The Blind Few

A ray of light entered the dingy room that contained a disheveled Lawrence. Sleep had been a lost lover, his eyes showing bags and a nervous itch beginning again. Cursing as he broke skin and yet another area of his arm, he kicked a pile of garbage that had accumulated near his bed.

Trying his best to make his suit look presentable, he went downstairs to the empty kitchen. No one would work here after the last group had fled. He found a little comfort in knowing the other two dens were still somewhat operational, all of the high-tech machinery exploding after the mystery message. Frustration bubbled up within him and he took a piece of scrap metal to the nearest machine, only making a few dents as he spent what energy he had for the day.

"Is THIS what you wanted Father? To see me wither and die in this hellhole?"

Flopping against the wall, he winced as his head came down too hard on the concrete. Yet another screw-up in the ever growing list.

"Boss? You still alive in here?"

His body guard hadn't left him yet, though Lawrence could tell he was noticing the panic when it came time to pay.

"What? Isn't it clear no one has the time to pay attention to me anymore? They are all too worried about this new terrorist fuck."

Walking into the room Lawrence sat in, the guard showed no reaction to his employers state.

"I work as long as the credits flow or until you tell me to piss off."

Chuckling at the sad fact that this man was his rock of sanity at the moment, he allowed his guard to help him to his feet.

"Well, I guess we better find some idiot to sell this lot too. I should have let those brats keep it."

Smoothing out his hair and injecting another shot, Lawrence felt marginally better.

"Time is money, after all"