Las Vegas, Nevada, United States
The atmosphere at Dion's had suffered immensely since Sal had been murdered. An almost constant stream of police had slowed the flow of customers to a simple trickle. Eventually, the police interference led to FBI agents, which killed that flow entirely. Marsyas (or 'Marcel' as he was known to the patrons) was not as old as Silenus and didn't quite have his business savvy, which only made matters worse.
Nyx had taken to visiting the bar not so much to take in the ambiance as to pay her respects to Dionysus and the fallen Silenus. Business had slowed for her - times were hard all over, especially for a washed-up goddess of the night. Taking a drag off of her cigarette, she looked up onstage as three of the Maenads finished their performance. Their function as strippers was not one they were altogether unfamiliar with - as devotees to Dionysus, revelry had become their stock in trade. The alcohol generally helped their revelry, but in this case, with no patrons to draw their worship, the dancing that had once been raucous, spirited, and sensual was a simple going through the motions.
It was tragic, really... but Nyx still came and watched nightly. Not for anything so banal as personal enjoyment, but because she had become friends with these women, out of respect for Dionysus.
"How was the show, Nyx?" came the deep, slightly raspy voice from behind. The chair next to her was pulled out and an imposing figure sat down next to her.
"Not bad," she said, smiling a sly smile. "How much of it did you catch?"
"Just the end," the dark individual smiled, "which, when it comes to these kinds of shows is the best part."
"I suppose," Nyx said, putting out her cigarette in the ashtray. "And what exactly brings... you into a place like this?"
"I'm recruiting," the man said, "putting together a new outfit. I've heard you met my competitors recently."
"One of them, anyway," Nyx said. "His group created quite the stir here... not directly, of course, but it happened."
"Indeed," he nodded. "And it is no secret that there was no love lost between you and the Olympians."
Nyx laughed at this one. "None whatsoever! So superior with little cause or provocation. No respect for their elders nor their betters..."
"Then we are in agreement?" the Dark One raised an eyebrow.
"Hell, if you'd asked me to help, I'd have been among the first to put my name on the dotted line."
"Excellent!" the Dark One smiled. "It seems as though I've found my leader, then."
"Sure," Nyx said, extending her hand. "Why the hell not?"
"Good to know!" he smiled, shaking her hand. "And, as your first official duty... I need you to pick up a few more members for our entourage."
"Who'd you have in mind?"
"The Maenads for starters," the Dark One answered, nodding toward the stage. "At least the three who were performing. I need them to take care of some... unfinished business."
"I'll talk to 'em," Nyx said, "but I don't think they'll take much convincing. They've been itching for another gig since Marcel took over things here. Anyone else?"
"Your ex-husband, if possible? There's a new wild card element that his particular talents would do well against."
Nyx grinned. "Haven't seen the old coot in awhile. Suppose I might as well stop in his realm for a bit of 'meet and greet.'"
"Very good then," the Dark One said, standing. "You take care of those and I shall handle the rest. Meet me here," he scribbled on a cocktail napkin and slid it toward Nyx, "when you're done."
"Can do," Nyx said with a smile. "Glad to be of service."
New York City, New York, United States
Matthias X Industries was once again in danger of breaking a variety of laws involving insider trading and anti-trust suits. Inquiries had been made, accusations leveled, and key board members toted off in shackles on live television.
It was not good for morale, this much was certain. It was enough to make company CEO E.P. Matthias so much more nervous than the manner to which he had grown accustomed. At the moment, he was busy lording over a paper shredder trying his best to get as many incriminating documents into it as possible.
There was a brief and frantic rap at his office door. Without waiting for a cry to enter, the head of Miss Watts, Matthias's secretary, appeared behind the mahogany. "Yes, Miss Watts?"
"Uh... Mr. Matthias... there's a man here who wishes to speak with you..."
Another document was fed through the shredder. "Cop?"
"I... don't think so?"
"Reporter?"
"No...?"
"Well, just..." Matthias was visually flustered. "Just tell him I'm a little busy right now..."
"Busy, are you?" came the booming voice from the other side of the door. "Why do I find that hard to believe?"
"Uh... Miss Watts... what was this person's name again?"
"My name is of no consequence at this juncture," the unmistakably male voice said again as the large form moved into the room behind Miss Watts. "What is important is what I represent..."
Matthias's eyes widened at the man who entered the room, recognizing him instantly. "K-k-k... uh... Miss Watts, would you give the two of us a moment please? And if anyone calls, tell them I've left for the day..."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Matthias." The door clicked lightly as Watts left the room. Matthias and the foreboding stranger were all that remained in the luxurious office.
"Well, Epimetheus, you've done well for yourself," the dark figure boomed. "I must say, I'm surprised considering your... mental faculties."
"Hey!" Matthias called, rising to his feet. "That's not fair! I may have made some mistakes in my past, but I've more than made up for those!"
"Which explains the level of trouble you're in now? Why you're ducking reporters and law enforcement?"
Matthias slunk back into his seat, gazing intently at his loafers. For a long moment, nothing was said. Nothing needed to be.
"I can make this go away, you know..." the Dark One said. "I just need you to stand with me against some upstarts trying to restart the 'natural order' of things..."
"What are you talking about?" Matthias asked, suddenly no longer the clownish flop-sweating buffoon he'd been moments before.
"The Olympians are dead, Epimetheus," came the reply. "I killed them. There are others who would attempt to replace them. I cannot have this. Stand with me and all your troubles will come to pass."
"Why me?" Matthias asked. "Why not my brother, Prometheus?"
"I think you'll find you have a vested interest in this endeavor," the intimidating man spoke. "Your wife is among them."
"Pandora?"
"She cannot be allowed to ascend to that level, Epimetheus. Will you join me?"
Matthias stood, no longer the CEO of a doomed Enron parody, but suddenly a moderately regal Greek. He was Epimetheus.
"I stand with you... Dark One."
