by Chewy Walrus and GoozX
A man walked briskly down the hall, a small data pad carefully tucked away in his hand. As he walked through the sleek steel corridors, he passed a puny lab technician walking the other way.
"Excuse me," the first man said, the very tone of his voice commanding utmost respect.
"Yessir?" the tech muttered, 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 vengeance 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.
The bearded man was pleased. Things were going good, good indeed. He shuffled through his pants pocket, pulling out a flat silver watch aged with time. Engraved on it were the letters A.R.
Nodding his head, he continued his journey, walking past many men and women, walking directly toward a high wall covered in white light. Never stopping, he simply walked right through the wall, the light seeming to engulf him. Waiting on the other side was a man whom he had known all his life, a man one could only wish to work with, let alone be respected by. His weathered features speaking volumes of his life, yet not even cracking the surface of the full story, his story.
"Sir," the bearded man began, his body straightening, showing his respect for the man only feet away from him.
"Yes, Reynolds, how are our guests?"
"Everything is going on schedule. Our weapons, technology made it impossible for them to fight back. They never knew what happened. And now they will not, ever."
"Good job, m'boy. Good job. Your father would be proud."
Reynolds held back emotion, just as he had learned while growing up, but the words spoken meant a great deal to him, as did the man speaking them, with his years of wisdom, learning, and discovery, the long thin scar on his left cheek showing his struggle.
"The technician should be finished any minute, then the power tests can begin."
"Let's see what our new 'players' are made of."