The girl remained silent and let her bone spike answer for her. She raised the weapon and slashed it hard across Mr. Addison King’s right cheek. In disbelief King leaped from his chair and sent it crashing backward into his mahogany desk. The porcelain mug shattered and coffee seeped into his documents. King grew angry as blood inexorably poured from his wound. He decided, though he truly hated physical contact, to fight back rather than continue a bargaining attempt that was clearly failing. King swung a fist directly at the girl’s jaw - hoping to knock her out in one blow. She dodged his attack, yet barely seemed to have moved at all. 

It began to occur to Addison that this was a foe that could neither be bought nor beat. He swayed woozily with his right hand compressed over his bloody cheek. His voice betrayed his weakness as he cried out in desperation: “I have the power to give you anything you could want! Just name it and it’s yours!”

“I want to obliterate your power” she said in a husky tone. The girl’s expression never changed. She was not angry or scared. She appeared simply to be focused. 

“What does that even mean?!” King limply swung at her a second time, but his attempt was so weak that she didn’t have to evade for it to miss her. Acknowledging that the fight was over, she wiped her bloody spike on Addison’s tie before slipping it back into its concealed sheath. 

The girl’s voice came out evenly - “I want what I suppose your kind has wanted - to change the world. My people suffer because they were unlucky enough to have a rebellious ancestor or because they actually cared about what happened to the forgotten people on the outside. We are diseased, scarred, and hungry. We are moving in and taking over.” She said it so simply, as if there were no question she would succeed. 

“I am not to blame for your people’s suffering! I was born to this world, I did not… create it....” Addison argued as he slumped down to rest on his office floor. 

“You cannot chose where or how you are born, that is true. But you can choose what to do with your life, Mr. Addison. You and those like you have made every effort to justify and perpetuate this hierarchy. Perhaps, when you were formulating your plan for this world’s future, you should have read Octavia Butler instead of Ayn Rand.” 

The girl turned and left as stealthily as she had come. 

Addison pondered her words for his last bloody moments. He, arguably the most powerful man in the civilized world, had just been taken down by a small girl. If there were more like her - and how many outsiders where there now, anyway? - she might have a real chance of getting what she wanted. The blood that had pooled around him on the floor began to coagulate as his body grew too cold without it. He regretted then that he would never know how she managed to get past the extensive security measures that kept civilized people safe. They were, after all, the best that money could buy. 

The End

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