The mahogany-paneled boardroom suite on the 24th floor of Orforcorp World Headquarters had transformed into something resembling an actual war room.

“The pretender and his forces have reached the third floor,” announced Lou Haversmore, City of Orange Forest Coinmaster & Treasurecounter. “Thankfully, their progress is… slower than anticipated.”

Quincy Forbin Jambres III and his Aides-de-Office huddled around a round conference table, staring down at a tablet streaming live footage from the stairwell’s security cameras running on auxiliary power. Ike Likewise peered over EVP Cyndia Jannes-Haversmore’s shoulder to get a glimpse. 

In the grainy, black-and-white footage, Hayden Jambres V, a.k.a., HayJay 5, led the charge in his ascent. When Ike saw the forces in action, the footage transformed what had originally seemed like ephemeral corporate theater happening in the background into something far darker and deadlier dashing toward his doorstep. Dashing might not be the best word choice, since HayJay’s distinctive Jambresian features — the misaligned spine and catastrophically uneven legs — labored his way up the concrete stairwell. But each successful step was accompanied by a chant of “Higher” from his three hundred followers.

“Whatever,” OFJ3 said, stepping away from the table. “On god they’re boutta learn the true meaning of a hostile work environment. On god.”

Ike also stepped away from the table. He swiped the red kerchief from the chest pocket of his suit jacket hanging on the back of the oxblood red-leather wingback armchair and wiped away the layer of sweat beads covering his smooth head. It left his dome glistening like the hood of Suzie Queueie, his cherry red 1968 Ford Mustang GT 390 "Bullitt" after a Saturday morning polishing. A second later, the helmet of sweat was back. Screw it, he thought, and refocused on his interview, which had just become even more exclusive than he ever could have dreamed.

“Mr. Jambres,” Ike said, tapping his Montblanc against his legal pad, “With the City’s 'King of the Castle' and 'Stand Your Ground' laws no doubt informing your direction to, and I quote, ‘annihilate them,’ you do realize that you never paused our conversation and asked for any of this to be off the record. I have a duty to uphold journalistic standards and re-”

“Just chill with the gibberish for a sec, bruh,” whined the Chair-Apparent. But then he paused and got a flash in his green eyes. “Okay, yeah, you know what? It’s like the ball-and-cups game. You know that game, right? Just have to keep the cups moving and the marks distracted.” He spun his hands around pretending to move invisible cups, but he looked more like he was doing the wax-on, wax-off move. “You following, bruh? Then when you look this way, I move that way, and SPLUZAM! Profits! See, we’ve moved way past natural selection and survival of the fittest and all that. So we’re in new territory. Supernatural selection. Survival of the richest. We’re still dealing with Johnson’s New Society crap. War on Poverty? What about the War on Wealth? What abou-”

Smoke detectors triggered cascading alarms throughout the building below them. Ike considered shorting Orforcorp stock right now, but then wondered if that could be considered insider trading. He stepped over to the table and took another look at the footage on the tablet. HayJay and his three hundred followers pressed forward, their corporate revolution having transformed into something far more ancient and terrible. They carried the severed heads of ergonomic desk lamps like trophies, whipped around cords like lassos, and their battle cries had devolved into primal grunts and hollers.

At that moment, HayJay looked directly into the camera and apologized to all the Orforcorp workers for having to die, but absolved himself by stating how he’s only doing this for their benefit, and he wished he didn’t have to do it, but his noble bloodline dictates that he is the one true ruler of the Orforcorp.

Another aide burst into the room, frantically relaying an out-of-breath report, barely making sense and saying something about how the workinfolk demolished Logistics Hub Complex Phase II, and everyone is worried about the safety of the NEANDERs.

Ike realized QFJ3 was still talking, “... and one of my first executive orders was to pull out of that bullshit Binding Resolution. I don’t give a fuck what the courts say about its contractual enforceability blah blah blah. Orforcorp officially severed all ties with those Jubileeist fanatics. Fuck their anti-materialist Jubileeism, and its bullshit promise of some sort of debt-free salvation. As Chair-Apparent CEO, and then as CEO in my own regard, I’ll show them what it’s like to initiate true Macro Excellerationism. We’ll let those lunks in City Grande Hall keep butting heads about how far they’re going to bend over for that asinine Binding Resolution. That’s why we’ve welcomed the Business, Investment, Development, and Economic Taskforce members in exile to operate out of our offices. After all, for whom does the city operate? For officials, citizens, or civilians? Hell no! It’s for its capital interests.”

"Sir," Cyndia said. The single word echoes with the hefty clinical detachment that had made her legendary in merger negotiations. “The pretender’s cleared the fifteenth floor. His rate of ascension suggests he'll reach us in approximately 45 minutes, accounting for his... anatomical disadvantages."

The news made Ike gulp down his dry, tight throat. He walked over to a bar cart next to the window-to-ceiling windows. He poured himself a glass of water from a pitcher and took a few sips as his eyes glazed across the glass pane before focusing beyond it to eye the view from the tallest building in the region. The 24th-floor vantage point from the Orforcorp Corporate Suite provided an unoccluded panoramic view of the entire City, dark and ominous in the power outage despite the Nouvelle Vire riverfire and the sun shining down with an irradiance hotter and brighter than any fictional mad scientist’s death ray could ever generate. Just outside city limits, Honeydew Point stood out, its tree-covered hilltop browner and yellower than the bright orange it should be this time of year. He savored the view and the glass of water as if they would be his last, but he couldn’t help note the irony that this glass tower had become a glass trap. Ike tried to sip some more water, but his tightened throat made it feel like trying to choke down sandpaper.

No Sympathy for the Symphyletai

The first scream echoed up from the nineteenth floor at 4:37pm, followed by a sickening crash of glass and busted wood.

Ike re-focused his attention back to the Chair-Apparent CEO to see his reaction. He took notice of QFJ3’s physical features and couldn’t help but compare his subject with the portrait hanging behind him, depicting the Official Portrait of Quincy Forbin Jambres Junior, known the world over. There was no doubt the Third sounded and acted like Junior, as if he were a walking simulacrum, but the similarities ended there. Ike couldn’t shake the feeling of watching someone do a spot-on impersonation of a celebrity while not looking anything like the person they’re impersonating. QFJ3 had a long oval face, with soft features covered in freckles and topped with a broccoli poof of curly red hair, whereas QFJJ was nothing but prominent features, the jutting jaw, bulbous nose, fleshy ears, eyebrows as big and bushy as his pushbroom moustache, and a black pompadour the size of a house cat.

“This is so not bussin’ anymore,” QFJ3 groaned. “They’re creeping way too high in my building. Why haven’t we annihilated those treasonous dickweeds yet?”  

"What if we rebrand this as a 'dynamic leadership transition'?" Cyndia suggested with the desperate optimism of someone trying to polish a turd into a diamond. "We could frame Hayden as a 'change agent' bringing 'disruptive innovation' to our corporate structure?"

"I don't think he's interested in our corporate culture,” said Lou Haversmore. “I think he wants to corporate vulture our corpses."

The building itself seemed to shudder with each floor conquered, shaking the very foundations of this corporate hierarchy. Quincy Forbin Jambres III stared off into the distance, as if mapping imaginary stars on the office’s horizon.

Ike continued with his questioning, determined to squeeze out at least one newsworthy answer or statement from the Chair-Apparent. “Is there anything you can tell me about Orforcorp’s plans for innovative solutions, household items, and the technology that will propel us into the midcentury?”

Another page burst in and frantically gave the latest update: As Hayj and his force of angry, though sorely ill-equipped, followers reached the doorway leading into the 22nd floor, a handful of Orforcorp guards easily gunned them all down in a Thermopolye Pass-style slaughter.

The gathered Aide-de-Offices thanked the page and sent him on his way. Once he left, Lou Haversmore shot QFJ3 point-blank in the back of the head.

The one-two death punch left Ike a statue with googly eyes going crazy. He didn’t know what to do, where to look, how to react, how to emote.

Meanwhile, the people remaining all reacted nonchalantly, seeming relieved. Lou Haversmore placed the gun down on the CEO’s desk and walked over to the bar cart. Cyndia turned to Ike and said that he’s always been a good reporter, and he was always kind to Quincy Forbin Jambres Junior, no doubt because Ike was a reporter of exceptional business and finance expertise, and QFJJ epitomized those traits like none other, and that no one could deny that. 

It was then that Ike realized the only people remaining in the room were the ones he recognized; all of the suited individuals who were originally with them had left with the pages throughout the afternoon.

Myron Sinum placed an unwanted hand on Ike’s shoulder, and told him that Lou and Cyndia will unite the city and bring an end to these devastating and unnecessary generational fights between various Jambres branches with dubious claims and even more dubious histories.

“Quincy Forbin Jambres Junior, god rest his soul,” said OF BIDET-in-Exile DIE Mortimer Warmerwear, “he had more than just a keen eye for a deal. No, he had a spark of the spizzerinktum. And neither this blowschmo here with his brains blown out or buffoon ass HayJay has that spark… had that spark. And it’s a spark the Orforcorp CEO must possess in order to lead this company.”

Cyndia took the reins of their justification spiel, “Orforcorp is in control of one of the world’s most strategically important resources of all time: tetraboroxol, which is used to create biotetraboroxol. Trust me when I say this, Ike, and I say with all due respect, but your mind simply cannot handle the vast potential in its range of applications. Suffice it to say, the powers that be could not let the powers that wannabe have control of this unfathomably important resource. So here we are.”

“Now you have a choice,” said Lou Haversmore as he picked up the gun from the desk. “You can swear fealty and become the new official Orforcorporatist pennist… or you get to continue your interview with Quincy Forbin Jambres III. And maybe even get a chance to interview his father.”

In the moment, with survival instincts firing at full alert, Ike jumped to his feet, held out his hand, and enthusiastically accepted their offer, which he called “a dream of his come true since childhood.”

Cyndia hopped on a call and said, “Reroute all Orforcorp forces to Logistics Complex Hub Phase II and use any and all force necessary to reclaim the complex, quash the worker rebellion, liberate the innocent carnivalgoers, and bring peace and order to the Free-For-All Carnival and to Orange Forest.”

As the afternoon shadows lengthened across their glass citadel, the remaining executives huddled around the conference table like knights of a very round and very doomed table. They drew up opposition-destroying plans and drafted power-grabbing blueprints. Outside, the city continued its oblivious dance of commerce and traffic, unaware that twenty-four floors above, the final act of a corporate dynasty was being written in blood, sweat, and the tears of new management.