• “Believe...” The word was a chorus among the crowd. Hundreds of thousands of lips moved in unison. Each with the same goal in mind: to believe. A single thrum of life emanated from the gathered peoples. The energy was palpable. None of them were excluded from this monumental occasion.

    “Believe.” The volume grew. The excitement built.

    “Believe!” The one-worded chant was reaching its crescendo, and the throng of people added loud clapping in their fervor.

    “BELIEVE!” The strength of their voices and their sheer force of will sent the ground beneath them trembling, as if the very earth they stood on feared their power. The platform in front of the assembled crowd swayed precariously in front of their awesome might.

    Then one voice rose above the others.

    “Silence!” It was not heard due its volume, but rather who wielded that volume. “Listen, good peoples!” As if suddenly bewitched, silence fell.

    All turned to stare at this man center stage. He was no more than two feet above the others, but those two feet spoke wonders.

    His features were unremarkable. He had chocolate brown hair, and equally brown eyes. He wore a standard business suit, accompanied with a neatly pressed gray tie. He had the slight tan and build of one who does not spend hours cooped up in an office. Yet, standing at five foot eleven, this man was unanimously the most important man in the world.

    “I appreciate all those that have gathered here to listen to my words, and am humbled by your cries,” he began, staring out at the crowd with vivid, intelligent eyes. “I stand upon this stage today to accept my position of president...” There was a distinct pause, and a single breath that was held through the crowd. “Of the world.”

    Cheers ran through the people, none able to constrain their excitement any further. Shouts of “President!” and “Bob Otha!” rang loud and clear through the calm mid-July day. Their time to believe had come. They would continue to cheer in the time they had left.

    ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

    “Great job out there, Bob,” said a short, stocky man who went by the name of Lion. This was partly due to his wild mane of red hair. His real name was Lionel Sanders, though his deep set hazel eyes also contributed to the name of Lion. As he clapped a hand on Robert's back, he continued, “They bought it. Hook, line and sinker.”

    Out of the public eye, President Robert Otha was a very different man. A very different man indeed. “Now, now, Lion,” Bob said, a slight smirk on his face. “They bought it because of my 'absolute' dedication to their 'ideals'.” The air quotes were practically tangible.

    “You know, Bob, sometimes I wonder if you're the most corrupted of us all,” Lionel muttered, opening a door for his companion, yet not meeting his gaze. After a few steps in silence he continued, “I wonder if you like destroying your people.”

    Robert sent Lionel a sideways glance, more amused than angered at this accusation. He responded with a curt, “I don't wonder.” The rest of the walk to the conference room was spent in silence.

    ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

    “Welcome, Bob,” called a feminine voice from across the room. Robert stepped forward to greet his co-conspirators, only sparing a momentary glance at the woman that had greeted him. Only after hands were shaken, hellos were said and shrewd congratulations were handed out, did the president walk toward the woman at the head of the crowded table.

    She smiled at Bob, a rather condescending smile. She was a fair-skinned woman, with jet black hair, and glossed, thin lips. Her pride was evident due to the high tilt of her chin, her tailored suit, and the erect manner in which she sat. This was Cecelia Otha, the most important woman in the world.

    Robert smiled back, more of a sneer, really. “Hello, Celia.” Frost clung from every syllable.

    Those around the table took notice of this exchange with no more than a roll of their eyes or a deep sigh. “At it again, I see,” Lionel murmured to those on either side of him.

    The Otha family was dynamic to say the least. Robert and Cecelia's relationship contributed to the strenuous family life. It was never a marriage of love— its sole motivation was power. It was on pure convenience that the two got together, or joined forces as they preferred to say. They never took the time to become acquainted with one another before implementing their plan. This was a shortcoming that cut directly into the heart of the organization.

    “So, Bob,” Cecelia said, venom lacing his name. “I loved your speech today...” A pause. “Especially the part where you IGNORED everything that I said!” Her fair skin took on a vivid red coloring, her nostrils flared, and her ice blue eyes pierced his.

    Retaliation was expected at this point. “Well, dear, you of all people would know that, as the most important man in the world,” Robert's pause cut deep, “I can't listen to any frivolous advice thrown at me by any arrogant idiot!”

    “Alright! First order of business today,” Lionel boomed out. His voice felt unnecessarily loud in the silence that followed. “So, as you all know, the presidential acceptance speech took place today. A big round of applause to Bob for some superb acting!” A round of small, polite applause took place.

    “It was nothing,” Robert said, all fake modesty. “Anyone short of an idiot could have done it.” Despite being able to restrain his gaze from falling on Cecelia, the intent was clear.

    “Of course, of course, and we thank you for doing that menial task,” Lionel said, “You know exactly how crucial it is for our plan...”

    “Moving us on to the second order of business,” interjected an elderly man. “I understand that you have begun to develop the serum?”

    “We started the process just yesterday,” Lionel replied, suddenly developing a haughty air. “I oversaw the manufacturing myself. Everything seems to be going quite smoothly.”

    Robert gave a loud, deliberate snort. “You act as if you were the one who wrote the formula, or the one who spent painstaking nights refining that formula. Oh, wait. That was me,” he said, drawing out the last word. “What did you do? You oversaw something. How quaint.”

    Lionel merely sighed. He was already used to Robert's caustic mood after an argument with the Misses. “Right. And, getting back to the point, we've already ordered the cards to be printed. Since we're mailing them out in November, and it will take around a month to get them coated and packaged, we should have an entire two months of relaxation before we have to start the baking.”

    There were slight murmurs of approval among those gathered, and two sets of leers from the Otha couple. As if anticipating their dissatisfaction, Lionel continued, “Of course the first lady and president will be preoccupied visiting other countries. Perhaps 'consulting' with their lesser authorities?”

    Previous tiff forgotten, Robert and Cecelia looked at each other. They both understood the hidden message behind this question: administering the serum early to their governors around the world. And they both understood the risk of failure if such a move were made.

    “Don't you think—” began Cecelia.

    “Wouldn't it make—” started Robert.

    They both took a breath and it was Cecelia who addressed Lionel. “That could jeopardize the whole operation. If what we're conducting got leaked, or if anyone noticed the difference...”

    “Hear me out for a moment,” Lionel said. “I know neither of you will enjoy sitting here watching billions of cards lying around, and I think this could be a positive factor in our domination. We want people to notice the difference.”

    Both Othas remained silent for a moment. “What do you mean?” Robert asked, truly dumbfounded.

    For being a genius, he is rather lacking in common sense, thought Lionel. All he said was, “Think about it Bob. This serum—your serum—what does it do?”

    “Are you seriously asking me this?” Robert asked, suppressing a laugh.

    “Just play along.”

    He scoffed, but, otherwise, conformed. “It subverts an individual's control of their own thinking, or decisions through a through a consumed dosage. After ingestion, the serum's chemicals dissolve within the stomach, its 'nutrients' being absorbed by cells. Once absorbed by those cells, the cells develop cancer-like properties, and continue to multiply through the system until—”

    “That's enough,” Lionel said, holding his hand up for emphasis. “So, you also told me about a specific quality the serum had, something about the neurological system—”

    “Oh, you mean the neurological weakening?” Robert finished, getting excited despite himself. “Well, and this is purely psychological mind you, it's likely that, with a more compliant host body, the serum could more easily be absorbed into the body—more specifically the neurological system, which controls motor functions and behavior.”

    “Meaning?” Lionel prodded.

    Robert paused momentarily, as if just figuring out Lionel's point, “Less casualties during full distribution.”

    “Excuse me,” said the elderly man from before. “I'm not here for scientific explanations. I'm just the financier. Care to explain exactly what you're talking about?”

    Lionel cleared his throat. “You see, if we administer the serum ahead of time to the governors and, assuming none of them die, they are under our control entirely, we can convince others.”

    “Yes, exactly,” Robert continued, as if the idea had been his. “There are still a few pockets of resistance. If we can convince those who do not believe, then less of their bodies will shut down upon consuming the serum.”

    “Ah,” said the old man, a look of distaste briefly flitting across his face.

    “What?” snapped Robert.

    The financier remained placid. “I was merely thinking about what this rate of 'rejection.' Quite high I suppose...”

    “I'll have you know that the test subjects all responded wonderfully, Steve. Only one out of fifty rejecting the serum,” Robert said, staring down the elderly man named Steve.

    Not being able to help it, the old man flinched. “I see... Do you know fifty people, Bob?”
    “Of course, I'm a man of many alliances,” the president said, sitting up straighter in his seat.

    “How would you like it if one of them died?” asked Steve, point blank.

    At this Robert had to think. “Well, that would be incredibly inconvenient.”

    Steve shook his head, knowing there was no way to reach this man. And praying. Praying that, at the hands of this monster, some would survive with their sanity.

    ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

    There were only three at the table this time. Robert sat, still insufferably confident and smug, next to his wife. Lionel stared them down from the other side of the table, unable to keep the guilt from pressing on him. He'd changed. His vibrant red hair was laced with gray and his eyes were shadowed with sleepless nights.

    “The cards and cookies went out today,” he informed, his deep voice cracking under the weight of the guilt.

    Neither of the Othas took any notice of this. “Wonderful,” said Cecelia, her mouth turning up in a pointed grin. “Great job, Lion. We really could not have done it without you.”

    “Yes,” seconded Robert, shuffling around in his coat pocket for a cigar. “You really have been invaluable. Care for a cigar?”

    Lionel's gulp was almost audible. He knew how it was done by now. A meal in “honor” of someone's service. A coffee to “toast” their success. And, now. A cigar. “No, t-thank you,” stammered Lionel. “I'm really fine.”

    Robert's mock surprise caused Lionel's skin to crawl. “Really?” he questioned. “They're Cuban. Raúl Castro gave them to me himself. It's amazing the things he'd be willing to give me. And all because I took him to get a beer.”

    A chill ran up Lionel's spine as he once again muttered, “No, thank you.”

    “Really, you must speak up, Lion,” chastised Cecelia. “How else are we supposed to understand you?”

    “I'm sorry,” he replied, his voice only losing more volume. A few moments of silence followed.

    “You know, Lion,” started Robert. “I was wondering how I would go about doing this. I knew there would be no easy way with you. You've been in this since the very beginning. Ultimately, I'll present you with this: Wouldn't you like to escape?”

    Lionel looked up with wild eyes.

    “I know what these last few months have been doing to you. Watching your colleagues, your family lose themselves. All the while knowing that you have had a part in their fall and knowing, yes, this is the kicker... knowing that they are happier this way.” Robert's voice had become more of a purr in the background as Lionel's memories seemed to play across his mind. “You've heard them chant. You've heard them: Believe. What do they believe in, Lion?”

    Lionel starred at Robert uncomprehendingly for a moment. “You?” The question came out tentative and fearful.

    “Yes, Lion. Me,” Robert was now speaking into Lionel's ear, cigar still in one hand, the other cupping Lionel's shoulder. “Haven't you believed in me all the while?”

    All Lionel could do was dumbly nod.

    “Good. Then, don't you want to be happy in that belief? Follow the footsteps of the entire world?” Robert said this with such conviction, Lionel's nods became more frantic and vigorous.

    “Yes!” he whispered. “Yes! I want to believe! Help me believe!”

    “Very well, Lion. Truly, thank you. I could not have taken over the world if I did not have you as my second in command,” Robert said, holding out a syringe. Lionel momentarily pondered how that could have gotten there, but otherwise was lost in this bliss.

    Finally a way to believe unquestioningly. He reveled at the sudden sharp p***k of the needle. It doesn't hurt. Believing does not hurt. His face lit up in a sort of otherworldly happiness. That was before the convulsions.

    It started with a quick bolt up his spine. He could feel it arching on its own accord. Was this what mindlessness felt like? Then he doubled over. Deep, cutting pains ripped through his back and stomach. His very veins screamed in pain. In what felt like an out-of-body experience, Lionel felt all of this happening, noting absently the contorted expression on his face.

    Outside of this world of pain was a very different one. One controlled by a very evil man. “Hahaha, how ironic,” Lionel heard, the voice stabbing his ears. “My second in command, having been exposed to the serum this whole time, believing in it and not knowing that his body was incompatible to fully believe.” A bark of a laugh pounded against his head. “Wouldn't you say that's amusing, Celia?”

    “Yes,” she said, voice abruptly losing all tone. “You're correct, sir.”

    Another convulsion wracked Lionel's body, and his nerves were trembling violently. His body couldn't put up its fight much longer. No, thought Lionel in his last moment of consciousness and surprising clarity. To believe in your world is to give up the choice to believe. I've escaped a worse fate.

    Loud cackles were the last thing he heard before darkness fell.