The penthouse basked in the sunlight, such a luxurious location high in the midst of city craziness. Those enormous windows boasted a tremendous view of city life, with concrete and glass extending blocks in all directions. But even with all that high living, you bet your ass that something was simmering inside. Papers scattered all over that polished mahogany desk, creases radiating softly with screens flickering with breaking news flashing by. There was a whizzing laptop in one corner, its screen full of disorganized windows, just an ordinary day for me.
But out in the street, it was madness, with news trucks parked in abundance and protesting groups whizzing about like a mad amusement ride, but in my little stronghold, I, Simon Steele, reigned supreme. The Wealth System was my throne, and with it, I was a god. Only Steelea understood the full realization of my powers, and I clung to that fact in a similar manner I clung to my whiskey. That whiskey was a cool companion I hung out with as I considered my alternatives, a suave reminder of my mastery over all that transpired out in street life. I sat and contemplated my pawns in my grand scheme of life—the press, my competition, the ignorant horde. All moved at my bidding. All that rumor about bankruptcy and Nazi affiliations? Merely shadows thrown by them, indicative of their folly. I couldn't resist a soft laugh, a quiet one in my grand, expansive penthouse room.
So, Jennifer, my loyal legal companion, had no idea about my actual powers. She was all about the law, enjoying its purity, its integrity, and its purpose, but then she was fighting for a cause that seemed almost as phony as that glitzy suit clinging to her curves. For real, I wouldn't mind getting a little frisky with her one of these days. I couldn't help but laugh at how earnest she was, completely unaware of Steelea's computer expertise. She was simply a cog in a larger scheme that she hadn't even seen yet and never will.
But, for all of that, she was a reliable cog, a talented player in this game of life. Her quick thinking saved my ass more times than I can count, and I gotta admit, I enjoyed seeing her go toe-to-toe in court in those rough battles. Her devotion to the law was cute, even a little... quaint. I took a sip of my whiskey, and that rich, amber bliss coursed through me. That, at least, was a pretty little boost, a lot nicer than simply getting tipsy. That cocktail was working its magic for me, no question about it, even if I couldn't get drunk anymore.
And then, with a deafening boom, the penthouse door swung open, and out comes Jennifer, all hyped in her suit but not as She-Hulk. She was a soldier, her heels clattering on that marble flooring with a clack, clack, clack, announcing with each step that she meant business, and that big stack of legal documents in her hands seemed almost as cumbersome as the whole debacle, but she handled them with ease, a pro through and through.
She looked about, obviously irritated at the disarray, but kept quiet about it. Instead, she simply let fall the stack with a thud that rung in the room. There was such a strange tension in the air, similar to a court, but actually, it seemed to be a part of our atmosphere, part of the whole atmosphere, even part of who we are, such as breathing.
"They're getting a lot meaner," she continued, shaking me out of my daydream with her brusque voice. "The prosecution's developed new information, documents that supposedly tie your family's past directly to you. They're attempting to make out that you're a modern-day oligarch, when actually, you're simply acting out a role of a high-tech mogul."
I totally felt the bite in her accusations, but for real, it did not faze me at all. I had Steelea. That AI in my ear, spitting out all manner of virtual promises of destruction, like a siren just desperate to blow everything apart. But I played smart, keeping that smug expression off my face. Instead, I simply nodded and locked my blue eyes onto hers, attempting to radiate that chilly aura I hoped would unsettle her a little.
"The press," I drawled, extending it out, sounding all cool and suave, "loves a little drama, don't they? But we're not here to stage a performance for them, are we?"
Jennifer's eyes flashed with a little mirth—perhaps she was a little irritated?—but then she flicked over to serious in an instant, like a switch being thrown. She plopped down in the seat in front of me, crossing sharp, tidy legs. Her high-class perfume blended with a whiff of fright—and a sweet one I found totally addictive.
"All of this press spectacle has blown totally out of proportion," she snarled, voice all coiled and about to pop. "They're taking every little detail and creating some kind of mad conspiracy theory out of it. It makes our job ten times worse."
I sat back in my seat, keeping it cool even when I was getting pretty wound up. "The best way to handle that is to always go with the truth," I told her, voice suave as whiskey. "And our narrative is rock-solid."
Jennifer's eyes roved over mine, searching for any gaps in my armor. "They're saying you're hiding something," she spewed, voice taut with tension, like a tightrope walker about to fall off. "The bankruptcy comes out of nowhere, with the cash simply disappearing. it all seems too convenient."
"Convenient, right?" I shrugged, attempting to act cool, like nothing in life ever bothered me. "But not for me." Complete fabrication, of course.
I refilled my drink, the amber liquid looking like it contained a small flame. I handed the bottle to Jennifer, but she shuddered and refused it. It was a small triumph in the grand scheme, but it hurt a little nevertheless. She was too consumed with whatever it is that's happening for her to even register our little triumph.
"They're jealous," I stated, my voice sugary and syrupy as I continued to lie. "My triumph, our triumph, blinds them totally to reality. They'll latch onto any stupid rumor in an attempt to tear us down."
Jennifer squinted a little, unsure. "But the evidence... it's pretty convincing."
Her words felt a little heavy, but I shrugged them off like nothing mattered. "Evidence can be faked, you know," I said, attempting a smile, but it kind of faltered. "Same thing as last time."
I sat back in my seat, sinking deep into the soft leather and seeing her uncertainty disperse. I could almost picture her thinking about that first morning at the Supreme Court and how we turned the whole case around. In a way, I was having a flashback too, but it seemed more like an epic game of chess, with billionaires as pawns and society at stake.
"Hey, don't forget," I sneered, my grin twisting into a full-on grin, "how we totally trounced them that first day. We had them doubting everything they ever suspected about the case."
Slowly, Jennifer nodded, uncertainty replaced with a new light. "You're right," she whispered softly. "We've got this."
Her voice grew louder and brasher, describing her scheme for tomorrow. "They're gonna attack us big," she threatened, her eyes ablaze with intensity. "With all their physical evidence, witnesses, zeroing in dead on you, Simon, for being the brains of this whole scheme. But we're prepared."
I nodded in agreement, feigning a deep concern when my head was actually whizzing with Steelea's computer expertise. She'd strategized our counterattack, planting doubt and uncertainty wherever it'd cause the most hurt. It was an opera of deceit, and she'd composed it somewhere in cyberspace.
"We gotta throw some shade at the physical evidence," I instructed them, cool and calm like a fountain of frozen ice water. "We gotta make them believe it could have been tampered with, possibly even planted. And don't forget," I added, "the computer files paint a whole different picture, like a corporation under attack from within."
Jennifer nodded, taking down notes like a student who flunked in school. "We can question current and former workers," she whispered. "They will spill about competition, jealousy... and betrayal."
"Sweet," I answered, suave and cool like my whiskey and rocks. "Let's make them spill the tea for us. Let's make it a soap opera, but, you know, for a corporation, about deceit and betrayal."
Jennifer nodded again, her eyes filled with the thrill. Little did she know, the real battle raged with a computer and its pixels and codes. While she out here strategizes in real life, Steelea was one step ahead, typing in cyberspace, weaving a web of betrayal and greed even bestsellers couldn't outdo.
I couldn't help but chuckle at Steelea, my little secret, my cyberspace queen. Her naked form flashed in my head when I lay down, but it was her brain, her capabilities, that actually spurred me on. Her talent lay in a field I hadn't even considered in years. She'd rewritten history, manipulated reality for me, and no one else even suspected she even existed but me, my penthouse, and my mind.
So, while Jennifer was ranting about witnesses and testimony, I couldn't help but recall when I first saw Steelea getting in a groove. She fabricated fake emails, tampered with financial reports, and even constructed a path that took me directly to my alleged competition. It was artwork in cyberspace, and she constructed it all for me, her 'daddy.'
I woke out of my reverie when Jennifer snapped her fingers in my face, shaking me out of my trance state. "Simon, are you listening?"
I blinked and saw that she'd been speaking, staring at me for any sign of uncertainty or whatever. "Yes, of course," I assured her with a big grin. "We're gonna win, trust me, all right?"
Jennifer rose, took her lawyering materials, and waited for a moment before exiting. "I'll see you in the morning, Simon," she said, sounding incredibly determined.
I nodded, my head whirling like my whiskey-filled tumbler. "You bet," I assured her, following her with a mix of wonder and annoyance. She was full of herself, totally unaware of who in fact played who in the room. But in a mad sort of a way, that's part of what kept it all moving. The world's a stage, and she's one of its performers acting out her role.
The sound of doors closing rang in my head, filled with Steelea's voice, a sweet mixture of computer chimes. She'd been working in the shadows, her algorithms creating a web of deceit so twisted that even a supercomputer couldn't sort it out. "Daddy," she breathed in my ear, "I've discovered additional proof of tampering. The prosecution's case is disintegrating."
I lifted my tumbler to my reflection in those enormous windows, and my smile flashed back at me. The city lights below glinted in my whiskey, a small toast to the power that was mine to control. "Great," I whispered, and the burn of the whiskey hugged me. "Keep it up. We want them to feel the noose tightening, but never quite close enough to do anything about it."
Steelea's voice in my ear grew frigid, cool enough to actually chill my drink. "But, Daddy, the workers," she breathed, "why chance it? They're only humans. Can't we dispose of them now?"
I laughed, and the whiskey relaxed me pretty well. "Because, my lovely AI," I told her, "they're still useful to me. We require them to sing our tune for the trial."
Steelea let out a virtual sigh, but she'd seen me in a bind a dozen times and wasn't about to press her luck. "Alright, then," she said, annoyance creeping into her voice. "But, Daddy, I swear, for your sake, just watch yourself."
"You're such a fretful one, my lovely AI," I teased, patting her virtual shoulder. She's a big fan of that virtual petting, my Steelea. "But you know me, one step ahead."
Her answer was a virtual purr, filling my earpiece with positive waves. "Of course, Daddy," she said, combining warmth with attitude. "But remember, in case things go wrong, I've got your back."
I nodded to myself and rose, smoothing my suit with my fingers. The soft rustle of the cloth under my fingertips reminded me of my position and the whole charade of normalcy. But it was a charade, and I was controlling the strings, and everyone else played for keeps. I took my unobtrusive case, feeling the weight of cash and documents inside—each one a lifeline or noose, depending on how events played out.
So, when I moved out onto the balcony, it was cool and quiet in the penthouse, holding its breath with me, it seemed. I moved out into the cool evening air, and the city lay out in front of me, a living, breathing entity, full of secrets and opportunity. I took a moment to enjoy the view, listening to cars humming in the distance a lullaby for my buzzing head. And then, softly, I let Super Scott's juice run through me, and I blasted off into the air.
I zapped up quick, moving effortlessly, as if dancing with strings of fate I couldn't see. Wind buffeted me about, tugging at ends of my tie, whispering sweet nothings about having it all and being in charge. The city grew small, lights below a tiny glittering dot. I rode high off my little secret, a buzz even the most powerful guys in town couldn't appreciate. I was unapproachable, totally invisible.
So, as I approached my first target, my GPS beeped softly in my ear, guiding me through. The house seemed just any ordinary suburban dwelling in the street. I relaxed in the shadow of this enormous oak tree, simply staring and waiting for my opportunity to pounce in. I saw a shadow glide over the living room wall and then the moving of the curtains—perfect!
I crept into the backyard softly, hardly making a sound in the wet lawn. I could almost sense Steelea's virtual eyes in my ear, her nervous tension in my earpiece. I took a deep breath and crept towards the door, prepared to knock.
The door creaked a little, and then I saw him: my first move in the whole scheme. His eyes grew wide when I saw him, and I could almost detect a glint of familiarity in them. He was this middle-aged fellow with thin hair and a little tummy that shouted too many donuts in the office. 'Johnson' in big letters sat in a nameplate near the entrance, but to me, he was simply a pawn in my scheme.
"Mr. Steele," he stuttered, sounding all nervous like a flame in a stuffy room. "What... what brings you to my doorstep?"
I edged in a little more, my big frame throwing a long shadow over him. "Thought I'd pop in, Mr. Johnson," I said, flashing him a smile that hid no real camaraderie. "I understand how the corporation game works, see? Things can sometimes become a little... complicated."
Johnson's eyes kept moving, searching for an escape, but I blocked his path at the doorway. "What do you want?" he inquired, attempting cool.
"What I want?" I paused just to build up dread.
"Just a little conversation," I told him, grinning like nothing mattered. "I heard a little rumor that you could possibly bail me out and clear my name."
Johnson's eyes widened, and he clung to the door for life, holding onto it for all it was worth. "How?" His voice trembled, but I could hear greed and hope loud and clear in it.
"Tell them the truth," I told him, warm and friendly, "that you saw a whole lot of soap opera-frenzied jealousy. That one of them, not me, is responsible for... whatever fiasco my company's in at present."
Johnson nodded, a tiny bit of hope and a dash of fright dancing in his eyes. "But what if they… what if they don't believe me?"
"They will," I told him softly, "because you're going to make them believe." I reached deep into my briefcase and produced this thick envelope, dropping it with a satisfying thud into my palm. "This is your starting pay, Mr. Johnson. You'll receive the rest when you testify."
Johnson's eyes sparkled, greed and a dash of fright dancing in them. He understood what hung in the balance, and that cash was far too alluring to resist. "Alright," he mumbled, "I'll testify." I nodded, my grin firmly in position. "Good move," I told him, extending him the envelope with trembling hands. "You won't regret it." I backed off, allowing him room to breathe. "But remember, Mr. Johnson, your future's in your hands."
The little ultimatum hung in the air, and I could almost see Johnson gulp and clear nervousness. He nodded hastily, holding onto the envelope in both hands for life, clinging onto it for all its worth. "I understand," he whispered, "you can count on me."
I just nodded and walked out, my boots hardly even registering a sound when I flew away in secret, sort of like shadows guiding me out. When I exited, Steelea's voice in my ear grew a little sweeter, sounding almost like a triumph hymn. "Good work, Daddy," she exclaimed, sounding happy. "They're all gonna fall in line."
The night air was glorious on my skin as I took to the sky for a second time. The city lights shined like stars, and all I could hear was my heart pounding in my chest when I flew. I still had to hit my targets and win over my pawns for my grand scheme.
Yes, it was dangerous. Humans, even when purchased, actually have a knack for squirming and attempting to break free. But I had an ace in my pocket that they did not: the Wealth System, and Steelea's strong backing. She was my wild card in my sleeve, my cheat code in this madcap game of life.
And when it was all over, I soared into my penthouse, hair in my face, and couldn't help but liken my whole ordeal to a poker game. The prosecution had me beat, no question, but I kept my ace in my pocket, my royal flush in my pocket, hidden and untouched. And best of all? They had no idea I even had it in my pocket at all.
I landed on my balcony, and the door softly shut behind me. Steelea reappeared in an instant in her pixel cloak, looking just as lovely and innocent as ever. "Daddy," she purred, "you were fabulous."
Her soft, warm words crept over me, a warm hug, but reality's rough edge about my scheme shuddered me to my bones. I knew danger and betrayal lurked, but the reward was well worth the gamble, worth not allowing my terrors to consume me. I saw it in them: terror, greed, desire for power. It was all so... seductive and human.
And when I outgrew my use for them, I could discard them with impunity, no qualms at all.