Listing in his overstuffed chair Mitchell Farlon the undisputed ruler of Microlax Software Industries looked at his computer screen attempting to focus on the figures painted in the upper right hand corner. All the other facts and figures compiled by thousands of the more intelligent worker drones stuffed into a cubicle warehouse in a jungle located in Indochina were ignored.
What this tired, perpetually lazy, shell of a man focused on was the revenue from continuing operations figure. With so many citizens under lock and key the only way for revenue to grow was if his fellow money lords paid more money for their software, or there was an increase in their numbers. Given that neither of these was even a remote probability Mitchell had become the cost cutting guru of their select group. He was always on the lookout for that overlooked cost hanging like a plum ready to be picked and thrown from expenses into his ever-expending pile of luscious fruit.
It was this fruit of loot that kept Mitchell up late at nights in greedy anticipation. How would he spend the additional money gleaned from scrimping on the rotten soybean paste that went into the gruel served in his work camps? Better yet, what would he spend the bounty 'carted' into his Swiss account from is most fruitful cost cutting saving to date - shutting down the sleeping quarters (bunks arrayed in wooden shacks) and forcing his labor slaves to find a tree to crawl beneath at night. He was amazed at how costly electricity was at these labor camps and how much this simple act could save in dollars better directed to his pocket.
Mitchell's office building was truly a reflection of his lust for material opulence. His excitement was always peaked when another elite lord entered his building. Mitchell had all the security cameras pointed at the lobby doors of his building just to get the first reaction of these powerful club members. Even with the stagnant revenue stream experienced by all businesses he was at the top of the rotten heap - the undisputed leader in this maggot-infested society. No other new era feudal lord could even come close to the billions of dollars he commanded from global sales of computer software that were found on every PC to the most advanced server farm. When Mitchell spoke all the other cloistered rulers in this world of unregulated evil listened attentively - no doodling on notepads was visible in the audience of these hate filled aristocrats.
Situated like a jewel among the rocks of a gravel road the Microlax Software Center towered higher past the ruins of the pre-industrial state building. These reminders of the discontinuity between majority democracy and corporate autocracy were now dirty, crumbling, and vacant. Only the MSC (a well-known acronym) built three years ago by hundreds of construction slaves incorporated the latest architectural knowledge available at the close of the pre-industrial era. From an artistic standpoint its origins were pulled from the dark dungeons of brooding evil that was typical of the corpulent masters that now ruled with an iron fist. Being pure black, not shiny but dull soot or charcoal black - tore through the sky like a jagged rock. There wasn't a window to be found anywhere on its surface. It was an edifice that proudly proclaimed that humanity had finally been destroyed in the name of greed. It was like some tumor that had sprouted in tissue; a tumor that sucked the life from an ever-expanding area of dying cells.
Since the introduction of the "Mind Harness", Microlax had been raking in revenue that was four times its prior software only revenue stream. Every business lord in every industry that used labor slaves was in the process of converting their slaves into docile puppets under their absolute control. The demand for this complex computer system that plugged into the base of a human skull was so high that the laboratories where it was being manufactured had a one-year backlog of companies waiting for shipment of this mind-frying device.
That was what had riveted Mitchell's attention to the upper left-hand corner of this computer screen for more than an hour this morning. He couldn't believe his eyes. Were they playing tricks on him? Could that figure be right?
What he saw in blue bolded numerals at the very top of this interim income statement was a revenue figure that was now eight times that of just last quarter. Producing these little gems of worker thought control made from the cheapest materials supplied had resulted in a windfall profit for his company. Of course, all this increased revenue went directly into his and the other wide open pockets of elite investors.
Given that these little pieces of manipulation went to finished goods with rusty contact prongs and in thirty percent of implant cases totally fried the brain of the recipient in the first twenty-four hours Mitchell was elated that this cheaply made piece of shit sold so well. Of course, everyone in Mitchell's pampered class could care less about the thirty percent of labor slaves who smoked from their ears in the final minutes of this horrible death - they were plentiful and expendable.
Lunchtime had finally arrived! Mitchell could hardly contain his elation at eating his favorite dishes prepared by his personal chef. What would he have today? Maybe a Rib eye steak with baked potato and sour cream complete with a slice of homemade cherry pie to top off the perfect lunch. Just yesterday he ate his second favorite dish, lobster served with freshly caught jumbo shrimp fried to perfection. That reminded him he really must check into serving the labor slaves freshly caught boiled rat or other assorted rodents found close to the labor camps - must cut out that costly rotten soybean paste entirely. There really wasn't any reason to feed these worthless slaves such extravagant meals. His competitors had already eliminated the costly soybean paste in favor of the practically zero cost rodent meat readily available from the exploding population of rodents in the production zones. Cost cutting meant more cash in his pocket - damn, he must order his production chief to implement this change now, not tomorrow, but right now after he'd finished his lunch.
At the close of another challenging day that nearly exhausted him Mitchell was thrilled to retire to his penthouse at the top of the MSC building. Moving from his desk to the elevator shaft on the wall of his office he lurched towards the shiny steel door. Pushing the up button he heard the elevator car moving in the thin shaft air by a rocket lift propelling it up to the ninety-ninth floor. The door swung open to reveal a stainless steel interior with round black handrails. Entering the elevator Mitchell pushed the button labeled "Penthouse".
After about three seconds the door flew open to his inner sanctum - the ultimate in luxury to be found anywhere on this benighted planet. Stepping onto Italian marble floors the room lit up to show couches positioned around his portable theater system complete with a four hundred inch plasma screen monitor, a first rate sound system, three open bedrooms on the far side, a first rate kitchen staffed by his personal chef, and a bathroom complete with a Jacuzzi. The bedrooms were his most entertaining architectural wonders because they rotated so that they could either open up to the main living area or seal off their interior behind a wall.
Walking down a short flight of stairs Mitchell entered the favorite part of his penthouse - the swimming room. Behind a black glass, more like crystal that slid into the adjacent wall from his movement forward was an Olympic sized swimming pool filled with shimmering deep blue water. Removing his tailored suit, collarless shirt, black leather shoes, and socks he stepped into the shallow end of the pool in his Speedo swimming suit he wore every day to the office under his clothes.
Having a relaxing soak for about an hour, no laps (for exercise was anathema to this lethargic leech) he showered in the marble tiled shower enclosure next to the crystalline black sliding door. His butler brought his pajamas which he put on after drying off with his luxurious Egyptian cotton bath towel.
Moving back through the black crystal sliding door he slowly walked up the six steps to the upper level of his penthouse. The dining room table was complete with white linen, pure white cloth napkins, and finely cut crystal stemware with two exquisite dinners and a frightened female pleasure slave sitting at one end - all were waiting for his enjoyment.
Better to soak up the gravy from society without exerting any energy. Enjoyment was found in the taking, the tearing from the hands of the suffering. These mottos gave Mitchell the strength to confront his punishing daily schedule.