Getting a Technology System in Modern Day

Avalon Island.

Aron walked into a small, dark room with a table and three chairs. A hanging light swung over the table, its dim light barely illuminating anything and leaving most of the room in the darkness as it swayed to and fro.

“Long time no see,” he greeted the two men seated at one side of the table.

“I don’t remember us having met at any time,” George Morgan replied in a quavering voice. He couldn’t hide his nervousness, earning him a slightly disappointed glance from his father, who was in the seat next to him.

“But we’ve been conversing with each other for quite a long time, now, haven’t we?” Aron sneered as he took a seat across the table from the Morgans..

“We have?” Aubrey responded in mock surprise. “Perhaps there was the illusion of a conversation, but in order for a conversation to happen it requires two people, no?” He folded his hands and rested them on the table, a slight smile on his face. “So it can’t be a conversation. To me, it seems more like a lecture.”

“Fine,” Aron shrugged, “we’ll call it a lecture. If that’s the case, it was one that you forced me to give.”

The light continued swaying from side to side over the table, casting Aron and Aubrey’s faces in occasional, moving shadows.

“In fact,” Aron continued, “I would have been perfectly content to continue being what I used to be. I would’ve graduated from school, started a career... perhaps even married my childhood friend. I would’ve had a small house with a mortgage and a white picket fence, two kids, maybe a dog or two.” He shrugged. “But Rottem Morgan took that from me.”

“Who?” Aubrey said with genuine confusion on his face. Had the name not been brought up here, he truly wouldn’t have remembered that cast-off chess piece of his from so long ago.

“OH!” Realization dawned on his face. “Rottem. I have to apologize for him, actually. I didn’t know before he failed that he was such a waste, and had I known that, he never would’ve crossed paths with you.”

Aron barked a sharp laugh. “No, no,” he waved his hand, “I really have to thank you. You see, it was ultimately your ‘failure’ that... stimulated my potential, shall we say, and ultimately gave rise to the man I am today.” A cold smile fixed itself on his face as he crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair.

Aron wasn’t kidding. Had he not been in the situation he was in, the system might never have found him and he truly wouldn’t be the man he grew to be. So he did owe the disgraced professor, at least a little bit.

He changed tack in the conversation. “Do you know what they say about fish and guests, Mr. Morgan?” he asked.

“I’m sure you’ll enlighten me,” Aubrey replied. He waved his hand, as if granting Aron permission to continue. His upbringing had cemented his behavior at a very young age and, as intimidated as he was—and he had to admit that he was actually quite intimidated by the young man seated across from him—he could never act as if he were in anything but full control of whatever situation he found himself in.

“After a few days, they rot and start to stink,” Aron bluntly said. “So you have to throw them out.”

“Is that so? But I am neither guest nor fish. So what does that have to do with me?”

“I’m afraid, Mr. Morgan, that your entanglement with me has come to an end. You were a useful whetstone, but, like the fish, you’re rotten and it’s time to throw you out.” Aron sneered, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward across the table.

“I’m sure we’ll see about that,” Aubrey replied, a mysterious smile flitting across his face. “But I have a question.”

“Go on.” Aron nodded.”

“Now that you’ve caught my son and I, what are you going to do with us? Torture? Imprisonment? Execution? Parade us in some trumped-up kangaroo court in your little tinpot tyranny then send us for a public beheading in the city square? Seize the Morgan family’s assets and declare us persona non grata?” Aubrey calmly listed off a number of possibilities. His son, on the other hand, wasn’t quite as calm and could only tremble in the seat beside the elder man.

Aubrey turned his head to his son and barked, “Stop sniveling! You’re a Morgan, so act like one!”

He cleared his throat and turned back to Aron. “Well? What’s it going to be? What is our fate, now that we’ve fallen into your hands? History is written by the victors, after all... so what will history say about us?” he finished and stared straight into Aron’s eyes.

Aron stared back at Aubrey with a mocking smile on his face. “What makes you think I’ll do any of that?” he sneered.

“You obviously want what we have,” George interrupted. “You’re merely a nouveau riche, drunk on your little pile of gold and power, but we,” he gestured to himself and his father, “are the Morgans. Generation after generation, we’ve built an empire of power, authority, and wealth. A reputation that can’t be built in a single lifetime, let alone a few short years.

“We are what you can never be, no matter how hard you try. We are the elite. We are the kingmakers, the power brokers, the people that drive the world. You... you’re a petty little tyrant sitting on a throne of garbage and calling it gold,” he sneered. “So of course you want everything that we have.”

“Oh, really?” Aron smirked. “But I’m afraid that I already have everything of yours, and then some.”

George and Aubrey both cast condescension-filled gazes at the young man across the table from them.

“It seems you disbelieve me.” Aron shook his head, then waved his hand and a holographic screen appeared floating in the air between the two sides. Slowly scrolling along the screen was a list of the Morgans... former assets and a visual representation of them being drained and shifted to Aron’s accounts.

“I’ll leave you to watch as your empire crumbles, your power is stripped, your kings are dethroned, and your treasury is emptied. Enjoy the fruits of your labors, Misters Morgan,” Aron calmly said, then stood up and turned to leave the room, leaving his two defeated opponents gazing at a screen showing them the dismantling of everything built by generation after generation of their ancestors crumbling around them.

Aron opened the door, then paused and turned. “I would say ‘until we meet again’, but I’m afraid, my dearly defeated opponents, that we never will,” he said, then walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.