A vehement sandstorm whirls around a magnificent "Taj Mahal-esque" structure. At the entrance of the magnificent mausoleum, stands a member of the Crimson Brigade keeping close watch over a pack of twelve camels that amble about and gnaw at the loose ends of their harnesses that blow into their faces.
Three stories above the front entrance are resplendent glass stained windows married to a melange of vibrant colors: violet, turquoise, cerulean, ruby, and apricot. The image of a muscular, clean shaven, and devilish man dressed in the Crimson Brigade light-brown uniform (minus the ski-cap) flashes across all the windows. It's as if he's always watching.
Inside this palace and beyond these windows, however, sits a stunted and pudgy man. The man is roughly 5'5 with slicked back black hair that forms around the sides and back of his head leaving a glaring bald spot and receding hair line that begins at the top of his head. Thus, his forehead stretches to the back of his head, as if it has awakened from a restive five hour nap.
Dictator Beneficence rolls back the cuffs of his Crimson Brigade uniform and rubs his hairless face that has yet to lose its baby fat despite puberty being eons ago. He sits in a spacious conference room with a long table and several chairs lined along the sides of the table. He sits at the end of the table. No chair is placed across from his.
He claps his hands twice. Two large doors emit a groan as they slowly push open, pouring the hallway light into the dark room.
A man, twenty-five, with curly lime-green hair tied into a ponytail that rests on his left shoulder, walks into the room. He lightly grabs the tip of the ski-cap with his index finger and thumb, and bows.
"Come Jayce. No need to be so damn formal" says Dictator Beneficence.
"My apologies, sir. You know I have to set the standard for the rest of the brigade" replies Jayce.
Jayce takes a seat at the end of the table. Ten members of the Crimson Brigade trail into the room and stand behind Jayce. The door shuts and the room becomes enveloped in shadow.
"Where is the pill?" asks Dictator Beneficence.
"I apologize, but pills, sir" says Jayce.
Dictator Beneficence gifts Jayce a long stare. The soldiers behind Jayce shuffle their feet and stare blankly at the wall across from them.
Jayce bites his lip and then takes a hard swallow.
"We were robbed, sir" says Jayce averting his eyes.
Dictator Beneficence chuckles to himself.
"How can that be? I sent my A-team. Or perhaps, 'A' means amateur" he growls.
Jayce flashes a grimace, and then meets Dictator Beneficence's gaze.
"As the General Officer of the Crimson Brigade, I assure you the matter is being handled. I have sent a squad of ten soldiers to pursue the thieves. Rest assured, they should be returning promptly" says Jayce dropping his eyes.
Dictator Beneficence rubs his chin and sighs.
"I like you Jayce. You are... practically my son" starts Dictator Beneficence.
"But, you know that means I can't show you preferential treatment. In fact, I have to punish you more severely than I would my other subordinates, or else my citizens might question the length of my leash."
Dictator Beneficence holds up his index finger and thumb and pinches them as close as possible without touching.
"This is not an accurate portrayal of my leash."
YOU ARE READING
Walking Dollar Bills
PertualanganA story about four people, who make a deal with the devil, and end up with the power of God. This is "Walking Dollar Bills" Forget becoming a millionaire or even a billionaire. Jeff who? What happens when your wealth doesn't come from assets or skil...
