The smooth hum of the phone's speaker buzzed faintly against the silence of the CEO's private office. Soft, ambient light glowed from the edges of the walnut desk, the only warm thing in the room. His fingers drummed in a slow, patient rhythm against its polished surface as he leaned back in his leather chair, one leg crossed over the other. His other hand twirled a sleek black cane, the tip spinning in lazy, precise circles.
"Mr. President," he began, his tone sharp but steady, like a blade cutting through fog. "As President — and soon-to-be CEO of GeneTx — I can assure you, we have everything under control." He let the cane rest against his leg and leaned forward, elbows on the desk, fingers steepled together. "There's no way for the media to trace this back to you, so you can rest easy. Your contribution to our little deal will remain... confidential."
Silence followed. Not total silence — the faint hissing of static from the speaker lingered, like the breath of something unseen. Then, a familiar, fragmented voice crackled through.
"You know," the President's voice rasped, his cadence unpredictable, each word sharp and jagged like broken glass, "it really doesn't matter what the media writes, as long as you've got a young, beautiful, piece of ass." There was a pause, a quiet inhale. "But it better stay that way, or I'll destroy you. Locker room talk. Whatever you wanna call it."
The CEO's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching so hard the muscles flexed beneath his skin. He inhaled slowly, exhaling through his nose. Control. Control was everything.
"Understood, sir," he replied smoothly, tilting his head with a small smile. His fingers tightened briefly around the cane, but his voice never wavered. "You've made yourself perfectly clear."
The voice on the other end rambled again, switching topics as suddenly as flipping channels on an old television. "I'm not sure I believe it," Trump said. "Why animals and not humans? I know that if my father and mother were alive today, they'd be very, very proud of me."
The CEO's eyes flicked upward as if he could see Trump's face on the ceiling tiles. Unpredictable. Unstable. But useful. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience wearing thin. "Mr. President, with all due respect, there are... laws about that," he said, knowing how hollow that argument was. "And even if there weren't, how would we control them?"
Trump's reply was instant, spoken with that strange, unchecked confidence. "There is nobody bigger or better at the military than I am. Which is why I say, listen to me… Super soldiers. All with different powers."
The CEO blinked, lips parted in quiet disbelief. Super soldiers. He sat back in his chair, turning his cane slowly in his fingers. His eyes unfocused, his mind already spinning possibilities.
"And how," he said slowly, "do you propose we achieve that, sir?"
He didn't expect an answer. But Trump, being Trump, had one.
"The beauty of me is that I'm VERY rich," he said, the words slathered in smug self-satisfaction. "But you're the one with the scientists, right? Look, I'm for it. Have them cook up a way to take it from the animals and put it in humans."
Silence stretched long and taut like a wire about to snap. The CEO tilted his head, tapping his cane softly on the floor. He didn't say no. He didn't say yes either. He simply said, "I'll think about it, sir."
"Don't think too long," Trump quipped, voice sharp as a bite. "We're gonna make America great again."
The call cut out with a click. No farewell. No warning. Just gone.
The CEO exhaled, his gaze hard as he set the receiver down on its dock. For a moment, he just sat there, fingers curling against the leather armrest of his chair. Super soldiers. His lip curled into a grin so sharp it could draw blood. If only you knew, Mr. President.
Knock. Knock.
The CEO didn't jump. He shifted his gaze to the heavy oak door at the far end of the room, his head tilting just enough to signal acknowledgment. His voice was low, sharp, and absolute. "Come in."
The door cracked open, just enough for the clack of sharp heels to break the quiet. The faint scent of vanilla and burnt sugar drifted in, clinging to the air like a predator's musk. She never entered quietly. She wanted to be noticed.
The figure that stepped inside was a symphony of deliberate motion. Tight red hair framed her sharp face, every curl intentionally loose. She leaned back against the closed door, her eyes half-lidded, lips pulled into a coy smile as she tilted her head to the side.
"Did you miss me, love?" she purred, pressing her back against the door in a slow, languid stretch. Her eyes locked onto his like a predator sizing up prey.
His grin was slow, measured. He leaned forward, cane pressed to the floor, his weight shifting to his elbows. "Your charm ability doesn't work on those who are aware of it, 00104. But yes," his grin widened. "I did."
Her eyes flickered at the mention of her number. Her smile didn't falter, but something in her posture shifted. She strode toward the desk with the grace of a lioness stalking prey, her gaze never breaking from his.
"I told you not to call me that," she said sweetly, her hand brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her other hand rested on her hip, cocked at an angle that drew his gaze, even if only for a second. "It's Vixen now."
"Vixen, then," he replied, unbothered, his voice smooth as silk. "Report. What are my moneymakers up to?"
She slipped a hand into the curve of her dress, slow and deliberate. Her eyes flicked to his, watching his reaction as she pulled out a slim black USB drive. She rolled it between her fingers like a magician showing off a coin trick.
"That idiot thinks he's king of the hill," she muttered, tossing the drive onto his desk. It slid to a stop in front of him. "Didn't even notice when I pulled the data straight out of his terminal. All while he was busy pretending I cared about his sob story." Her eyes flicked up, gleaming with amusement. "Pathetic."
The CEO leaned forward, pinching the USB drive between two fingers. He turned it over, eyeing the metal sheen. Data. Secrets. Power.
"Good," he said. "Then sending you in wasn't a complete waste after all."
Her lips curled into a wicked grin. "Was that a compliment, boss?"
"No," he snapped, eyes narrowing. His smile vanished. "You're a tool. A thing. Nothing more."
Her smile didn't break, but her eyes sharpened. She stepped around his desk, her fingers trailing along the edge as she approached. Her eyes, sharp as a scalpel, lingered on his face. She leaned in close, close enough for her breath to touch his skin.
"Don't be too rough with your tools," she whispered, her fingers trailing down his chest. Her nails traced a line down to his belt. "Not all of them like it as much as I do."
Her eyes never left his.
His grin returned, but it was darker now. Colder.
His hand shifted under the open binder on his desk, fingers brushing against cool metal. Smooth. Sharp.
Her eyes flickered. She knew.
The CEO struck fast, the syringe gun in his grip before she could react. The needle hissed as it punched into her neck, the sudden surge of pressure making her gasp. She stumbled, her body jolting before going limp for half a second. Her breath came out in a short laugh, her eyes glazed for only a moment.
He yanked it free, tilting his head. "Now what do you say?"
Her eyes shifted, focus returning. Her lips curled into a grin, sharper than before. Her voice was honey-dipped venom.
"Thank you, master," she said, eyes locked on his as she turned toward the door.
She lingered. Her fingers hovered over the doorknob.
"And if I don't comply," she said softly, her tone low and quiet, "I'm dead, huh?" Her grin widened as she glanced back. "Or maybe not."
She left, and the door clicked shut behind her.
The CEO sat still for a long time, fingers tapping slowly against the USB drive. Control. Power. Obedience.
Or maybe not.