Metas of Demada

Prolougue

He smirked at the smoke rising from the heavy machinery operating below his glass office. He liked it this way.

The stench of his servant's sweat mixed with oil and grease, vermin and smog, did not reach his pristine seclusion. He liked it this way.

An orange glow from the flames filled his transparent room. He had it designed this way to represent many things, the transparency of which others minds used to be to him, the way he could see straight through people, like that blabbering Mitts.
The transparency also represented the power he gave his minions, the Bonehounds, as well as letting them know they were under constant scrutiny, yet they could scrutinise their master in return, on this field, master and servant were equal. He liked it this way.

A human knocked hesitantly at the door. Hesitant, yes, he liked it that way.

"Come in," he drawled.

The inferior being grovelled onto the floor. He liked it that way.

"You have permission to speak."

"Master," the human's voice trembled, "the Bonehounds have been eating some of the human's fingers again, it is causing a delay in the production of The Plan."

"I will see to it," the master replied smoothly, but with a cold hint in his voice, he added, "but if The Plan is not finished in good time..."

"Understood, Master."

The human quickly exited the room.

He sighed softly, the doglike once-Metas had a bad habit of leaning into their more... canine tenancies, it caused him no end of grief, but it was worth it, for The Plan, anything was.

Soon, the world would be under a new rule, and the Metas? Oh, they would be sorry.

He chuckled quietly to himself as he gazed at his Plan coming into place. Soon, he promised.