A man walks briskly down the hall, a small data pad carefully tucked away in his hand. As he walks through the sleak steel corridors, he passes a puny lab technician walking the other way.
"Excuse me," the first man says, the very tone of his voice commanding utmost respect.
"Yessir?" the tech mutters, a bit nervous.
"Have our new procurements been set into the 'arena' yet?" the man asked, pulling back thin strands of salt-and-pepper hair.
"Uh, no, sir..." the tech began, averting his eyes from his superior's glare. "You see, sir, we're having a bit of a problem refurnishing what was once an old loading dock into a proper area for hosting metahuman bouts..."
"I don't want excuses..." the man snarled, his voice dripping with both vengence and urgency. "I've waited numerous years for this, do you understand? Now, you get that arena set up or your neck will be next on my chopping block, understood?!"
"Yessir!" the man replied, scurrying off to perform his duty. As the younger man disappeared from sight, the older pulled a small mirror from his coat pocket.
Opening it carefully, he examined the large bags that had been under his eyes for some time. He sighed a sigh of the weary as he rubbed his hand along the length of his face.
"What have you become?" he muttered almost silently. "Why?"
After pausing a few more seconds, the man shook his head, straightened his posture, as he had been taught to do since boyhood, and continued his trek down the hall. As he walked, he checked the information on his data pad...
...and smiled.
Today, he thought, is a good day to change the world...
