"The ninety and nine are with dreams, content but the hope of the world made new, is the hundredth man who is grimly bent on making those dreams come true."
--Edgar Allan Poe
People milled throughout the business district, ignoring the stench emanating from the billowing smoke stacks of the trains and the overfilled trash bins packed in every alleyway. Soot covered every surface in sight, despite the constant efforts of the cleaning crews sweating under the morning sun.
The gigantic train station's glass panelled roof was black with it, and the vehicles thundering about fared no better, all of them battered and overworked as they moved along what was believed to be one of the rougher routes in and out of Erbain.
Still, people poured out of the buildings in regular floods, most wearing the garb of common country folk as they walked around the massive city with wide eyes, staring at the wonders of industrialism while avoiding the horse-drawn carts and carriages rumbling along the main road. Ladies with lace parasols and burly bodyguards marched down the sidewalks in pairs, dragging bags full of new toys and clothes.
Through all the chaos, one building stood out, its tall façade constantly attended by an army of cleaners that made its marble pillars glow: It was the jewel of that block, its impressive and needless array of electric lights reflecting off of every surface. Men and women in prim and proper attire ran up and down the steps, casually avoiding the farm folk lugging heavy bags without a second thought.
A sign in front of the building would have proclaimed its name to all who cared to read it, had a man not parked a cart there to sell steamed sausages.
He was a tall, middle-aged man giving an easy smile to his customers as he passed them his warm delicacies and accepted their coins, often giving a kind word of advice or piece of trusty information. The richer patrons avoided him like the plague, while the poorer customers of the institution flocked to him in droves.
A bell chimed atop the building just as the massive clock face on the station's front hit twelve. Some turned and glanced, counting the dings silently, though most disregarded it. The man at the sausage stall paused, gave a quick and gentle excuse to some of his customers, and removed his apron with a flourish. Beneath, he wore simple business attire.
Reaching down, the man opened a compartment on his wheeled cart and pulled out a black briefcase and an equally black jacket, both of which he carried with him as he spun around and made his way up the marble steps. And now, the plan starts, he told himself, resisting the urge to giggle in delight.
The massive twin doors were opened for him by a serviceable valet, who gave him the same curt nod every esteemed customer or simple visitor received. "Hello, sir. Welcome to Paradisia Mutual. I hope you have a wonderful day," he said as he ushered him inside.
The tall man nodded and smiled, quickly glancing at the newly installed security system above the doorway, noting the magnetic plates and coils that sent wires running across the vaulted ceiling.
His gaze lowered, landing on three long lines of simpler people of every sort, many of whom were scarfing down some of his meals. The country folk, fresh off the train and new to the big city, were being funnelled through the centre of the room to three open registers where beautiful dames served them with a smile.
At the far end of the massive room was a smaller line, this one cordoned off with velvet rope, where the better, richer customers mingled, waiting for their turn on posh seats and padded couches placed behind artistic masterpieces. Ah, what elegant decadence, he thought as his eyes roamed over the peaceful pastels of a hanging drapery.
YOU ARE READING
Twisting Stagnation
Mystery / ThrillerThe Dreamer wanted revenge. His father didn't bow to the corruption until the corruption took his life. The Planner wanted them gone. A rising star, a budding career, taken from him out of sheer greed and conniving. The Executor wanted atte...
