nolan_void

More fictiony goodness:

Dean Starke sat in his office, looking out the window and surveying the urban sprawl all the way to where it began to thin. The Nanosoft Tower was now the tallest building in the world. He had come a long way. The phone beside him emitted a relaxing tone and pulsed gently with light. He pressed the speakerphone button.

"Sir, you stock dividends just came in," a woman's voice chimed.

Dean thought for a moment. He sighed a long sigh. "Give it to charity," he chewed on his cigar.

"Right away, Mr. Starke. Which charity would you prefer?" the woman asked.

"Surprise me," Dean answered.

He swiveled in his chair and looked at the office. The burgundy carpet looked so rich and refined. All his mahogany furniture had been arranged according to his feng shuei consultant. The black and red wallpaper pattern had been custom designed to match his favorite outfit, which he currently found himself wearing. He was young, handsome and completed the picture perfectly. It was hard to remember how different things had been once. The idea of being hopelessly impoverished was nothing more than an unpleasant memory on the verge of fading in the glorious sunlight that shone in on his face.

The phone lit up again and Dean reached over and pressed the button again.

"Sir, there is someone here to see you," the voice lulled him.

"I'm in a very important meeting right now," Dean said lazily, "Take a message."

"It's Mr. Belial," she replied.

Dean sat up and raised an eyebrow at the phone. "Send him in," he said.

They didn't pay visits just because they liked his company. Dean was no fool, and he knew full well that they didn't show up just to shoot the shit. But he relaxed a little. There was nothing to worry about.

The door opened and Mr. Belial stepped through. The tall man wore an impeccable black suit of an oriental design and glasses that seemed to constanly have a glare that obscured his eyes. His skin was sanguine, and his blase expression betrayed nothing of his intentions for visiting.

"To what do I owe the occasion?" Dean smiled with the cigar still clutched in the side of his jaw.

"You look as if you have been doing quite well for youself, Mr. Starke," replied Mr. Belial.

"I have," Dean nodded, "I have. I haven't even gotten started yet. But I've got time. I've got the rest of my life."

He looked at Belial intensely as he said the last part, as if to remind him of something that he had no business forgetting. Belial smiled weakly. "You should have gotten started sooner, Mr. Starke," Belial said. Dean pressed a button under his desk and the doors behind Belial locked silently.

"Whatever could you mean?" Dean asked.

"Something...unexpected has happened," Belial answered.

"Is that a fact?"

"Your benefactor has somehow..." Belial paused.

"Somehow?"

"Gone missing," Belial said, "and incapacitated as he must be, he will no longer be able to supply you as promised. The contract will be terminated and you will be refunded."

Dean blinked and put out the cigar. He crossed his arms and clasped his hands together. "I'm afraid I don't understand," Dean said, "What do you mean he has gone missing?"

"I don't know and I don't care, to be quite honest," Belial answered, "I'll do as I please from now on. You should feel quite fortunate to have gotten your soul ba-"

"I... don't... WANT my soul, back, Mr. Belial," Dean said.

Belial looked at him. Dean trembled ever so slightly as the phone pulsed beside him. "Answer your phone, Dean," Belial crossed his arms.

"Mr. Starke, there is a lawyer on the phone who is representing a woman that says one of your software programs caused her husband to have a seizure...he says it was fatal and-"

"Settle," Dean said, "and tell them to keep it quiet. We don't want this getting out." His stomach tightened, as he looked back to Belial. Dean started to speak when the phone pulsed again. He held up a finger and answered again.

"What is it?" Dean asked.

"Uhhh, Mr. Starke? Something terrible has happened. I don't know how... It just doesn't seem possible. Somebody, uh, got into our system and, uh, stole the new line of software that we were developing...the one for the military."

Dean was sweating now. He hung up the phone. All the other lines continued to flash and pulse busily, waiting to be answered.

"Was it important?" Belial asked, smiling.

As Dean stood up, Belial saw something long and shiny in his right hand. He turned to open the door but found that even his infernal influence could not cause them to open. "I've done quite a bit of studying since I came into wealth, " Dean said, "and there is no use in struggling. The room has been warded very well. You can't get out." Belial looked at him, seething with hatred beneath his calm exterior. Dean lifted the sword, ancient in design but looking almost in his grip.

"This once belonged to a man named Arthur," Dean smiled, "and it took a lot of money and influence to get it. The Prince gave me enough of both, and I'm not ready to give it up yet. If you can't give it back to me, then you're going to help me find him and I'll make him give it back to me." He advanced on Belial. The fiend put up a marvelous fight, but it was soon obvious that he was outmatched. Dean had had the best training money could buy.