# November 2012 - LM - Another Corporate Takeover



## Fin (Oct 31, 2012)

*LITERARY MANEUVERS*​Another Corporate Takeover
​*Reminder of the prizes awarded to the winner.*

The winner will receive a forum award which will be pinned to their lapel by Baron himself. Also, the winner will be awarded with a one month free subscription to the forums (FoWF) which will give you access to additional forums and use of the chat room where a there is a steadily growing community!

So, do your best!


*Our prompt for this month's competition is:*

*Another Corporate Takeover*

In 650 words or less, write a story where the prompt above is in some way included in the story, such as the theme; object; setting, etc. So there should be many ways to connect to the prompt.


*The judges for this round are:*

*Fin*; *DuKane*; *Lasm*; *Bazz Cargo*
A click of a judge's name will bring you to their profile.

(To the judges, send your scores to *Fin* via PM - and if we could aim to have them sent within a week after the closing date, that would be ideal)


*Now a recap of the rules:*


The word limit is 650 words not including the title. If you go over - Your story will not be counted.
You can no longer edit your entry after posting. There will be a 10-minute grace period, if you want to go in there and edit a typo or something, but you should approach this as if you were submitting your work to be published and paid for. When you submit, that should be your final work, the work you are happy with.
Of course, there can only be one entry per member.
No comments in this thread, please - Only competition entries (and links to) to be posted in this thread.
Also, please hold off on "liking" stories until the judging's done.


*There are two ways to post your entry:*


If you aren't too concerned about your first rights, then you can simply post your entry here in this thread.
You can opt to have your entry posted in the *LM Workshop Thread* which is a special thread just for LM entries. You would put your story there if you wish to protect your first rights (in case you want to someday submit the work to a magazine or something). *Take note: If you have elected to put your entry there in the Workshop thread, you must copy the link into the main competition thread or else it will not be counted.*
Everyone is welcome to participate. A judge's entry will receive a review by their fellow judges, but it will not receive a score.

*This competition will close on:*

Wednesday, the 14th of November. To avoid confusion, the thread will close at 11:59pm (Wednesday Night) LOS ANGELES, USA time. GMT/UTC-8 

*Good luck, everyone!*​


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## Arcopitcairn (Nov 1, 2012)

Prince Dreamshine and Fufflemuff at an Island

  His face alight with discovery and relief, Dreamshine pointed at a tiny green dot in the blue expanse as hard as he could. It was an island. Fufflemuff angled his winged form and the duo descended. Their time out at sea had not been kind to them. Flowing blond hair and velvety pink hide were matted with the salty ort of the skies, and the two wanderers were perilously close to being addled by the glare of the staring suns and the hypnotic endlessness of the water.


  Fufflemuff landed heavily on a beautiful white beach, legs wobbly, the tips of his wings drooping into the hot sand. Dreamshine slid off his friend’s back like a limp dishrag, trudged to the pendulum of the tide, and flopped into the water face first. Fufflemuff followed, walking into the foamy surf up to his belly. The unicorn dipped his head and wings into the water, washing off the grime of the past few days.


  Refreshed and clean, they lumbered tiredly from the sea and surveyed their discovery.


  “It’s an island, all right.” Fufflemuff said as he shook off beads of water.


  Dreamshine swept his wet hair from his beautiful face and pointed at the wall of jungle that faced them. “An island, yes! And what mysteries lie beyond this veil of…” He stopped suddenly. “You know, I’m actually hungry. I don’t remember the last time I was hungry.”


  “I could eat.” Fufflemuff said. “Do you think there might be apples?”


  “Maybe,” Dreamshine pondered. “Maybe something better than apples! A fruit unknown!”


  “Better than apples? Let’s go look!”


  And with that, they cautiously began to pick their way into the trees and undergrowth.


  Strange nuts, berries, and an odd fruit or two passed their lips and sated hunger as they worked through the jungle. Wet, clinging vines slapped at them, and foreign burrs and twigs found purchase in hair and fur. The moist shadows slithered with hidden creatures, the weak light that pushed through the dense canopy above glinted off hiding, suspicious eyes, and the humid air swam with unidentifiable insects that harried and buzzed. But there was something, a song, a distant tune filtering through the cackling birds, the tiny sound of a flute echoing from beyond the leafy gloom. Dreamshine and Fufflemuff kept going, struggling through the green, floral web, keen on finding the source of the beautiful and mysterious music.


  They came upon, in a clearing, a most curious sight. A black cat sat on a rock in the middle of the clearing. He was the one playing the flute. The rock on which was sitting was surrounded by little blankets full of trinkets, sea shells, fruit, notable driftwood, and scores of shiny gimcracks and gewgaws. A little sign was hung on a pole stuck in the ground. The sign read ‘Muscalabra Trading Post’.


  As Dreamshine and Fufflemuff approached, divesting themselves of jungle twigs and stickers, the black cat continued his song, watching them with his yellow eyes. The tune was a beautiful and comforting anomaly in the desolate jungle, a balm that erased fear and uncertainty. The elf and the unicorn stood before the cat, and they happily waited for the feline to finish his wonderful piece.


  The inky cat sat his flute carefully on the rock, and he smiled at the new customers. “Welcome to Muscalabra Trading Post!” The cat said jovially, waving his paws. “My name is Borfuss, and we have many fine items for your perusal!”


  Before Dreamshine could say anything, the cat picked up a seashell and listened intently for several moments, his little face scrunched up and focused on whatever he heard in the shell. “One moment,” he said, and he jumped off the rock and turned the sign around. It now read ‘Groonglematz Trading Post’. 

“Another corporate takeover, I’m afraid. So, what can I do for you?”


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## GonneLights (Nov 3, 2012)

Another Corporate Takeover


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## Leyline (Nov 5, 2012)

*Gifted & Talented
*
by George Potter

_(642 Words)


_​It was Pete's fear of doctors that caused the whole thing, really. If he'd gone to the free clinic when he stepped on that nail he probably wouldn't have lost the leg.

Janie, Carl The Mouse and I were sharing a bottle of rotgut in a favored alley when Pete found us, hobbling in on crutches, bawling like a baby.

"Kicked me," he shouted. "Booted me, guys!"

He'd collapsed, shuddering with emotion, and haltingly explained.

The Company had thanked him for his service and switched off his relay and benefits.

Pete was booted from The Scheme.




The Scheme was simple, the brainchild of The Company. The world hungered for cheap, reliable, available wireless broadband. Economies and governments functioned on speed of light connectivity and had for decades. The problem was that towers and relays were expensive and immobile.

So some genius had a brilliant idea: implant the relays into bums. Pay them a stipend, three cheap meals a day and a weatherproof sleeping bag. Assign a daily route. As they made their homeless rounds they created a mesh of connection; organic and freeform,  that could be re-aligned at need with automated text messages.

It was cheap, it was socially conscious, hell -- it was even green. 

And it made The Company the bosses of the world. Honestly, it had also helped out our happy underclass.

But you had to be able to do your route. A bum that couldn't walk was no use to The Company.




They all looked at me, of course. The hope in Pete's eyes was almost painful.

See, when I was a kid, they said I was gifted and talented. A computer genius; writing code by age five, hacking for fun and profit by ten, an alcoholic juvenile offender by sixteen.

I'd shown them how to jailbreak the relays and gain some control. I'd helped invent the meme-based pidgin that let a two-hundred-fifty million strong homeless-babel interact despite language barriers.

Looking at them, scared and hopeful, got me mad. You could get booted from The Scheme for less than a lost leg. I wondered how many died every day because they weren't useful any more. No retirement plan for relay bums. Can't route? You're out.

When I get mad, I get creative.




We synched and connected, and within seconds were communicating with our brothers and sisters around the globe. It was surprisingly easy to get them fired up.

DOS attacks against the company began, a vast, angry flash mob shutting them down, millions hacking into their databases and slashing and burning, demanding audience or death to their stocks and shares and pension funds.

They relented.

We demanded reform. We demanded the same kind of pensions they gave themselves. We demanded a little common decency.

They laughed and ordered armed enforcers to round up the ringleaders.

But, as I said, I'm gifted. Talented.




On this side of the world and the other, mostly forgotten, in underground silos, just waiting, are missiles. Missiles with warheads enough to destroy the world a thousand times over.

And they're all controlled by computers. And the computers are controlled by the net.

And the net was controlled by us.

There's nothing you can't hack with enough processing power, hands, and will.

We had those in spades.




I only had to take control and arm one to send shockwaves of terror through The Company.

Their tune changed. They groveled, begged us to tell us what we wanted. Anything! Please!

I smiled and slammed it onto every digital feed on the planet:

"Bosses of the world, listen closely," I said.

"You're all fired."



And in the gutters of Chicago and New York, London and Tokyo, Beijing and New Delhi and a thousand other cities, a quarter of a billion bums received the keys to the kingdom and began to laugh, like a great, drunken, raucous choir.


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## Terry D (Nov 8, 2012)

*Hostile Takeover
(650 words)
*

_It is complete._

Standing on the balcony of the former St. Peter’s Basilica Anatolov Price looked down at the crowd.  The hundred-thousand faces below were just the shore foam of an ocean pressing against the walls of the Corporate See.

For two centuries—since the earliest days of industrialization—the Plan had moved relentlessly toward this moment; market saturation had been achieved.  Where better to celebrate it than here at the repository of all the old paradigms?

Three million faithful swarmed the streets of Rome.  Similar numbers were projected at other major divisions: Two million at Trafalgar for the London branch, two-point-five in Central Park, four million in Mexico City, six in Tokyo, and a staggering thirteen million souls gathered around the Foxconn shrine in Shenzen City.

“Today we are one world.”  A sticky-mike on his lapel caught the words and sent them to wafer-speakers hidden around the plaza, and to thousands more around the world.  The ensuing wave of adulation lasted for several minutes.  When it subsided, Price continued, each statement garnering more frenetic cheering than the last.

“A world without war!”  Purchased governments, obeying one set of corporate laws, have no need of war.

“A world without waste!”  Carefully managed labor, and global redistribution of population, created perpetual efficiency.

As Price waited for quiet, Vadami DePontane, NovaTech’s President of System Security stepped onto the balcony.  He was holding an N-phone and wore a worried expression, but Anatolov waved him away

“A world free from hunger!”  NovaTech’s flagship product, Synth-A-Pure, sustained ninety-seven percent of the world’s ten billion customers, allowing the company to convert land, once underutilized by worthless flora and fauna, into production capacity, retail space, and housing for customer-employees.

“A world free from divisiveness, hatred, and religion!”  Bringing down the churches was easy.  Attitude engineers working within the media, politics, and entertainment had created, and then exploited, fractures in the foundations of faith.  NovaTech’s takeover had happened quickly, camouflaged behind the dust of crumbling belief and the smoke of burning nations.

“Your dreams are our dreams!”  True.  For years—ever since the first NovaDream commercials appeared during football matches, television programs, and on NovaNet—everyone taking the drug was provided the same, carefully designed, dreams.

“Welcome to NovaWorld!”  Anatolov smiled and his countenance instantly appeared as a gigantic hologram above the gathered millions around the Earth.  As if from thin air, NovaDream and Synth-A-Pure vendors appeared in the midst of the crowds and, while company profits spiked yet again, Anatolov Price returned to the dim offices of the Corporate See.

“What do you have?” he asked a fidgeting DePontane.

“A blast from the Rim, sir,” he replied, referencing the web of satellites orbiting Earth, ostensibly positioned to give early warning of planet threatening comets and asteroids.  In actuality the NovaRim also collected and analyzed every electronic transmission on Earth.

“We’ve picked up a trans-Neptunian signal.”

“Trans-Neptunian?”  Price snarled.  “Explain.”

“First contact, sir.”  He tapped an icon on his N-phone display, and a holographic video appeared, floating in the air between them.  It was an image of a silver, spider-like creature (if spiders had eleven legs instead of eight) with no distinguishable features.

The voice accompanying the image was emotionless.  “Congratulations to you, and to NovaTech, Mr. Price.  Our organization has monitored your progress with interest for many quarters.  While Earth was slow to realize its full corporate evolution, we always hoped that it would, eventually, happen.  You have fulfilled our expectations.

“You will be glad to hear that the galactic board has voted to assimilate your enterprise into the biologicals division of UniMech.”  The spider-thing paused, but Price was too flummoxed to respond.

“You and your board of directors will, of course, be… stepping down.  I will be arriving with our Field Management Team soon to facilitate the assimilation.  Until then, keep up the good work.”

The hologram disappeared.  Outside the crowd still cheered.


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## rubisco (Nov 8, 2012)

Burrito Day

by Rubisco
(650 words)


Carl loosened his tie and grinned at Sam.  

"I can't wait to see how this will effect all those tight-wadded idiots," he said as he rolled up the large gas canister.

"I tell you, it's a wonder your dentist didn't notice you took it."  Sam looked slightly less gleeful about their mission.

They were both standing outside the door to the meeting room of Leeland Light Fixtures.  The weekly manager meeting was going on, and Carl had decided that today was the day for all the overlords of the office to lighten up.

He put the gas hose under the door and turned it on full blast.

"Do you think it'll do anything?" said Sam.

"It's a small room, and I think if any of those squares even get a whiff of this special laughing gas, it will be funny as hell."

"Hell isn't that funny," commented Sam.

***

Gerald stared at the other two men in the meeting room.

"Okay men, we need to come up with a plan to describe our paradigm in order to organize the trend of the market to come to full efficacy."

"No," said Hank," we need to correlate the triplicate files in modified order in order to increase morale."

"What?" said Keith, who had a small grin on his face.  "Do you guys even have an idea what you're saying?" 

"No," said Gerald, giggling.

Hank snorted with laughter, "what the hell is going on?"

"It's burrito day, isn't it?" chuckled Keith.

"So it is!" yelled Gerard. "Men, prepare to get burritos!"

"This time we will not be denied burritos!" Hank declared.

"Like hell we are!" screamed Keith.  He grabbed a golf club that was leaned up in the corner and swung it wildly in the air.  

Outside the room Carl and Sam listened with ears against the door, snickering.

"What idiot--," he said as the door slammed open, knocking them both to the floor.  Three sets of feet trampled over them.

"To burritos!" yelled Gerard.  

"Burritos!" yelled the other two.

They rushed past the front desk.  Kate, the receptionist, stared in wonder.  

"Come with us Kate!" yelled Hank.

"But . . .," Kate started.  Hank picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.  "To burritos!".

Two men stood in front of the elevator to the rest of the office building.  

"Out of our way!" yelled Gerard.

"Sure, just let me pick up my briefcas--," said one of the men as Keith ran up to him and knocked him out with the golf club.

"Yahhhh!" screamed Keith. 

The other man ran off, pulling out his cell phone to call security.

***

Tom, head of security of the office building, was relaxing in his chair when he got the call. 

"What the . . .," he said as he heard about the three managers assaulting the man and carrying a woman away into the elevator.  

"Yeah," said the man on the line, " said they were getting burritos."

"But today isn't burrito day," said Tom, "it's fish Friday. Burritos are Monday."

"They think they're getting burritos."

"Uh-oh," said Tom.  He got on his radio to call for reinforcements.  

***

Within a half hour, Tom was standing outside the office building with the hostage negotiator.  

"Good thing you evacuated as much as the building as you did," the negotiator commented.  

"I knew it was only a matter of time before they found the defense weapon contractor a floor below, and there were no burritos there," commented Tom.

Keith poked his head of a window and yelled, "where the hell are our burritos?"  He pulled the trigger on his AK-47 and shot randomly into the air.  Everybody ducked for cover. 

"Will somebody get them some burritos?" yelled the negotiator.

***

Sam and Carl were lying on the floor inside near Keith, covering their ears as the bullet shells rained down on them.

"Funny as hell, eh Carl? said Sam with tears in his eyes.

Carl grinned, "kinda."


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## anonick (Nov 10, 2012)

All your base belong to us (647 words)

By Anonick

The small, damp, dingy room that It roamed in was perpetually possessed by night, always seeming to be in a dreamless, restless sleep with no longing for life and colour. It paced about as It waited for the human to arrive, to boast and threaten It in Its own lair. But it was true that It had been losing ground to the humans for a long time now, and the latest takeover was no mere trifle. The plans It had would now have to wait for a long, long time.

 It had been millenia since It began sending agents to the surface to feed Itself – no, it wasn't hungry, but it had to feed the obsession, the joy of such great power. And Its agents, grotesque caricatures of the human form, never faltered in their aims. As more and more humans bred, even more began to be sent downward. A temporary wrinkle was the new kind of Magic the humans came up with, Magic that actually worked – which lengthened their lifespans and strengthened their hearts. But their weakness remained their souls, and It continued to smilingly feed on the lost and the damned. Sometimes Its agents didn't even have to do their job - the humans did it for themselves. And It sat in the dark lair and laughed. But of late they’d been getting stronger, much stronger. A new kind of dawn was emerging for humanity, for the first time since they'd emerged from the apes as creatures possessing reason but lacking realization.

 For hundreds of years, It used to loot, cheat, and fool them into financing Its nefarious, brilliant plots to incite and instigate them into killing each other. Then two hundreds years ago, It came up with the idea (actually, one of Its mock-human agents did) of starting a company under a sly, shy name – ‘Osiris Incorporated’, or probably something less overtly sinister like ‘Lehmann Brothers’ – and thus guarantee a steady inflow of money (of course none flew out) for Its schemes. The humans found companies easier to believe than individuals, which is why Olive Oil Ltd. continued to lead a silent, undetected existence until...

 “The new Masters have arrived, Mr. Death,” said a voice from the entrance, as the room cast its grim pallor about the new figure, a human clad in a blue suit, a white shirt and a dazzling orange tie, “and we are not going to let go of dear Life.”

 Death communicated silently, only in feelings and fears, and the human, sensing clear danger, remained at the door. The air about him seemed to grow darker, as Death came near and whispered in his heart - 

"You seem to think that I am needed for your destruction. Oh, no, you are quite capable of it yourselves. I have existed ever since He gave you souls, and I do not foresee a future in which I will be going hungry.”

 The human clutched at his heart, and spoke (feebly but surely) - “I do not think any other species in the universe has been able to master their greatest foe so easily as we have. No, don’t be cocky - it isn’t you. Do you think we could have smoked you out a hundred years ago? And now with your company in our hands, we have a new source of power, with which we will ensure that you never barge into our land of light again. Your agents are being terminated as we speak. We shall live and die by our own hands. You are as our pet – we feed you as we see fit.”

 As the frail Man uttered those firm words, the thick black atmosphere suddenly enveloped him, and with a sigh he slumped in the door of the chamber. But even Death knew it was a useless sort of victory, too little, too late.


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## Anna Buttons (Nov 11, 2012)

*Yet Another Corporate Takeover*

649 Words

Flake by flake, the paint patiently abandons the walls. Sunlight looks in through a grime-filtered window. The plants look suicidal. Like the waistline of a newly married woman, this is the office equivalent of someone who has let go.

You wonder if it will be stripped. Methodically removed of its characteristics, brought back to zero and built back up with taste and vigour, or if they will simply find somewhere suitable to start fresh.

Life in the jungle. It’s a lion eat lion world.

Your flat, baron belly smooth under your dress. The girl in front of you chokes out a guttural sob. A glob of clear snot dangles precariously from her nostril. She snorts it up. A temporary fix. Her bloodshot eyes plead.

“But...But...”

You say nothing. Just smile patiently. Encouraging. It’s best if think their story is relevant. Heard.

“We just signed the mortgage. There’s no way, there’s just. I’m due soon, isn’t it.... Isn’t it illegal to fire pregnant women? Unfair dismissal or something?”

The snot drop makes another break for it. It gets further down this time. Bottom heavy. Gravity will surely win.

“We’re really relying on my maternity leave, and I was going to come back. Soon.” Sniff.

She wrings her hands together. They often do that.

“I’m sure you’ll find the severance package more than covers your transition period.”

You speak gently, but firmly. This girl has seven minutes to pull herself together.

She runs her hands over her inflated belly. Stares at the corner of the room hard. Searching her brain for something to say, to turn the clock back half an hour. But it wouldn’t help.

Severance package. You remember the guy from last year who said it was called that because if you got one it made you feel like you’d been severed in half. He’d laughed. You appreciate people who take it with humour. It makes your job so much easier.

The girl looks up, blinking furiously. She sniffs deeply. Her hands continue to fret over her belly. You stare at them, the bloom they encompass, fingers stretched out like she’s trying to protect her baby from the news.

You remember. The fantasies, the daydreams, of how your body would stretch out like balloon skin. How you knew it wouldn’t snap back perfectly. You can tell a balloon that has been blown up and deflated, it doesn’t hold its shape like the new ones. You thought you would be fine with it; you would be organised and vigilant. You would be diligent with the cocoa butter and you would keep going to yoga. You would be one of those mums who kept all the balls in the air at once.

Maybe this will be better for her in the long run. Maybe she will be a more available mother than she would have been. Feel less guilty about the time off, as she won’t have anything to go back to. The snot is back, runnier and more determined. It hits her top lip. She must be close to tears.

“Do you know if you’re having a girl or a boy?” You ask, off script.

She looks at you, puzzled. “Umm, no. I don’t know. My fiancé does though. He asked the Doctor but I didn’t want them to tell me.”

Like all women she likes saying the word _fiancé_. You have often wondered if this is the reason behind the long engagements of your peers. Four minutes.

“Well I hope he doesn’t spoil the surprise for you.”

“Yeah, it’s killing him, but he’s been good so far.”

“Would you like to take a few minutes to collect your things or would you rather we send them to you?” Back on script. The final choice is hers, a modicum of control before she is stripped of her phone, corporate credit card and escorted down the lift and to her car.


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## TheFuhrer02 (Nov 12, 2012)

*A Murky World (575 words)*

“Welcome back to Sky Sports News, and I’m still here with former footballer Gary Neville,” Host Rob Wotton told the camera with a wide grin on his face. He then looked at Gary Neville, grin now gone, and said, “Gary, Let’s now talk about Cardiff United. This season is rather different for them, isn’t it? From their century-long tradition of wearing blue at home, they’re now wearing red and got their team insignia changed, dramatically if I may say. What do you think of that?”

Neville shrugged. “Cardiff United has been there long before I was born. They have won trophies and other acclaims in their long, prestigious history, and that’s being endangered with this rebranding thing. Sure, they needed the money badly, but the Cardiff United board should’ve taken more time to think about the consequences before agreeing with this deal.

Advertising spaces on jerseys, naming rights to stadiums, now rebranding. Football has become a murky world, hasn’t it?”

* * *​
Matthew Rilsdane, with a quick move of his right arm, grabbed the remote from the table beside him and turned off the TV. He then tossed the remote back to the table. The remote missed its intended mark and fell to the floor. RIlsdane didn’t bother picking it up.

The Welsh real estate mogul has been a Cardiff United fan all his life, and to see his favorite team’s history being shattered is disappointing.

The door opened and Rilsdane’s wife, Adrianne, entered the room. When she saw his husband staring blankly at the unpowered television screen, she asked, “Matt, is everything fine?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not a good liar when your upset.”

“No, I’m not.”

Adrianne grabbed a nearby stool and sat beside her husband. She put her head on Matthew’s left shoulder and said, “Is it about the football team again?”

Adrianne felt her husband nod his head.

“Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“I shouldn’t have sold out so easily on them,” uttered Rilsdane.

“You did your best,” Adrianne replied.

Matthew rubbed his face rigorously with his right hand. “I was the team’s chairman. I should’ve been able to do better, broker a better deal or something that didn’t involve rebranding the whole team.”

Adrianne again said, “You did your best.”

“If only I didn’t have so much debt…”

“How much did the Asian investors pay you?”

“I sold my majority stake for £100 million. Payable over three years.”

“What else?”

“A promise of a new training facility, a stadium expansion and a significant transfer budget.”

“All that for a chance to change the colors of a century-old football team?”

Matthew Rilsdane fell silent. Adrianne smiled as she looked at his husband.

“I guess it’s not a half-bad deal after all,” uttered Matthew under his breath.

Adrianne sat up and teasingly poked her husband. “You’re being too hard on yourself. It’s a very good deal.”

Matthew looked at his wife, shook his head then said, “Still not a good deal. They’ve got a good chance of succeeding with the current squad, and if they bag a trophy, they’ll earn a good bit of money.”

“So? You’re worried that you missed an opportunity to bag another trophy?”

This time, it was Matthew who smiled. “I don’t care about the trophy. I care about the huge profit it’ll bring… I should’ve asked for an additional £30 million.”

Adrianne shrugged. “You can’t have it all. Now, about that South American tour we’ve been talking about…”







[spoiler2=Legalities]
Inspiration for this story is from the rebranding of Cardiff City Football Club, which happened this year, at the start of the new season last June, thus the mention of "Cardiff United" in my story. Having said that, I, to the best of my knowledge, can say that there is no such existing football team as "Cardiff United."
The line "Football is a murky world" in relation to Cardiff City Football Club was originally said by former Wales rugby player Mike Hall in an interview with BBC. (Link to source: Hammam accused of Cardiff 'greed' - BBC Sport)
Apart from Rob Wotton and Gary Neville, who are both regularly appearing in select shows from Sky Sports, all other characters in this story are fictional.
[/spoiler2]


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## Jeko (Nov 13, 2012)

*Why we invaded China
*​(mild language!)
​
The Intel Inside Christmas party on Nova Prime 5, cobbled into one small function room of balloons, bunting and stale cake. It all made Brian shiver.

‘Where’s Adam?’ someone asked him. Some 5[SUP]th[/SUP]-level nobody drinking mulled wine.

Brian sighed. ‘Too busy,’ he said. He downed the rest of his drink.

...

Adam walked fast.

A holler came - ‘Mr Wax!’ – with a suit sweating, tracing him through the two-way corridor. ‘Mr Wax, Dot Corp is low on lined paper.’

‘Reallocate shipments,’ Adam said, not turning. ‘Microsoft can learn to use plain.’

Another suit. ‘Mr Wax! Three men from Anritsu are here to see you on-‘

‘Kill them.’

‘Yes sir.’

Halfway to his office. ‘Mr Wax, you are late for your appointment with-‘

Adam stopped. Whirled. He examined the man like a high school head teacher. Untidy suit. Scuffed shoes. No implant on his left forearm. 

Intern.

‘Adam Wax is never late,’ Adam stated. He stuck his nose right into the man’s face. ‘People make appointments with Adam Wax. Adam Wax does not make appointments with people.’

‘But sir, this is-‘

‘Security,’ Adam snapped. Two well armed guards were clasping the man’s arms in a moment. ‘Escort this man to the nearest airlock. You know the rest.’

They pulled him away and he was gone. Adam continued to his office, faster.

...

He was called to the bridge before he could open the door.

‘This better be good,’ Adam said, walking in.

The bridge was full of all the usual unnecessary bleeping things Intel Inside owned, and all of Adam’s most efficient staff. There was a one-person-per-five-panels rule; the fairest way, since everyone was qualified to operate everything.

‘Oh, Mr Wax!’ Johnny called. Voted suck-up of the month, Johnny spent every day spluttering through his idolatry. ‘You won’t believe where Zara has been.’

‘Would ye shut up, ye miserable ass-wipe?’ Zara shot back. ‘A’may have just solved all our problems.’ Her entire personality was contained in her bright pink eyebrows and chocolate skin.

‘Zara, what’s going on?’ Adam asked plainly.

‘Mr Wax,’ she began. ‘A’took a scan of the internet-‘

‘What?’ Adam flew over to her display.

‘Told you!’ Johnny burst. ‘You’re for it, Zara.’

She was unperturbed. ‘A’think a’found what yer been looking for.’ 

‘You know we are not supposed to venture onto the internet, Zara,’ Adam said, staring daggers at her. ‘What have you found that is worth compromising this entire station?’

‘Time, ye gods!’ Zara announced. ‘A’ve found it, sir! Time!’

Adam’s eyes lit up at the word.

‘Where did you-‘

‘She’s having a laugh, sir,’ Johnny cut in.

‘Oh, it’s a laugh alright,’ Zara said. ‘A bloody happy laugh! Look, sir...’

A few clicks. Her display threw its contents to the main screen, enlarged it, showing a safe screenshot of a webpage the likes of which few had seen before. Though few had ever seen the internet at all. Not since the P-virus.

‘Look!’ someone said. ‘She’s right!’

‘It’s an old chat forum, a’think,’ Zara explained. ‘It’s got this competition thing still going. First prize, a whole month!’

‘That’s more than the High Lord needs,’ Adam muttered. ‘Much more. Conditions?’

‘A’ll scroll down,’ Zara said, bubbling with excitement. 

Silence for a second.

‘That’s a big ask,’ someone read. ‘We’ll need a new Creative.’

Brian walked in with an empty cup in his hand. He wondered what was going on, but didn’t show it.

‘Brian!’ Zara said. ‘Just the man we need.’

Adam spun on his heel to face his military advisor. ‘Brian, we need you. Organise a strike team to invade China. Your target is the Second Augur’s Creative. Capture her alive.’

‘What’s this? Another corporate takeover?’ ’ Brian asked calmly.

‘Something like that,’ Adam said. He left the bridge. 

The normal bleeps of the bridge resumed. Behind him, Brian went over to Zara. He asked her, ‘What’s a FoWF subscription?’


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## Jon M (Nov 13, 2012)

Future Perfect​


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## DuKane (Nov 13, 2012)

*Takeover - 394 words. [Not for scoring!]
*
Enrico Caruso’s "La donna è mobile" drifted around Umberto’s restaurant pleasing that evening’s clientèle  In a private rear room Harry Testa greedily gorged on oysters with one hand whilst his head nodded from side to side in time with the music from Verdi’s Rigaletto. His other hand paused in its leading of Caruso’s orchestra to gently lift the white napkin tucked into collar. He patted his lips delicately with his fingertips as Chief O’Reilly staggered back from the restroom. His jacket undone, he fumbled with buttons on his pants and grinned at Harry past the large cigar wedged into one side of his mouth.

Harry gave a look of disdain, wondering why he tolerated such uncouth behaviour. Chief O’Reilly sat back opposite, belching as he did. He was about to apologise but Harry’s gently waving hand stopped him as it returned to rhythmically leading the orchestra. The cold stare he added also warned the chief to maintain his silence.
Harry closed his eyes, immersing himself in Caruso’s velvet voice and dreaming he was at the Teatro Nuovo in Napoli. Some moisture lightly brushed his face, interrupting Harry’s perfect world.  His hand stopped conducting in mid air as he slowly opened his eyes, turning to face Chief O’Reilly. He wasn't there.

All too slowly he drank in the sight before him. The Chief was face down on the table, his brain mixing with the blood that seeped across the rapidly crimsoning tablecloth. Harry, shocked, disobeyed his cardinal rule. He glanced down to see his once white napkin flecked with O’Reilly’s blood and brain. Turning slightly left he noticed that the sleeve of his once white dinner jacket had received a similar treatment, Still Harry disobeyed his cardinal rule.

It wasn't until he suddenly felt the cold steel of the barrel touching his skin that he realised. His gun sat idly inside his jacket, if he’d been back on the street he wouldn't have thought twice but now there was too much dining on oysters and rich food. Too much of the easy life he readily accepted and now regretted. Harry’s life did flash before him, slowly. He tried to glance right, where were his bodyguards?

“Time to go,” were the last whispered words Harry Tesla heard as he joined the chief face down on the table.

“Takeover complete,” the assassin whispered with a chuckle.


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## spartan928 (Nov 14, 2012)

Another Corporate Takeover


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## dolphinlee (Nov 14, 2012)

Corporate Takeover  (644)

“Welcome, I’m going to begin with a brief history. We know from written records and oral histories that in the fifth century mankind first realised that many babies vanished and that afterwards the tiny, human-like forms of elves were seen in the distance listening to the weeping of the bereaved mothers.

“As evidence was gathered mankind came to realise that the elves benefited from the misery and suffering that they had caused.  There was nothing that could be done to protect the babies but village after village learnt that if, after a loss, they gathered together in a display of communal mourning they would be left alone for a while.

“Time passed and as the number of elves grew, some of them went hungry. Their leaders realised that they all needed to move permanently into our world, so that they could more directly influence the future of mankind. 

“At first they came in small numbers and we managed to defeat them.  Then they stopped and we wrongly assumed that they had given up.  They hadn’t. They had moved to a then undiscovered land across the ocean.  Whether it was something in the water or magic we will never know, but the elves changed in size and appearance until at last, when they came to us again, they had the ability to assume the form of any human.  For centuries we didn’t notice but now we know that the leaders of the strongest tribes were replaced with elfin doubles.  They chose well, a leader’s doubting wife could be discarded and a worried warrior could be eliminated in a dual.  Once established, the elfin substitutes set about making the lives of their tribe as miserable and painful as they could. 

“As mankind moved across the Earth, the elves followed, goading them into battle after battle against each other; not to gain land or treasure but the release of strong negative human emotions, so that the elves could feed on them. Soon it wasn’t enough and they had to change their strategy.

“It was lves who started the Industrial Revolution.  If they couldn’t feed on the misery of war then they would feed on the anguish of workers, condemned to work in a factory for twelve long hours a day.  Wars, famines, plagues and forced labour all resulted in the despair that the elves needed to survive. 

“As their numbers continued to grow, more and more ways had to be found to increase the agony of humans. They replaced the owners of newspapers; the radio stations, then television and film studios and they changed the way the world was viewed. They replaced political leaders and instituted policies of hatred and suspicion.

“The elves infiltrated large companies and stripped thriving businesses of their assets, raided the pension funds and forced the businesses into bankruptcy. Victoriously they turned away workers, condemning them to lives of undeserved poverty.

“They took over the top positions in banks and caused economies to collapse, but still it wasn’t enough. It was easy for the elves to corrupt us.  We were so innocent.  They started off by offering credit to everyone.  At first there was resistance but then the foolish grabbed this ‘golden opportunity’ and spent themselves into debt. Others quickly followed. 

“Then the elves got greedy. They hoped that the fallout from a nuclear explosion would cause suffering on a global scale. It did, but it gave us hope as well. As the radiation travelled around the world every Elf, who breathed it in, died. 

“Now they have gone and we can start to rebuild our world. We can take back our governments and our institutions. We can run things for ourselves. We are safe. There is no more evil in our world. There is only us and I promise you, if I am elected, that we will do a much better job.”


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## bazz cargo (Nov 15, 2012)

This thread is now closed.


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