Proteus sat in his seat at the beginning of the board’s meeting. He sat just before the head of the table; to his left was his master's chair, fit for a God-King Executive it was. And yet, it was understated all-the-same.

  He was the first to arrive, as he always was, as he always will be if he is present. It is the first meeting he has experienced in decades and the first he has had in this room. Yet to him, it has barely felt like a week since his last meeting. Some of those colleagues now-since past.

  The room was an enigma, jet black and corporate for all except the center. It was huge; hundreds of meters between the walls. Or, as it should be said; the windows.

  This floor, which is one big room, was gigantic. It has a flat and comparably low ceiling. And, defining the borders of the room was a crushing encirclement of reinforced one-way glass. They dimmed the outside’s mechanical light and allowed nothing from inside to escape.

  The only two things for the illumination of this massive cavern came from the spectral outsides, and a single white light above the wooden board table on the inside. Proteus hears massive steps approach him from the entrance way. Thus, his next colleague is about to enter.

  Cerberus's footsteps echoed like thunder throughout the spiral staircase which led here. Yet as he enters, his footsteps become mute. Their vibrations absorbed into the deadened floors; souls of the damned condemned to the depths of Hell.

  Cerberus takes his seat next to Proteus, overlooking the smaller man with respect. “You survived against a mech. For your size, you possess great might, Proteus.”

  “Thank you Cerberus. I appreciate your praise.” Proteus reciprocates to the giant. He reaches out his hand, to which Cerberus scoffs quietly.

  Yet he returns the gesture with a firm, measured handshake.

  “I look forward to working with you in the future, Proteus. Our departments could compliment each other well.”

  “You have my interest.” Replies Proteus, ending the exchange as some pained moans and groans sirens from the depths of the entrance.

  “Well, I will see how this meeting goes first. We will discuss terms soon after.” Cerberus nods in acknowledgment.

  The scream coming from the entrance sounds like a man trying to lift a tonne. The agonizing cries stop, making way for the tattered breathing which follows. With the person from which they came soon following.

  It is a struggle for him to fit under the door frame, but he does, whining as he does so.

  Halcyon, the carrion lord of the machine SERaMACs, desperately struggles towards his seat next to Cerberus on the far side of the table. He groans as he sits down, yet once he is seated, he lets go a sigh of relief. Proteus leans over the table to get a look of the inhuman man.

  “My God, Halcyon, what has happened in my absence?”

  “V— victory.” Halcyon replies, struggling to take deep breaths.

  Proteus does not understand.

  “What do you mean? Halcyon? What is the cause of this… this deterioration?” Proteus’s own head throbs with pain, even if he doesn’t let it be known. But Halcyon barks at him to stop. “Silence, fool! I am at peace. It will all be over soon. One way, or another.”

  Cerberus doesn't care for the vagueness or cryptic nature of his statements. “You did not heed my advice. I am surprised he has spared you.”

  “Silence.” Halcyon commands yet again, readying himself for the meeting. “Someone else approaches. It pays to shush to avoid her venom.”

  The seductive clank of high heels yield to the silence as she enters. Their beautiful sound is betrayed by the floor and by the bandages obscuring her minced face.

  With her walk now mute, her movements grow more orderly. She takes her seat opposite Halcyon on the far side of the table.

  Her chair makes a minor squeak, and so from her purse she pulls out a tube of oil. She wipes it over one of the hinges, restoring the seat to silence.

  Cerberus does not care for the display. He pays her a death stare as she gets back to sitting normally.

  “Is there a problem, Cerberus?” She asked.

  “Just admiring my work.” His bassy voice answers. Her ruined face contorted a wicked smile at his comment. “Feel proud, Cerberus. Your hand was guided by a master.”

  The exchange ended there, another one of their colleagues walking into the room. A similar sound to Basilisk, only quieter and more frantic.

  Her floral dress serves as a jarring contrast to the room’s professionalism. No doubt on purpose. Allowed only via a technicality of her design.

  “Why hello everyone!” She tells them.

  They merely stare at her without answering.

  “Fine, suit yourself.” She says.

  Striding in a way that was not her own; pacing around the table to then take her seat next to Basilisk, opposite Cerberus.

  Basilisk refuses to give her attention. Cerberus finds himself lost in her smug smile. “Like what you see?” She asked him. He answers her rather swiftly. “I like what I am imagining.”

  Manticore giggles at his comment, and flicks her hair to the side. “Well, I’ve got some boxes you could lift, boy. Isn't that what you like? You're so stoic!”

  “Be quiet.” Wheezes Halcyon. Recalling their previous meeting, she complies without theatrics.

  The last of them made her way to the entrance, almost avoiding detection by the others. She was scarily quiet. She was a short woman.

  Very short. Maybe not even five feet. She walked with a fury that rivaled Cerberus, yet with a calculation that rivaled the mind of Halcyon.

  Her seat was the smallest, opposite the golden-eyed man and beside the window facade called Manticore. An expressionless, featureless white mask covered her face. As she looks at them, they'd look away. They did not address her, nor did she speak.

  At last, an enduring silence within the room was achieved. No one dared speak until the throne at the head of the table bared their master.

  They had waited almost a full minute in the eerie corporate silence and twilight. Such giants of people felt small in the expansiveness of the board room. The board floor as it should be called.

  Finally, a thud came from the doorway. The staircase soon began retracting towards the ground floor. The pressure dropped, air rushing out of the room through the doorway. It was akin to the vacuum of space depressurizing the atmosphere of a star-ship.

  A hydraulic door slammed closed, severing the outside world from them with it. The machinations and machines of the stairwell finally grow quiet on the outside. The palpable dread of some of those present oozes into the air. Yet others emanated an excitement unbefitting of their inhumanity. Or at least, they tried to. Vanity cannot survive his pending presence.

  The room silently repressurized. All acted unfazed. A step grows from the doorway’s horizon. Then another, then another, then another. Louder. Louder. Louder.

  Seconds separate the present from his impending arrival. Then, the door opens, revealing his shins. Then, the massive door containing it opens wider. All the way to the roof; still not accommodating the unequivocal, inhuman height of their master.

  Of mankind's master. Of doom.

  Their master ducks under it as he enters the room; his steps falling to silence as he places his boots of opulence upon the deadening floor.

  Their witness is silent with marvel; so rare is it to see him around the Ivory Tower, beyond his throne room, or anywhere at all.

  He finally approaches the table, standing just behind the-now dwarfish Cerberus. He takes his old fedora off and places it on the headrest of his Himalayan chair. He adjusts his massive overcoat out the way, and finally takes a seat as the head of the board.

  He place his nameplate down, carefully, attentively. It read as.

  “Gauth Van Hulsieg — Chief Executive Officer and Prime Trustee of the Kubaal Aetheon Trust.”

  He clasps his hands together and places them upon the table.

  “We are back to full strength.” He says, his tectonic voice entering their ears, his eyes looking down upon the humble Proteus first.

  His eyes move, slowly inspecting the board of directors who are also the trustees of the organization. Each one of them feels his gaze placed upon them, only to pass to another.

  Finally, it lands onto the smallest of them all to his left; the lady with the mask who refuses speech.

  “Rise, Septimus.” He orders.

  She stands and bows to him, then presses a button under the table.

  A screen rises from the floor with precise, exact movements. She walks to it and pulls a knife out her gadget belt— a karambit similar to that of Proteus's. The screen separated into three segments, all displaying the faces of people who they know to be resistance leaders. Some from times past, some as psi-ops, some as betrayers.

  The first is of a bald man, white and with tattoos of ancient evils upon his face. She stabs the knife directly into his forehead on the screen, causing the thing to burst into sparks and become inoperable.

  She moves to the next one, a cyber-commando whose name was. “Dodge Freedom Magnus.” He looked like a tough son-of-a-bitch with years of war tattooed into his eyes.

  She gestures upon the screen as if to slit his throat, then draws Xs over his eyes with her gloved finger.

  Finally, she approaches the last one, the previous screen receding back into the floor. It is a picture of a man with short, graying hair wearing army trousers. Big, bulging bicep and well-developed shoulders. She taps his nose with her gloved finger, then puts her thumb on her heart. She raises her right arm in the air, and points to the watch on her wrist.

  “Time.” Proteus says. She nods her head as response.

  “My lord, Gauth Van Hulsieg—” Proteus asks, turning to his master.

  “Perhaps it would be better if some are left alive. We cannot find a cure for cancer if it doesn't grow long enough to study.”

  “Do you have plants in his ranks?” His master asked calmly.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Yes.” Proteus answered. “I believe so as he looks familiar. I will get in touch with my staff to confirm soon. And, if we do, we will cut him out so as to… operate on him.”

  “Mmm.” His master hums, sitting back straight in his chair.

  “Very well. Septimus, you may be seated.”

  Septimus, the short blank, lingered her face on Proteus for a moment longer. Her master snaps his fingers, a warning to sit down. So she complies, keeping her gaze fixed to him. Their master then turns back to Proteus for his address.

  “Rise, Proteus.” He says.

  And so he does. “Esteemed trustees and members of the board, it is good to join with you once again. I have just made a recovery from a mission I undertook alone. Perhaps it was foolish, as I acted in haste. Yet it is no understatement to express the essence of time in our work.”

  “Get to the point!” Manticore barks from his right. He gives her the middle finger and continues, placing his hand on Cerberus.

  “I can vouch for Cerberus as a key ally. He has not asked me to do so, but I feel it necessary to acknowledge. Other than this, I have little to share. Though I will say this; I believe a man called John is the key to our prolonged market dominance.”

  “How so?” Basilisk asked, putting an elbow on the table and resting her head on her hand.

  Proteus answers her after he sits back down. “He is who defeated me in battle. He is the partner, or assumed partner, of the true prize I seek called… Amy. He is an anomaly of a man. I have spoken to him and… he is very sure of himself. Convinced of his ability. Individual. A threat.”

  “That is enough, Proteus.” His master orders. He waves his hand now to Manticore who stands as he speaks his order.

  “Rise, Manticore.”

  “Thank you, Gauth Van Hulsieg sir. Might I say that, to begin, I have seen a sharp decline in the work ethic of our employees…” The screens from the floor rise again, even the broken one. On them is a presentation, cut short by a third due to the broken screen.

  Manticore inspects it up close before turning to Septimus slitheringly. “Thanks… Ssssssseptimus. Really needed that, like, a lot girl.”

  She walks to the opposite side of the screens, closer to Basilisk's end of the table.

  “As you can… mostly see here; work output relative to hours clocked has decreased by half a percent, just ahead of three years of stable growth. We have not implemented a new workspace policy in that time, indicating that a cultural shift is likely.”

  She goes through a few slides as her colleagues glance them over.

  Basilisk turns herself to Manticore. “Excuse me if I may, but do you have information the rest of us might perhaps lack?”

  “Oh! I'm so glad you say that Basilisk!” She says, the broken screen lowering and the other two combining into one.

  “Might I present the Neon-Sun! Also known as the Neosun! Patent pending.” On the screen is an image that defies logic, a perfect circle piercing through the clouds with a yellow-orange glow and a thin purple haze outlining it.

  The circle has ripples of straight clear lines writhing though its length, shrinking as they move from the bottom to the top, causing the illusion of distance.

  “As a way to address the growing concerns towards the natural proclivities of North American societies, of which SERaMACs has detailed and supported by empirical market studies; the Neosun will act as a way to address the demand of the populace while maintaining our status quo.”

  She got that all out in one breath.

  Her master leans over the table, clasping his hands together again. He looks at the image with a deep consideration, like his mind is calculating a million gigabytes of data.

  “This is good.” He says, looking down to Manticore.

  “You have my approval. Now be seated.”

  Manticore takes a seat in her chair, acting as if she is dainty and high class. As the screen retracts again, their master looks over Cerberus.

  “Rise, Cerberus.” He commands.

  And so he does. “Esteemed colleagues.” His silky, synthetic voice invites. “I am pleased to share with you all that the political realm is running as projected by popular estimates. The aggregate of poll aggregates indicates that both voter engagement is dropping, and Douglas De Shult is set to win reelection. His opponent, J.D Colt whom I have contacted promises to cut campaign funding in key swing states for the Red Party.”

  Cerberus gets back in his seat, keen to move the mic on.

  “Other than that I have aided Basilisk and Proteus with some of the assignments they have arbitrated. This is all I have to share.”

  “Very good.” His master says.

  Both Basilisk and Manticore give him a scowl. Their master now looks to his subordinate for manipulation.

  “Rise, Basilisk.” He orders.

  And so she does. “Gauth Van Hulsieg, my master. I am pleased to report my work has been versatile and vast. Our social media subsidiaries are running exactly as they should, though have lost market share to phantom competitors. I have also been of some assistance in decrypting the thoughts of SERaMACs and while progress was made, it remains inconclusive.”

  Her master gives Halcyon the look of death until he hears her continue to clarify. “That was a while ago, however. I'm sure our colleague Halcyon has made progress since my shortcoming?”

  The table turns to Halcyon as he keeps her advance at bay.

  “Much appree— appreciated graceful Basilisk, but I will speak for myself when it is my time.”

  The table turns back to her, and his master's look returns to a passive observation. “Of course Halcyon, my sincere apologies.” Basilisk submits.

  Manticore pipes up unexpectedly.

  “Nothing about you is sincere, Basilisk. Do you see your face?”

  Manticore turns to her master to try and stake urgent attention.

  “My master, Gauth Van Hulsieg! Basilisk and Cerberus feuded violently not long ago! They are trying to stake a division among our ranks!”

  She turns back to Basilisk, standing from her seat and pointing with voice raised. “She lies to us! I have honest proof!”

  Cerberus stands from his seat with a seething might. “Know your place, whore! This is not your matter to intervene!”

  “I beg your pardon?!” Manticore acts, turning her guns on Cerberus. “Excuse me, sir, but I am the Head of Human Resources! And so, yes, such conflicts are my business!”

  Septimus folds her arms in silence as Proteus rises from his seat, addressing his lord. “Gauth Van Hulsieg, this… Manticore. This is so unbefitting of the board!”

  Basilisk pipes up, standing and shouting. “Don't think I forgot your traitorous schemes, Proteus! You knew he was in the room when you left and did not warn me! You choose sides!”

  The stable slowly devolved into shouts and insults, and just when things seem they're about to turn violent, their master finally speaks.

  “Silence. Everyone. To your seats.”

  Everyone, for once on the same page, comply. And all of their attention becomes fixed on him as he arbitrates their petty squabbles.

  “Manticore, you are ambitious. But you overstep your place.

  Basilisk, you are a schemer. You understood what would become of the consequences of your actions.

  Cerberus, Basilisk is your savior from my wrath.

  Had she not convinced you to turn, I would not have been convinced of your might. And… Proteus.”

  He turns his look to him, placing extra emphasis on his coming words.

  “Your injuries are more than what they appear. Remember to question your alliances.”

  “Yes… Gauth Van Hulsieg.” Proteus yields as their master moves his focus. His gaze falls upon the last of them to speak, yet the first of them to join his cause so, so long ago.

  The Slender Man. The Grand Architect. The Father of SERaMACs.

  “Rise, Halcyon.” He orders.

  Halcyon complies as best he can, though meagerly struggles to stand, having to hold his chair for support.

  “Choose your words wisely.” His master insists as Halcyon reaches over a nine-foot height.“Of— of course.” Halcyon replies, feeling the weight of his performance placed upon his shoulders.

  “The time has come for a change… esteemed colleagues of mine. For TOO long, SERaMACs been a tool of mere pacification!” He decrees this to them, raising his free hand to the ceiling and looking up to it. He rips it back down and forms a fist, the most animated he has ever appeared before the board.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, or those who think they are between; SERaMACs has been officially translated! By my hand! By my will! And for your mutual understanding…”

  Their eyes all shoot to him, an unspoken shock hanging from their faces. He observes them all in triumph as he continues.

  “This breakthrough has yet to launch as of yet for reasons that shall be explained. My solutions have been… complicated. Thus, the update must be loaded to the core directly.”

  The board all look at each other, trying to gauge each other's reaction to the breakthrough he provides. Halcyon looks up to his master and sees a nod of approval… but an eyebrow a millimeter too high.

  Halcyon internalizes the detail, doubt seeping into his manners.

  “So I… once this update is computed, you all shall be able to inquire with SERaMACs precisely— to get whatever you may look for!” He waves his arms in grand motions over the board, fighting the pain just as he fights to continue his survival.

  “Real time locating! Unimpeded access! Direct and tangible information! No longer will you have to work around it. It will now know the question you're asking, and give you the answers you seek.”

  “What's the catch?” Proteus asked innocently, being the one who inquired with him to begin with. Halcyon did not expect the question.

  He looks to his master yet again to see he remains the same.

  “Ahh, the catch Proteus? Well… there is one. Given the… circumstances and time constraints in which such a revolution came to be; reliability will not be consistent. Though at the same time, bugs have yet to be detected.”

  The board is stunned by Halcyon's performance. He feels the target on his back change for his master's judgment to the envy and sabotage of his colleagues. A much needed, much more welcome change.

  His ego is coming back to him— so much so it serves as a pain relief for his broken pelvis. He revels in it. He has won as far as he was concerned.

  As he brought his focus to slowly taking a seat, his master asked him one more question.

  “Is that all, Halcyon?”

  “Yes, my master.” He replies.

  And that is all he replies. That shouldn't have been all he replied.

  Why isn't he saying the rest? My God, is he going to say the rest?

  He didn't say the rest.

  May God beg for mercy, it is too late to say the rest.

  The board slowly turns to look at him again. But this time, not in envy; in horror. Not even Cerberus could hide his disbelief at such an error. It is as if he just watched a baby get annihilated between two trains crashing.

  “Excuse me, Halcyon?” His master condemned.

  Halcyon realizes his mistake all too late. He frantically moves his head around the room, looking for an exit, looking for a savor, literally anything other than this. But he finds nothing. He can only plead.

  “GAUTH VAN HULSIEG! MY LORD! I APOLOGIZE FOR MY FOLLY!

  PLEASE! I HAVE DONE AS YOU HAVE ASKED! THE IMPOSSIBLE!

  THE ENIGMA! THE SINGULARITY!”

  Even the most manipulative among them desperately want to leave the table at his words. The allure of the windows is enticing to some. Perhaps it is easier to jump off a cliff than to bear witness to such a fatal error.

  Halcyon hyperventilates, getting out of his chair from fight or flight.

  Septimus decides to rise to, addressing the condemned Halcyon once she reaches her full height.

  His gazes falls upon her in panic, his mortality made aware.

  “Goodbye, Halcyon.” Her childlike voice parts with.

  Halcyon witnesses her wave at him, but his eyes are uncontrollably brought to his now-standing master.

  “Halcyon, meet me in my office.” He says. “To the board, you are dismissed.”

  Manticore and Basilisk dash to the exit like rabid animals fleeing a plague. Cerberus marches away with hastened speed which betrays his stoicism. Proteus jogs away as if escaping a car crash, all while Septimus slowly strolls to the exit.

  All who are left are Halcyon and Gauth Van Hulsieg. The two remain still in the empty room, his master almost saddened by his folly.

  Yet an unspoken entity is with them; watching, observing, cataloging. As SERaMACs overlooks the two, it hears the last words spoken in that board room.

  “Come with me, Halcyon. Let us discuss your mistake.”

  His master puts his hat on, and escorts Halcyon away.