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Here we go!! 
‘Gentlemen, allow me to begin this meeting.’ The words were spoken by a very short, elderly and extremely wrinkled man. What little hair he had stuck up from his head at random angles, giving some indication of how stressful the past few days had been for him. He adressed the twelve men assembled around that long, conference table. They were the board of directors for Atlas Corporation, making them, collectively, one of the most influential forces in the business world. Only the chair at the head of the table was unoccupied. That place was reserved for the CEO of their most distinguished organisation and, since the tragic death of Spanner Farnaby three days previously, had sat empty.
‘Although I am sure we are still deeply affected by Mr Farnaby’s death, we must not neglect our obligation to the company.’ The man speaking was Vincent Shiroshima, vice-chairman of Atlas Co. and oldest friend of the deceased. He had been eager to get on with the task of finding a new chairman, but social protocol prevented him until enough time had elapsed that he could do so without he and his colleagues being accused of deep insensitivty. Three days had seemed an appropriate length of time for them to appear to the public to be mourning. ‘It is for that reason that I have called you all here today,’ Shiroshima went on.
‘Oh do get on with it, Shiroshima,’ grumbled one man. ‘We all know how the process is supposed to go. We have to vote, right?’
‘That is correct,’ Shiroshima replied, unfazed by this interruption. ‘The rules for this situation are clearly laid out in the manifesto our company’s founders laid down at its inception; each member of the board of directors is a candidate for the position of CEO. Shareholders may vote, and the weight of their votes will be proportional to their ownership of the company. Additionally, we are all allowed to vote. The weighting of the voting will be split evenly between votes from the shareholders and votes the board of directors, and each of our votes will count equally with one another’s. The candidate with the majority of the votes will become the new CEO. Is everything
clear so far?’
‘When will voting take place?’ asked one man. He was a tall, reasonably good-looking man and one of the younger amongst them – he was only in his fourties. The years of stress had yet not taken too much of a toll on his features; his blonde hair was a little thinner than some men of his age maybe, the rings under his blue eyes a little more pronounced perhaps. The only other complaint one would be justified in making about his appearance were that his eyebrows, besides being much darker than the rest of the hair on his head, were wild and untidy. The name of this striking man was Ian Chapman. He was an up-and-comer within the company, and had only recently joined the board. Nevertheless, he was ambitious and highly intelligent. In addition, he was well-respected and well-liked amongst board members and shareholders alike. Most importantly, he was one of three members of the board that was a licensed Hunter.
‘I propose that it take place in five days’ time,’ Shiroshima replied to his question. ‘If that is agreeable to everyone.’ There was a murmur of assent. ‘If there are no more questions, I’d like to open up the floor to anyone who has anything to say.’ As members of the group got up in turn to speak, one of their number had his eye on Mr. Chapman. It was another of the three Hunters amongst them, and his name was Oliver Zaltzman. A man of fifty, he was completely bald save for a ring of ginger, fly-away hair wrapped round the back of his head, and he wore a pugnacious look. He was thinking something through very thoroughly and quickly; he did not care what look he had on his face. ‘Which of us has the best chance of winning?’ That was the question through his mind. Shiroshima had the most experience, but he was too old to be put in charge and besides, he had no desire to be in charge. Of the others, most fell into the same categories – either too old or not interested. Of the ones that were left, two of them, Zaltzman felt sure, didn’t have a hope in hell’s chance. They were just over-ambitious fools. That left three candidates; himself, Chapman, and Clarence Braig. He glanced across at that last man. Braig was sat near the middle of the table, his warm, pleasant, thick-bearded face showing a look of contended patience as he listened to his colleagues talk. Mentally, he counted up the supporters each of them had amongst the shareholders and the rest of the board. Chapman, surely had the most, followed by Braig and he, Zaltzman, in third and last place. If he wanted to be sitting in that CEO’s chair in five days time, he was going to have to eliminate some of the competition. Braig, he felt sure, couldn’t be touched. He was well-liked even by those who didn’t think him CEO material. And to even them, it had to be said that Clarence Braig was doing very well for himself as the founder and chief of “Panacea”, a small group of Hunters who specialised in healing and medical-based abilities. Zaltzman considered it highly doubtful that that man had any sordid secrets in past that could be raked up. Not only that, but Zaltzman wasn’t sure he’d even mind losing the position of CEO to Braig.
Chapman, however, was another kettle of fish. He was corrupt – Zaltzman knew that beyond doubt, but he wasn’t sure he could prove it. If he could, what would be the result? Many of the members of the board accepted corruption as a necessary evil of the job, and plenty of them practiced it themselves. On the other hand, whilst they all lied to screen one another, lying to the shareholders would be a different matter. If Zaltzman, scraped up big enough dirt on Chapman, then the result would be the following: his supporters amongst the shareholders would vanish, and his supporters amongst the board would be forced to do so as well for fear of the backlash of public opinion against them if they didn’t. But he had no way of finding the evidence in just five days...
Zaltzman was so deep in thought that he hardly realised that everyone was filing out of the conference room. He sat in thought for a few more moments before getting up himself and walking out. In the lobby, looking thoughtfully out through the building’s sheet glass window over the expanse of city beneath him, was Braig. He turned around as he heard the other man approach.
‘Ah Oliver, how are you my boy?,’ he enquired warmly, ‘You look like something’s on your mind. Then again, you always look like that, haha. Let me guess, you’re wondering what it’s going to be like under the iron rule of Mr. Chapman?’ Braig smiled wryly and Zaltzman couldn’t help but smile back. He joined him looking out across the city. ‘I admit though,’ Braig continued after a few moments’ silence, ‘I’m also a little worried. I know he is a very competent young man, but I don’t like the thought of an arms dealer running this company. If he does win the election, I intend to resign.’
‘Wait, he’s an arms dealer?!’ Zaltzman had started at the words but he had been speechless for a moment or two. ‘Are you serious?!’
‘You didn’t know?’ Braig replied, looking at the other man in quiet surpise. ‘Oh yes, I understand he makes frequent deals with a man by the name of Reno Marconi.’
‘I’ve heard of him,’ interrupted Zaltzman. Reno Marconi was a ruthless arms and drug dealer from a small country on the Yorbian Continent. This was exactly the kind of thing he could use against Chapman; a plan had immediately formed in his mind. It would be dangerous, but he was confident it could be done...
Lost in his thoughts again, he missed what Braig was saying to him. ‘Well, I have to head back across town to Panacea HQ. I have a meeting with a certain young man I’m trying to recruit for the cause.’
‘Good luck with that,’ came the disinterested reply. As soon as Braig was out of earshot, Zaltzman was on the phone. ‘Dietrich, are you free? Good, call Twisp. Both of you, meet me at my apartment in half an hour.’
A fast-moving car tore round the corner and down the wide street, swerving left and right to narrowly avoid oncoming traffic. In front of the Hunter Association building it braked suddenly and came to a standstill. A man jumped from it, ignoring the shouts of angry motorists, and ran inside.
It was two days later and so far, Zaltzman’s plan was not going well.
Once within the building’s spacious entrance hall, the worried-looking man ran straight to the front desk, his blonde ponytail and long sleeves flying behind him. The girl behind the desk, recognising the man’s unmistakable long chin, addressed him chirpily. ‘Ah, hello Mr. Dietrich! What can I do for you?’
‘How many Hunters are in the building right now?’ he demanded breathlessly.
‘We currently have seven Hunters staying with us,’ she informed him immediately. ‘All of them are within the building at this time.’
‘Please call them all immediately. Ask them to come to down here at once.’
‘At once, sir!’ she said, smiling.
Over the next few minutes, all seven Hunters received brief phone calls. ‘Hello sir! A Mr. Dietrich respectively requests your presence in the lobby immediately,’ the receptionist told them politely and cheerfully.

‘Gentlemen, allow me to begin this meeting.’ The words were spoken by a very short, elderly and extremely wrinkled man. What little hair he had stuck up from his head at random angles, giving some indication of how stressful the past few days had been for him. He adressed the twelve men assembled around that long, conference table. They were the board of directors for Atlas Corporation, making them, collectively, one of the most influential forces in the business world. Only the chair at the head of the table was unoccupied. That place was reserved for the CEO of their most distinguished organisation and, since the tragic death of Spanner Farnaby three days previously, had sat empty.
‘Although I am sure we are still deeply affected by Mr Farnaby’s death, we must not neglect our obligation to the company.’ The man speaking was Vincent Shiroshima, vice-chairman of Atlas Co. and oldest friend of the deceased. He had been eager to get on with the task of finding a new chairman, but social protocol prevented him until enough time had elapsed that he could do so without he and his colleagues being accused of deep insensitivty. Three days had seemed an appropriate length of time for them to appear to the public to be mourning. ‘It is for that reason that I have called you all here today,’ Shiroshima went on.
‘Oh do get on with it, Shiroshima,’ grumbled one man. ‘We all know how the process is supposed to go. We have to vote, right?’
‘That is correct,’ Shiroshima replied, unfazed by this interruption. ‘The rules for this situation are clearly laid out in the manifesto our company’s founders laid down at its inception; each member of the board of directors is a candidate for the position of CEO. Shareholders may vote, and the weight of their votes will be proportional to their ownership of the company. Additionally, we are all allowed to vote. The weighting of the voting will be split evenly between votes from the shareholders and votes the board of directors, and each of our votes will count equally with one another’s. The candidate with the majority of the votes will become the new CEO. Is everything
clear so far?’
‘When will voting take place?’ asked one man. He was a tall, reasonably good-looking man and one of the younger amongst them – he was only in his fourties. The years of stress had yet not taken too much of a toll on his features; his blonde hair was a little thinner than some men of his age maybe, the rings under his blue eyes a little more pronounced perhaps. The only other complaint one would be justified in making about his appearance were that his eyebrows, besides being much darker than the rest of the hair on his head, were wild and untidy. The name of this striking man was Ian Chapman. He was an up-and-comer within the company, and had only recently joined the board. Nevertheless, he was ambitious and highly intelligent. In addition, he was well-respected and well-liked amongst board members and shareholders alike. Most importantly, he was one of three members of the board that was a licensed Hunter.
‘I propose that it take place in five days’ time,’ Shiroshima replied to his question. ‘If that is agreeable to everyone.’ There was a murmur of assent. ‘If there are no more questions, I’d like to open up the floor to anyone who has anything to say.’ As members of the group got up in turn to speak, one of their number had his eye on Mr. Chapman. It was another of the three Hunters amongst them, and his name was Oliver Zaltzman. A man of fifty, he was completely bald save for a ring of ginger, fly-away hair wrapped round the back of his head, and he wore a pugnacious look. He was thinking something through very thoroughly and quickly; he did not care what look he had on his face. ‘Which of us has the best chance of winning?’ That was the question through his mind. Shiroshima had the most experience, but he was too old to be put in charge and besides, he had no desire to be in charge. Of the others, most fell into the same categories – either too old or not interested. Of the ones that were left, two of them, Zaltzman felt sure, didn’t have a hope in hell’s chance. They were just over-ambitious fools. That left three candidates; himself, Chapman, and Clarence Braig. He glanced across at that last man. Braig was sat near the middle of the table, his warm, pleasant, thick-bearded face showing a look of contended patience as he listened to his colleagues talk. Mentally, he counted up the supporters each of them had amongst the shareholders and the rest of the board. Chapman, surely had the most, followed by Braig and he, Zaltzman, in third and last place. If he wanted to be sitting in that CEO’s chair in five days time, he was going to have to eliminate some of the competition. Braig, he felt sure, couldn’t be touched. He was well-liked even by those who didn’t think him CEO material. And to even them, it had to be said that Clarence Braig was doing very well for himself as the founder and chief of “Panacea”, a small group of Hunters who specialised in healing and medical-based abilities. Zaltzman considered it highly doubtful that that man had any sordid secrets in past that could be raked up. Not only that, but Zaltzman wasn’t sure he’d even mind losing the position of CEO to Braig.
Chapman, however, was another kettle of fish. He was corrupt – Zaltzman knew that beyond doubt, but he wasn’t sure he could prove it. If he could, what would be the result? Many of the members of the board accepted corruption as a necessary evil of the job, and plenty of them practiced it themselves. On the other hand, whilst they all lied to screen one another, lying to the shareholders would be a different matter. If Zaltzman, scraped up big enough dirt on Chapman, then the result would be the following: his supporters amongst the shareholders would vanish, and his supporters amongst the board would be forced to do so as well for fear of the backlash of public opinion against them if they didn’t. But he had no way of finding the evidence in just five days...
Zaltzman was so deep in thought that he hardly realised that everyone was filing out of the conference room. He sat in thought for a few more moments before getting up himself and walking out. In the lobby, looking thoughtfully out through the building’s sheet glass window over the expanse of city beneath him, was Braig. He turned around as he heard the other man approach.
‘Ah Oliver, how are you my boy?,’ he enquired warmly, ‘You look like something’s on your mind. Then again, you always look like that, haha. Let me guess, you’re wondering what it’s going to be like under the iron rule of Mr. Chapman?’ Braig smiled wryly and Zaltzman couldn’t help but smile back. He joined him looking out across the city. ‘I admit though,’ Braig continued after a few moments’ silence, ‘I’m also a little worried. I know he is a very competent young man, but I don’t like the thought of an arms dealer running this company. If he does win the election, I intend to resign.’
‘Wait, he’s an arms dealer?!’ Zaltzman had started at the words but he had been speechless for a moment or two. ‘Are you serious?!’
‘You didn’t know?’ Braig replied, looking at the other man in quiet surpise. ‘Oh yes, I understand he makes frequent deals with a man by the name of Reno Marconi.’
‘I’ve heard of him,’ interrupted Zaltzman. Reno Marconi was a ruthless arms and drug dealer from a small country on the Yorbian Continent. This was exactly the kind of thing he could use against Chapman; a plan had immediately formed in his mind. It would be dangerous, but he was confident it could be done...
Lost in his thoughts again, he missed what Braig was saying to him. ‘Well, I have to head back across town to Panacea HQ. I have a meeting with a certain young man I’m trying to recruit for the cause.’
‘Good luck with that,’ came the disinterested reply. As soon as Braig was out of earshot, Zaltzman was on the phone. ‘Dietrich, are you free? Good, call Twisp. Both of you, meet me at my apartment in half an hour.’
A fast-moving car tore round the corner and down the wide street, swerving left and right to narrowly avoid oncoming traffic. In front of the Hunter Association building it braked suddenly and came to a standstill. A man jumped from it, ignoring the shouts of angry motorists, and ran inside.
It was two days later and so far, Zaltzman’s plan was not going well.
Once within the building’s spacious entrance hall, the worried-looking man ran straight to the front desk, his blonde ponytail and long sleeves flying behind him. The girl behind the desk, recognising the man’s unmistakable long chin, addressed him chirpily. ‘Ah, hello Mr. Dietrich! What can I do for you?’
‘How many Hunters are in the building right now?’ he demanded breathlessly.
‘We currently have seven Hunters staying with us,’ she informed him immediately. ‘All of them are within the building at this time.’
‘Please call them all immediately. Ask them to come to down here at once.’
‘At once, sir!’ she said, smiling.
Over the next few minutes, all seven Hunters received brief phone calls. ‘Hello sir! A Mr. Dietrich respectively requests your presence in the lobby immediately,’ the receptionist told them politely and cheerfully.