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.
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.
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