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Futuristic the bastard half of my soul 「m&c」

An Unforeseen Turn of Events
  • ManhattanIV

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    I will set the world on fire and call it rain

    As far as luck went, Loren's was running out.

    Well, as close to running out as the sole son of the Supreme could get to. Frankly though, what were the chances of being summoned just before his bid could be finalized, and the error notification that flashed on the crowded screen was more infuriating than the notification of a withdrawal from his account.


    It wasn't like the Prince didn't have access to unlimited funds, you tended to get that and much more given Laurent Du Pont's heritage- such insignificant digits were less than a drop in the ocean, but still. It was the principal of the matter. Loren didn't like to lose, and he especially didn't like to fund any petty rebellion brewing within the squalor-ridden streets. But what he hated- abhorred- more than anything, was the constant nagging of his father. Talk about annoying.

    He didn't give a shit that his father was Supreme Leader; not really. Sure, it gave Loren a shiny nice new title to flaunt around in his friends' faces and force down everyone's throats, but it wasn't like his life had been changed. His father already ruled the masses of the Upper Echelon, had the prior government in his deep pockets and cajoled with foreign emissaries on the daily. Money just became even less of an object with the sudden change in profession. If you could call a societal upheaval and takeover a "profession change". The status of being even more so untouchable was nice, and Loren would be lying if he argued that he didn't appreciate the look of fear that overtook others when he made public appearances. A fact which was made not by his unimposing stature but more likely by the fact that his father had staged a coup d'état and thrown in democracy for a fascist regime headed by a merciless dictator. Not that Loren was any better than his father.

    Who needed democracy in this age anyways? The military had all but been revolutionized into militantly obedient cyborgs and it's not like the elite which ruled really gave a shit about the penurious in poverty. Yawn.

    That was beside the point though; between betting on 'illegal' mech fights and shopping, Loren didn't have time for politics or whatever it was wars were fought over. Clearly, this was a message his father either didn't get or refused to get, because why else would Loren be disturbed during his time? He'd have to take the matter up with his father, though lately he's hardly been able to get a word in edge-wise with all the bitching being stuffed down his throat. If he didn't enjoy his current quality of life and if it weren't for the fact he was, at the end of the day, utterly terrified of his father, he would've sold his family out to the cheapest bidder ages ago. Not important.

    If only to get his father off his back, he'd do his duty as Prince and come when called. At least that was the opinion of his pride and not the nag of fear for a repeat of what occurred when he was an hour too late last time. "I know- I'm coming can't you see? Or are you as dumb as you look?" The words were growled with far too much vitriol for such a lean body, yet they succeeded all the same in forcing the private security who had been sent to back down with placating hands and a bent head. This one looked more human than they typically did, yet through the locks of brown hair startling blue eyes could make out the unnatural glow of motherboards and processors, so he shoved past the man with more force than necessary if only to get his point across. Prince Laurent did not appreciate the hands of commoners on his pureblood skin, and he certainly wouldn't stand for the mechanized fingers of cyborgs to touch him.

    The drive back was comfort of the highest luxury, yet that did nothing to soothe the severe agitation brewing within Loren, jaw clenched enough to make his teeth ache and his arms crossed tight enough to strain his shoulders. The signature blue ambient lighting of the car was supposed to invoke a feeling of serenity and calmness, yet it only served to further piss the Prince off. When he got in moods like this, it was better to just leave the cat in the bag by itself. As the towering skyscraper of black mirrors loomed in the near distance, the blond only slumped further in his seat, adamant about not wearing his seatbelt despite the numerous please of the guards who he'd been forced to ride with.

    As much as he shared his disdain for the mechanically altered (as most of his status did) he clearly had no trouble letting them open his doors or take bullets intended for himself. He was a precious commodity after all; it was their job to throw down their computerized lives for his. It wasn't as if it was hard to come across an engineered body these days. Pureblooded humans such as himself were far more priceless.

    Which is why Loren understood the mechanization of the military and the exclusive employment of cyborgs in the line of duty and protection. It made sense. Cyborgs were far more enhanced and trained beyond any limit humanity once knew, it was only fair that such refinement and work be put to use the best way possible. It did not mean he had to like or even appreciate it though. Frankly, as fascinating as he found the whole process to be, the idea of being so easily slain by nothing more than an amalgamation of flesh and steel was unsettling. Though it wasn't like those under the employment of his father would ever dream of laying a finger, metal or not, on the sole heir.

    Loren really wasn't sure what he was expecting to find when the solid African Blackwood doors opened. following the arduously long elevator ride to the top penthouse suite. He could hardly think of a logical explanation for disturbing his peace when he specifically requested to be left alone to his own devices. Maybe his father had finally caved and gotten him a dog. Unlikely. Loren was a) old enough to get himself one and b) smart enough to know that would never happen. He couldn't even take care of himself. Maybe his father was calling him in to apologize for the righteous pain in Loren's side that he'd been. If only. Maybe, just maybe, father had decided that he'd drop the secret squadron posted to follow the Prince around to ensure his safety. That would be an unforeseen blessing. It was bullshit anyway; Loren knew they were there. Didn't that defeat the purpose of a secret guard?

    Despite all the wild conspiracies and conclusions Loren's neurons rapidly fired to concoct, none had come close to the reality exposed once the double doors had been opened by two posted servants. Not even the dog one. Definitely not the apology; though at this point Loren would grovel to his knees and apologize if only to get his father to confess that it was a joke.

    He looked a lot different. Taller than he remembered, a lot more honed and sculpted than he's used to seeing. Same black hair that had his gut-wrenching painfully and his throat constricting. The metal was new. So were the tattoos. Loren thought his mother would've had an aneurysm if she saw her son's flesh marred with ink and alloy. She wasn't around anymore anyway. He was sure that if the broad frame before him turned, he'd see the same eyes he swore he'd forget, yet all Loren could focus on at the moment was his father, and how much he'd love to lunge himself over the expansive desk to gouge out eyes that never compared to the blue of his own.

    What the fuck.
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