube from the conveniently placed cabinet, and joined Business Woman in the pool.

Corporate Man, Senior Executive, and a wobbly Commander Credit did the same.

They floated in the blood darkened pool, each pretending not to notice the fabric scraps and fleshy bits that sank slowly and disappeared into the depths.  A gentle tone sounded and a pleasant robotic voice said, “Contaminants detected.  Please pardon the audio inconvenience as the water is refreshed.”

A low whir, apparently the extent of the audio inconvenience, preceded a slight agitation in the pool.  After a minute or so the water was a sparkling blue once more.

“So, Franklin,” said Business Woman.  “Where the hell did you go anyway?”

Franklin Buck rolled his eyes and said, “Down.”

“Down?  Would you care to elaborate?”

Franklin outlined his strange journey and had just recounted his bungled negotiations with the genetically altered Fat Cat when he noticed a button on the wall nearby.  He paddled over to it and, after a moment, he said, “There’s an arrow on this button that points up.  Do you think, maybe…”

“Maybe this is an elevator after all.  Push it,” said Corporate Man.

Franklin Buck pressed the button. There was a hissing thunk as the elevator doors closed and a stampede of bubbles floated up from the depths.  Then the water level began to rise.

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 205

7.c.xiv.

Bear Market’s body swelled like an overstuffed tick.  Supply’s head, and most of her upper arms, jutted above the trench wall.  Her body, still in the shaft below, was squeezed unnaturally in the narrow corridor.

“Demand!  You’ve got to help her!  You have to increase.  You have to grow!” Business Woman shouted.  Her hands gripped and gouged at Bear Market’s lips.  She yanked, trying to unclench his teeth and jaws.

“Do it Demand!  Now or else–”

Bear Market exploded.

A burst of blood geysered from Supply’s neck.  The initial crimson shock wave hit The Crash, spilling it into the trench.  The Crash dropped Franklin Buck as it tried to grasp the trench wall, but its hands slipped, unable to grip for all the blood.

Pieces of Bear Market rained down onto the maze and into the labyrinth; fluttering flaps of skin and chunks of matted hair-fur.  His jaw, still lodged in Supply’s neck, the source of a scarlet fountain.  Supply writhed and twisted and slowly shrank into the depths of the trench.

Business Woman lay strewn across a wall, gasping for breath, clinging to the unexpected perch.

“Help Franklin Buck,” Corporate Man shouted as he dropped down from above, necktie-cape fluttering behind him, landing near Business Woman.  He was coated with a fine spray of red mist and a shrapneling of bear meat.

“I’ve got you,” Corporate Man said, clutching her wrist.  “Can you stand?”

Business Woman nodded and, with his help, she regained her feet.  Across the maze Senior Executive helped Franklin Buck find his footing.  Then both men lifted Commander Credit, supporting him on their shoulders.

“We’re making for the exit,” Senior Executive called out.  “Where are Supply and Demand?”

Corporate Man looked into the trench.  Supply lay there, deflated and still.  Face down in her own blood.  He shook his head.

“What about Demand?  He could still be alive,” said Business Woman.

“I doubt it.  You can’t have one without the other.  I could head down there and take a–”

A roar shook the arena and then everything started to quake.  The Crash rumbled through the trenches, swinging its huge arms, breaking walls, toppling whole sections of the maze into the dark spaces of the labyrinth.

“Run!” Corporate Man yelled.

They dashed across the maze, turning haphazardly at intersections, choosing a course that took them away from The Crash’s rampage, but in the general direction of the stage. 

The labyrinth was fast becoming a pile of rubble.

The pathway veered twice and put them on an intersecting path with the destroyer below.

“We have to turn back,” Corporate Man said.

“No.  I think this well lead us out,” said Business Woman.

“It’s gonna lead us out of this life.”

“Trust me.  This is the way.”

The maze banked again putting The Crash on their right instead of directly ahead.

“See.  We’ll be alright,” said Business Woman. 

The Crash swerved toward them.  Debris, papers, shattered wall, and mangled body parts rose about the giant like a dust devil.  It exploded through the maze wall that Corporate Man and Business Woman were running along leaving an expansive gap in their path.

“Hang on!” Corporate Man called out as they reached the edge. He grabbed Business Woman around the waist and jumped.  His necktie unfurled behind him and they dropped down onto the ledge on the far side of the Crash created chasm.  They raced down the walkway, huge television monitors fell from the ceiling and shattered all around them.  Amidst a shower of broken glass and ruined diodes they made it to the stage area.

Senior Executive, Franklin Buck, and a very groggy Commander Credit awaited them.

“The elevator’s this way,” said Senior Executive.

They ran to the exit door and out into a hallway.  Behind them The Crash continued its ruinous assault on the stock market floor.

Chapter 204

7.c.xiii.

The portfolio shield emanating from the smart phone crackled and hissed as The Crash pushed against it.  Senior Executive was losing ground.  The force of the financial disaster’s onslaught pushed him back toward the end of the pathway; the edge of the ledge.

Corporate Man signaled, gesturing toward the drop off, indicating that they should leap to the side where the path-maze forked at a T-shaped junction and that this action would result in the blinded Crash falling into the trench.

It didn’t work.

Somehow The Crash knew, as if the shape of the maze was a part of it and the thing turned when the two men made their leap, as though it could see them.

“We’ve got a problem,” said Corporate Man.

“I see that.  How can it anticipate the shape of the maze?” said Senior Executive.

“That’s not what I meant,” Corporate Man said, shifting Commander Credit’s body onto one shoulder.  “I think we chose the wrong path back there.  This lane dead ends in another hundred feet.”

The Crash surged forward, spurred on by Corporate Man’s words.  Sparks erupted from the smart phone shield.

“It’s reaching Depression levels,” shouted Corporate Man.  “You got any tricks left?”

“Not many.  We may have to sacrifice Credit,” said Senior Executive, straining to hold his position on the shield as blue sparks rocketed past his face.

“That’s not an option,” Corporate Man said.  His foot teetered on the drop off.  The Crash continued to push.  Senior Executive skidded backwards and into Corporate Man and they nearly toppled.

“Enough!” a voice rang out. 

The Crash hesitated, lifting its head in an effort to locate the voice.

A flash of gold and silver streaked over Corporate Man’s head and a silvery flash exploded at The Crash’s temple.  The giant stumbled back and a golden explosion burst under its chin sending it sprawling across the top of the ledge.

Franklin Buck stood atop the maze.  His fists glowing.  One gold and one silver.  He glanced back at Corporate Man and Senior Executive, cocked a smile, and then advanced on The Crash.

“I’m here, you monster.  I’m Franklin Buck, the One Hundred Dollar Man and I wield the power of the Gold and Silver Standards.”

The Crash twisted onto its feet and charged, howling, milky eyes wild.  Franklin crouched and rammed a silver punch up into The Crash’s groin.  Then he jumped and delivered a golden hammer blow, knocking The Crash backward.  A flurry of alternating punches, silver gold, silver gold, fired like pistons into the staggering behemoth.  Gold across its massive jaw, then silver to the sternum.  Gold snapping the bridge of its nose.

The Crash dropped to its knees and Franklin chopped, silver and gold, on the sides of its neck.  He reached back for one final golden blow and punched with all his might.  With all the Gold Standard could bear.

His fist slammed into The Crash’s open palm.

The Crash growled, its hand clamped around Franklin’s golden fist like a bear trap.  Franklin screamed as The Crash stood.  It hoisted him off the ground.  Golden light flared between the monster’s fingers.

Chapter 203

7.c.xii.

They raced through the corridors, Bear Market snarling and gnashing at their backs.  Business Woman was in the rear.  She could feel the damp heat of sure death on her ankles as she ran.

“Which way?” Supply shouted as they approached a divergence in the trench labyrinth.

“I don’t know,” said Business Woman.  “Just go.  Go!  GO!”

They turned right and kept running.  Bear Market slammed into the corridor wall as his intended prey swept around the corner, but he was at Business Woman’s back again within a couple of strides. 

“If we turn into a dead end we’ll encounter the literal meaning of that term,” said Demand.

Jaws snapped and snagged the back of Business Woman’s suit jacket.  Bear Market jerked his head, tearing the dark blue fabric and disrupting her stride.  She stumbled, then slammed into the floor and slid.  Her speed carried her into an intersection of corridors.  Supply and Demand turned left.  Business Woman scrambled, redirected her momentum, and launched herself to the right.  Bear Market’s teeth snapped on the empty air she’d occupied only seconds before.  She yanked her jacket off, backed further into the corridor, and shook it like a matador.

Bear Market charged.

He was almost upon her when Business Woman jerked the jacket to the left and pivoted to allow the beast passage.  Bear Market, anticipating the feint, bit toward the right.  His jaws clamped down on empty air again as Business Woman leapt upward, slammed her palms onto Bear Market’s head, used it as a spring board, and vaulted over the charging ursine body.  As soon as her feet touched the ground she streaked down the passageway after Supply and Demand.

She found her companions less than one hundred yards later.

At a dead end.

“We’re dead,” said Demand.

“No,” Business Woman said.

“We.  Are.  Dead,” said Demand, turning toward her.

“We can beat this thing,” said Business Woman.

“How?” asked Supply.

A roar echoed off the walls.  Bear Market slowly crept around the corner and into view.

“Increase Supply on all necessary commodities,” said Business Woman.

“That won’t deter Bear Market,” Supply said.

“Just do it!” Business Woman shouted.  Immediately, Supply started growing.  “When prices plummet we’ll buy up everything, reverse it, and increase demand.  I can then–”

She froze.

“My PDA’s gone,” Business Woman said, rifling through her jacket.  “It must have dropped–”

Bear Market slammed into them.  A clawed, paw-shaped hand knocked Demand against the side wall.  Blood flowed into the fabric of his purple jacket along four slashing lines.  Bear Market’s other arm pinned Supply against the wall as he snapped his jagged mouth at Business Woman.  She dodged the gnashing teeth, but, without hesitation, Bear Market jerked toward Supply and clamped down on her neck.

There was a sound that occurred during this moment.  It wasn’t a terrified scream, like that of trapped prey or horror movie unfortunates.  It was muffled, slightly gurgled, and similar to the noise a person makes after eating something distasteful or hot but finds they are unable to spit it out.

This sound came from Bear Market.

Supply was swelling. 

Terrified and panicking, she was unable to think of anything other than my-god-a-huge-man-bear-is-killing-me.  As her mass increased, so did the amount of blood in her system.  Blood that Bear Market was feasting on. Blood that was gushing down his throat.

And he couldn’t let go.

His teeth were buried in her neck flesh, which was expanding and bloating.  Bear Market’s back hunched.  He thrashed, struggling to get free.  His violent movements furthered Supply’s panic and her size doubled in seconds.  Bear Market puffed up like a mosquito trapped in a camper’s arm.

“Supply!  Calm down!” Demand shouted, his hand clutching the bleeding gashes on his side.  But his shouts grew softer as his body shriveled and diminished.  A moment later Supply’s body filled the trench.  Demand was the size of rat.

Business Woman leapt onto Supply’s knee and climbed up to her shoulder.  She grabbed Bear Market’s jaw and wrenched it, but nothing happened.  Panic flashed in Bear Market’s eyes and she redoubled her efforts, tugging and prying and pounding on his snout.

Chapter 202

7.c.xi.

The Crash pulled itself upward, its head and back still dangling over the trench, legs tightening around the limp form of Commander Credit.  After it maneuvered itself onto the ledge and sat up, The Crash pulled the little man from between its legs and stood, leaning on its hand for balance; its hand leaning on Commander Credit for emphasis.

The hulking behemoth growled and picked up the limp man.  It cocked its head and studied the small thing.  It smelled him.  Then, quite gingerly, a swollen purple tongue, cobalt veins bulging on the underside, poked out form its cracked lips and touched the unconscious man’s cheek.  The Crash grinned.  Somewhere in its tiny, primitive, reptilian brain a connection was made.

1987.

It didn’t recognize or even think in terms of the numerical date, but felt a general awareness of events from that era.  The Crash gripped Commander Credit’s good arm between its huge finger and thumb.  It adjusted its other hand, positioning the thumb beneath the pit of the cybernetic arm with massive index finger on the shoulder and neck of the opposite side; the rest of its fingers gripping the ribs below.

The Crash started pulling.

Joints popped. 

Muscle fibers tore.

“Sorry to interrupt your Black Monday, but…” Senior Executive shoved his smart phone into the Crash’s face.  Light blared from the screen, blue-white and hot.  The Crash’s eyes shriveled, pupils going as white as hard boiled eggs.

The Crash let go of Commander Credit’s cybernetic arm and covered its eyes.  It swatted at the blinding, burning light with the limp body still gripped in its other hand.  Senior Executive jumped back, dodging with ease.  The Crash roared and swung Commander Credit around in flailing, desperate arcs.  It shuffled its feet, determining the orientation of the maze ledge, and hurled Commander Credit along the wall’s path directly at Senior Executive.

“My portfolio will protect me,” Senior Executive called out, swiping his finger across the phone’s touch screen.  A series of charts, graphs, account information, and other investment data opened up and out of the device, one on top of the other, crystalline and impossibly fast until a full body-sized, blue-light shield, blazed from the phone.

Senior Executive blocked the human projectile that was Commander Credit, the impact of the body thrumming like high tension cables against the blazing shield.  Caught in the electric hum the Commander slid to Senior Executive’s feet and slumped across the ledge.  Corporate Man jumped down from above, necktie fluttering behind him, and gathered up Commander Credit in his arms.

“It seems as though our stocks are rising, despite your efforts,” Corporate Man shouted at The Crash.  “With our careful investment strategy focusing on recession proof commodities we–”

But he was drown out by a flesh quivering bellow as The Crash, blind and enraged, charged toward them on the narrow ledge.

Chapter 201

7.c.x.

The labyrinth didn’t necessarily follow the same path as the ledge-maze above.  For instance, there were circular doorways that tunneled through sidewalls allowing passage where, up on top, there was no such option.  More than one corridor that at first appeared unbarred became impassable when the walkway became a decline, dipping far beneath floor level, and terminating at a steep wall.  And there were pits in the floor that dropped away into blackness.  If one were to test the depths of these dark holes by dropping something down one of them, a dismembered hand of an unlucky day trader for example, it would be an unnerving amount of time before a thudding report sounded from the bottom.

“Damn that’s deep,” said Business Woman, wiping blood from her hands on the suit of a nearby, hand-amputated corpse.

“Can we jump it?” asked Demand.

Business Woman tilted her head, shoulders slumping, and said, “You want to try?”

“Well... not really.”

“What are we going to do?” asked Supply.  “Go back?  I think Bear Market’s back there.”

“Yeah.  Can’t go back,” said Business Woman. 

“I could grow and get you guys out of here.  There’s often an excess supply of luxury items during a crash so it wouldn’t be that difficult.”

“No.  Then you’d be trapped down here alone and we’d still be lost but up there with The Crash.  Maybe if you were big you could see better and lead–”

Business Woman stopped.  She stared at the pit and bit her lower lip.

“Well we can’t–” Demand started.

“Hold on.  Give me a second here,” said Business Woman holding her palm toward Demand.  A low, rumbling growl echoed off the trench walls.  It sounded close.  “Okay.  Demand.  Focus on increasing the demand of a particular commodity.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” said Business Woman.  “Just pick one.”

“You mean… Oranges or something?” Demand asked.

“Sure.  Whatever pops into your head first.”

Demand scowled and took a deep breath.  His jaw clenched and his hands bunched into fists.  The floor vibrated, a slight tingly hum are first, and then an excited, pleasure-bed shudder. A section of floor rose up from the pit and locked into place, almost seamless with the rest of the trench floor.

“Come on, quick, before Bear Market catches up to us,” Business Woman said as they sped across the new floor.  Then, as if on cue, a roar echoed off the walls, loud and close.

“Wait a second,” said Demand, turning back.  He held his hands up, palms outward, and eyes pinched shut.  There was a crack, like a rifle shot, and the section of floor fell away, leaving a pit once more.

“So he can’t follow us,” Demand said.

Bear Market charged around a corner and into view, flailing his clawed, syrupy-red paw-hands and roaring.  He skidded to a stop at the edge of the pit, howled wildly, and slammed his arms against the floor, claws gouging jagged ravines across the smooth surface.  Two snuffling grunts sent sprays of ravenous saliva and day trader red into the air.  Then he bolted back down the corridor, the way he’d come.

“Too bad,” said Business Woman.  “I was hoping he’d fall into the pit.”

“That just what I was think–”

But Demand didn’t finish.  Another deep roar cut him off.  And then heavy pounding footsteps.

Bear Market burst into view, charged down the trench corridor, and leapt over the pit like a pouncing cougar.  His hairy, blood matted body slammed against the floor and slid toward them leaving a scarlet trail.

And then he was up, springing forward.  Howling and snarling.  Terrible teeth bared, ragged with scraps of torn suit fabric and stockbroker flesh.