Marshal arrogantly slouched against the deep leather armchair, exuding equal parts conviction and disdain towards the punitive discussion that would soon be in session. K-019981L, a barcode inked into the side of his head was visible through the shaved undercut which erupted into thick stands of black hair sweeping from one side to the other and curving into a sharp fringe. His fine plum suit accompanied by an expensive and intricately woven shirt tightly wrapped his strapping physique as he guided an ornate floral brooch through his fingertips, almost compulsively fiddling with it. The distinctive badge of Katari Logistics was displayed across the lapel, juxtaposed by the intricate spectacle of tattoos emerging from behind his collar ending and with a single kanji, ‘Eternal’ marked on his chin.

Without disrupting his head’s relaxed slant, Marshal scrutinized the luxurious office residence of Roland Orson-Katari, skimming his gaze across its decadent interior. The commercial hub’s radiant glow beamed through the reinforced windowpanes, streaming throughout the lavish retro motif that adorned the high-rise office space. Vast bookshelves stood as each wall, filled from end to end with texts and compendiums likely to have never been held by human hands. An attempted statement of some self-proclaimed intellectual superiority, ironic in the fact that a book had little to no use in the modern age. Just another considerable contribution towards Roland’s net worth and some assumed representation of his personality.

“Do you have nothing to say?” Roland’s deep voice arose from the shadowy figure seated behind the elaborate desk. His stature stern and upright backlit by the commercial hub. A flowing cloak bathed in the crimson of the Katari draped from his shoulder. His thick starched suit as rigid as his personality.

“Regarding what?” Marshal’s response was both glib and dismissive in tone.

“Wipe that smug expression from your face and grace me with some respect. You know exactly what this is about.”

“I honestly don’t. I’ve got no idea what’s got you so upset.” His provoking comments delivered as he stared intently towards the floral brooch.

Roland placed his fingertip firmly on the data slate on his desk.

“This contract, Marshal, is why you’re here. This signed contract, giving Leraád Motor Solutions the development rights-”

“Limited development rights.” Marshal conceitedly cut in.

“-Development rights, to the Katari slimline engine. This contract, Marshal, signed by you, is a breach of this sector’s code of conduct and my trust. You do not have the authority to make such a deal, limited rights or not.”

Marshal flicked and grasped the brooch in hand as he bolted up right.

“Well, that’s weird? since it’s my signature that’s authorised it.”

“Your incessant impertinence serves no one.” He rose suddenly in response to Marshal’s defiance, palms planted firmly on the desktop. “No branch under my banner initiates an external negotiation without my explicit permission and approval. I had plans for that engine pattern which are now worthless considering this childish deception.”

“Oh, come on Roland, don’t give me that…”

“Director.” Roland’s tone grew sterner in his correction. Being reminded of his lesser status, Marshal rolled his eyes to one side and swallowed a breath before continuing.

“The deal with LMS will provide three times the revenue stream than that of an internal exclusivity pledge, let alone the good will it garners without ever losing the leverage. They don’t have the complete software integration and will negotiate again in future. This was always the right move to make, and you know it.”

“I don’t care if you convinced J.A.N.E itself to become our sole client. No move, no matter how lucrative you deem it to be, no move at all should be made without my explicit say. Once again you have failed to follow basic procedures and once again done nothing but proven you are an egotistical child playing at a man’s game.”

Roland turned and sighed, regaining his composure. He took a moment and gazed in thought at the busy retail platforms below. Marshal’s own rage was shackled behind a gritted snarl, held at bay only by the relative difference in their allotted titles and a couple of well-trained hired guns posted behind the doors.

“I swear, if you were not my son I would have you working for the metallurgy conclave by now.” - He turned in time to witness a dismissive response upon Marshal’s face. - “Look at me Marshal. Tell me, is this an empty threat?”

Marshal’s face grew graver with his father’s threats. Their eyes locked in an unspoken power battle of their own.

“I’ll be contacting LMS and taking control of this contract. All revenue streams will be fed through central and distributed as I see fit. - ”

“What!?”

“- Whe R and D branch will report to my division, -”

“You can’t do this!”

“- With regular audits of the entire branch and its projects to be carried out henceforth under my supervision - “

Marshal almost leapt from his chair in receipt of the given punishment. “This is outrageous. R and D is MY branch. Mine. I earned it and I’ve earned this opportunity-”

“You will remember your place, Marshal!” Roland bellowed through the office at his apex. Proceeding to wait for Marshal to reseat himself. “You will retain your position, but in title only. An appointed liaison from central will take over the day to day with big picture decisions running through me and I suggest, for your own benefit, that you take some much-needed respite.” Roland marched back to his throne and punctuated his statement as he seated himself.

“This is a mistake, Director. That contract alone would fund R and D for another cycle-”

“And it will, but not with you at the helm.” He interjected whilst beginning to sift through messages and alerts displayed within the glass of his desk. “You’ve forced my hand Marshal. Maybe if you had spoken to me first, this could have gone differently. You chose this course, and you need to be held accountable.”

Roland sighed once more, straightening his collar. With a gesture across the glass, he swiped the messages closed. “Hold your head up high, son. Take the consequences and be thankful you’re not being hauled off to the conclave. Try to garner some respect for yourself.” His eyes narrowed and locked into another stare. “As long as I am here, you will abide by my will and my rules. I need you to understand this, to truly comprehend this. Are we clear?”

Wrought with seething anger and stomached rage, Marshal became aware to the scratched leather beneath his clenched grip. He breathed deeply and staved his tongue from digging himself a deeper hole.

“Are we clear?” Roland firmly reiterated.

“Yes Father…” He conceded as a scolded child.

“Director.”

Marshal lingered on a blink, swallowing his pride before responding.

“Yes, Director.”

“Any more mistakes and I’ll have no other choice. You’ll be moved to the conclave to work off whatever debt is incurred.”

Marshal had shifted his gaze to the floor. It was the safe option. Incurring any more repercussion right now would become something form which he could not recover. The inner turmoil was plainly visible on his face and would only give pleasure to his sadistic tyrant of a father. Roland studied him carefully as he proceeded to exit the office through its grand double door entrance.

“One more thing.” Roland added. “The operational costs of this handover are likely to drop the branch by 3%. This is no small fee and I expect the difference to be made up from your private accounts.” His smirk almost inviting another confrontation.

Marshal again stiffened mid walk, lingered on a blink, and responded.

“Of course, Director.”

He would not turn to see the entitled grin stapled across his father face. He would not give him the satisfaction. There would be another opportunity. One where he would have the upper hand, and all of this could be made right. He picked up his pace and barged through the doors with firm conviction.

***

The garden memorial, the last real tribute to Everett Katari was damaged. The painstakingly arranged Dahlias brutishly disrupted. Carefully cultivated soil was trampled and littered with torn petals. Marshal glared at the scene as his chest filled with vitriolic rage. Faint twitching of his cheek indicated the intense gritting of his jaw beneath. Who could do this to his personal monument to Everett? Who would dare do this to any Katari memorial?

He turned suddenly to the crimson clad bodyguards from his private entourage, grappling a chest piece and forcing the man to stumble a step forward.

“Find out who did this.” His words spat through clenched teeth before he released the man with considerable force. “And where in the Nine is Laszlo, shouldn’t he stop something like this?”

The guards fell in suit keeping with the hastened pace towards the penthouse; a private annex built onto the biodome itself. Such an addition would have been a costly endeavour, yet it was a small price to pay for instant access to his private haven. Passing through the upper entrance they came to stand upon the balcony overlooking the drawing room. It utilized a modern motif blending harsh materials such as metal and concrete with those synonymous with luxury and comfort. Massive glass planes formed both wall and window looking out between the monolithic towers that formed Novus Eta’s structural framework. Scattered spot lighting gave an intimate atmosphere when accompanied by the flicker of a synthesised fire.

Laszlo and Wesley inhabited the central seating area. Still fully clad in the signature crimson armour, they had taken to lounging back whilst watching violent sports on Marshal’s large high-definition vid screen. Their laughter was loud with excitement as the premier match showed the fan favourite smash his fists into a worthy opponent’s face plates, crushing metal and bone alike. Augmented Combat was a particularly popular sport, feeding the lust for brutal violence whilst also being a prime platform for selling new Augs and enhancements to the masses that followed it.

Marshal gripped the rail in anger before launching into a purposeful pace down the stairs.

“Is this what Katari credit buys?” He vocalised loudly mid stride.

“Incompetent PMCs that lounge around watching sport whilst MY brothers memorial garden, MY garden gets destroyed on their watch?”

Laszlo had casually risen to a dismissive stance to address Marshal’s accusations.

“Calm down there lad-”

“Calm down? Who are you to tell me to calm down?” His steps brought him in range of Laszlo.

“You work for me.” Marshal moving with some aggression to grab hold of the crimson chest plate much as he did with the guard prior. Laszlo dwarfed his attempt by forcibly and sternly slapping his large hand around the back of Marshal’s head, holding him in place with almost supernatural strength.

“You need to calm down, sir.” His tone quietened with intimidating intent. “Otherwise, I can’t be held responsible for what my men or I will do next.”

Their eyes remained locked for a spell. They formed an unsaid understanding and Marshal begrudgingly pulled away as Laszlo released his grip. A smirk graced his face whilst watching the young Katari adjust his suit in petulant angst.

“I’d also just like to point out, my company doesn’t work for you.”

“What are you on about? You’re hired by Katari, and I’m Katari” Marshal scoffed.

“In name maybe.”

“Of course, in name. I’m Marshal Katari. What in the nine is wrong with you.”

“Listen little lad, Julhan Katari hired my PMC to protect the Katari core, which unfortunately extends to your family. So that’s what we do. I want to emphasise that Julhan is who hired us, not you, and we both know that it’s only the name that affords you any attention from her as it is.” Laszlo sifted through the open plan kitchen for a cold beverage as he lectured.

“As for my men? Well, we don’t feel like emotional attachment to a job is a good idea, in fact, most of ‘em don’t even like ya” He nodded towards Wesley who simply shrugged in agreement.

“I don’t care if you like me. I care that you do as you’re told. And you know nothing of mine and Julhan’s relationship. I created the micro engine for Latsat City Cycles. That was worth a premium to us, and she respects me for that.”

Laszlo almost chocked mid gulp considering Marshal’s delusions.

“She tolerates you for that...” He winked whilst pointing the bottle to punctuate his retort.

“…And you know as well as the rest of the core, if it wasn’t for Roland inheriting from your mother, Jules would ‘av scrapped him already. Gonna have to face it lad, if you want to be respected as a Katari you’re gonna have to make them respect you.” He continued to rummage through the kitchen.

“Do a think some nameless street scum would dare mess with anyone else in the core? Of course, they wouldn’t. ‘Cos they’re scared. Fearful of what happens when you cross blades with a Katari. It’s a name with the power to evoke terror and yet you command none of that.” He turned back to Marshal, looking him up and down.

“You want the street scum to fear you? You want my men to follow you? You want the core to respect you? Then it’s about time you made them.”

Marshal remained stiff, locked in internal thought. Lazslo brought himself face to face with him, slapping a hand on his shoulder and cocking his head to meet his gaze.

“Personally, I ain’t got a problem with ya lad. I think you got some real potential, but you command no respect here. Aint no one gonna listen unless you prove your minerals. The streets of Etá demand a steel gut to survive.”

“I’ve got a steel gut” Marshall snapped.

“You’ve got pent up angst and a mild allergy to wheat is what you’ve got. That aint gonna do nothing for ya. Take charge lad. I know it’s in there, just let it out. Show them your worth. Show them why they should fear, you.”

Marshall’s vision lingered on the window beyond. A grand neon lit plaza, populated with hundreds of nameless citizens going about their business. They should all know his name. They should all fear and respect him. Anger mixed with a potent desire to prove himself engulfed his thoughts.

“Who are you to determine my worth-” he muttered.

“-Nothing but glorified hired help.” He pushed his way past Laszlo and marched towards the terminal sat on his lavish desk, whilst gesturing towards Wesley.

“You, get me the vid logs and IPC scan data. I want to know who was in my garden and where in the Nine they are now.”

Wesley waited for the shrug of approval from Laszlo before jumping into the task. He fired the PDA included in the armour and started to shift through the logs. Marshal sat at the terminal swiping and tapping away with a determined look across his face.

“You all want to see what I am capable of, then I’ll show you. I’ll give you a reason to fall in line.”