Why? That was undeniably the word of choice spoken by those now afflicted with the financial fiasco wrought by Marcus. Why indeed. Marcus knew exactly why. The seeds were sown nearly fifteen years ago. The plant was now bearing its toxic fruit; its ooze was seeping into the ground, infiltrating all that was pure.

      Marcus was a gifted child; of that there was no doubt. He excelled in every subject, but had an affinity for mathematics. He took to the subject like a crocodile on the banks of the Nile. His teachers marveled at his ability and were simultaneously counting the days when this mathematical wizard would leave their midst. After all, how insignificant must a grown adult feel when he is faced with a fourteen year-old boy who could instruct his teacher in the subject he has been spending most of his adult career preparing for. How deflating for the teachers. But how it fed Marcus’ ego…

      Marcus reveled in his superiority. He made no effort to spare the emotions of his adult superiors, for he possessed a capability that was beyond theirs. His achievement was so effortless, so shameless, that all his teachers throughout his high school years shuddered to have him in class. It was like watching a child prodigy solve a rubric’s cube in sheer seconds. Marcus knew that he was going to use this gift one day. Exactly how, he knew not. But after that fateful day in his sophomore year in high school, he knew that it was going to be for revenge, not targeted against a specific person, but targeted against the society that made the foolish mistake to question his superiority.

      Placed in an advanced calculus class in his sophomore year, Marcus was in placed in the hands of the infamous Mr. Youngs. Youngs had a reputation for possessing a pungent personality, riddled with brilliance but short tempered and with a penchant for emotionally eviscerating his students if they would dare question him or his methods. Youngs was obviously aware of the fresh prodigy enrolled in his class and immediately deployed his resources to the goal of putting Marcus in his place. No little egotistical boy was about to supplant the veteran teacher and his reputation.

      Youngs could have taught in higher education, but repeatedly rebuffed offers to do so. In doing so he denyed himself greater financial success and accolades. But he reveled in the high school setting. There, Youngs could overwhelm every single student with his sheer ability. For those with some inkling of mathematical talent, he would make them feel insignificant, irrelevant, and only hoping to one day possess his skill. He enjoyed toying with them, like a child toying with a captured insect. Youngs relished in the power he had over these students. In his hands were their minds, emotions, and inflated sense of self. It was pure joy showing them how much they really had to learn. But he had never faced one like Marcus. That collision course came to a head on the first day of classes in Marcus’ sophomore year. Youngs knew that Marcus was going to be placed in his class and had made preparations all summer long.

      Youngs had seen Marcus’ dirty work all throughout the previous academic year. He had counseled his colleague, poor Mrs. Francese (the object of his affection) who had to deal with the young prodigy as a freshman. Many afternoons, Francese, who did not possess the sheer will nor intellectual ability to deal with the insufferable know-it-all, needed to be told how she did the best that she could in dealing with the pugnacious Marcus. Now, it was Youngs’ turn to make Marcus feel like an ant. But he wasn’t going to make this suffering quick. He was going to orchestrate a colossal collapse in poor unsuspecting Marcus’ life. The student will submit. And Youngs was going to craft the lesson, deliver it with efficiency and brutality, and was going to teach the little bastard his proper role in the world.  Order would be restored, and the young prodigy was going to respect his experienced and exceptional elder, one way or the other. That boy was going to be torn down to size.

To be continued…

New York City: The financial capital of the world. Teeming with millions of citizens, scurrying about on subway trains, ferries, taxis, buses, cars, bicycles. As a child, his aunt bought him an ant farm. How he enjoyed watching those little black pepper-like specs, moving about in straight paths, busy moving along, but trapped in the glass container. His lips curled into a malicious smile as the memory floated to his consciousness. One day, after an argument with his father, the subject of which was unmemorable, Marcus smashed the ant farm on his bedroom floor. His mother ran into the room, horrified at the mess. But he relished the scene, not only of the ants frantically crawling around the floor, but the look on his mother’s face. The look was one that conveyed not only the disgust at what had happened, not only the puzzled look at how to clean up the mess, but also the look that conveyed “why?” But on Marcus’ face was the sinister smirk of a child who not only knew exactly what he had done, but had done it with purpose and achieved the desired effect.

      Looking at the city from his helicopter, Marcus thought how similar was the scene from his childhood. As he hovered over the city, he saw people running out into the streets, panicking just like those ants of years ago. Mother was dead now: no shrieking, no scowls. Now, there were only the ants below and the sounds of their environment. They weren’t the usual sounds of mid-day New York, the sounds of taxis, and robotic footsteps into and out of buildings, of police sirens. No. Now those things existed but they combined into a frenetic frequency, an amplified squeal of a pigs being led to slaughter. He had smashed the biggest ant farm in existence, as New York descended into hell, the other major cities began to follow suit: Los Angeles, Chicago, Miami, Buenos Aries, Sao Paolo, London, Paris, Amsterdam, Rome, Moscow, Beijing, Tokyo, Sydney. The smaller cities were to follow the larger dominoes. The panic was spreading faster than the most viral epidemic. The global ant farm was shattering. All the ants were scattering. And all this was happening because he made it so. So this is what it feels to truly destroy. Marcus felt god-like, and while this was not unusual for him, he never expected to feel it this fully, emanating from all his pores, through each neuron, each cell, to every fiber of his being.

      Confusion, panic, chaos. It was all so delicious. The results of the orchestrated financial fiasco went exactly according to Marcus’ plan. Of course it did. Driven from that experience so long ago, his vengeance was a result of many years of brooding, obsessing, calculating, all for the painful deliberate process to yield the end of days destruction he so yearned for. All of those people, those insipid, unquestioning, unmotivated cretins were getting their just desserts. But as they were running around as terrified sheep, Marcus was licking his chops, wiping away the droplets of saliva that were escaping from the corner of his engorged mouth. Finally, the moment of triumph had arrived. His name was to become infamous, at least to those who survived the catastrophe. Tear it down. Tear it all down.