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Monopolies are often more complicated in the modern era than the board game would have you believe. With the size and complexity of the business incorporation space, a corporation of a certain size often needs to build both horizontal and vertical integration. A certain size above -that- often needs to start spending a great deal of money in Washington to make that expansion process go smoother. However, any self-propagating organism of sufficient size begins to have sections within it that are not aligned in function, that do not operate in pursuit of the same goals. Often these difficulties become known through some minor disaster, and the company resolves them through some small amount of money, perhaps in the hundreds of thousands. However, the more underground these parts are, and the subtler each of its parts remains, the harder it is for their interactions to come to light. And the easier it is for a corporation to stab itself in the back.

After all.

It’s Only Business.Continue Reading

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Some days it was better than others. Today was not one of those days. Some days it was a minor annoyance at the back of his mind. Today, it felt like lightning was pouring through his nerves. Another day in the dark, fingers clutching at the remote as he scanned for something to distract him, when he knew full well that what he sought to avoid would be doing the distracting. His fingers balled into fists, even that motion betraying his frustrated gravitas by evoking a soft groan.

He’d given so much of himself. He’d served his country in so many capacities, gained so many skills, saved so many lives, and ended so many more. He did things that he would never, ever confess to, even if he weren’t sworn to secrecy. And the moment those skills became obsolete, the very week that his injury removed his capacity to serve, he was discarded. Set back at home with a brief tribunal, a half-hearted salute, and a quarter of the money he needed to survive. And he was only likely to survive for so long, if nothing changed.

Luckily, that’s exactly what happened. It all seemed like a blur. A man in a suit, a briefcase with a tech corporations logo on it, and promises of an experimental nervous system surgery that would make him never care about his pain again. He smiled that day. And there would never be another day that he -didn’t- face his work with a smile. Because loyalty can be a fickle thing, but sometimes, the price is high enough to earn it forever.

After all.

It’s Only Business.

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Our blood-shot eyes disguise their lies
Our cries all rise up to the skies
God help them when they realize
Our knives arrive to end their lives

They never let our city sleep
They count on us to be their sheep
The pens are full, the labor cheap
But they’re the crops our blades will reap

So now I lay me down to rest
I’ll put the wires to the test
When sunrays next caress the west
We’ll storm the gates, resist arrest!

-Excerpt from “The City that Never Sleeps”, Thinking of Summer

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Since time immemorial, the powers that be have valued entertainment. It doesn’t only pacify the masses, leaving them blind to the injustice and the exploitation of the system that contains them. They pay for it too. This leaves the powerful to search for the most potent, resonant messages, and when those messages are revolutionary in nature, a peculiar sort of dance begins. The powers that maintain the status quo monetize the writings of those that attempt to upend it, granting a platform to forces that wish to destroy them. In their efforts to appeal to a growing societal powder keg, they sell tickets for fire-breathers. But any company with enough wealth is certainly practiced in the art of risk management.

After All,

It’s Only Business.

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The conditions were perfect. Or at the very least, in the very particular setting of this tube, they were perfectly designed to accomplish what the bosses wanted. Restful, continuous, and above all, predictable sleep. It was dark. Sixty-four degrees Fahrenheit on the dot, he’d heard them say, with continuous modifications to account for his changing body heat. Not a single sound, but for his heart, his breath, and a gentle, rising and falling tone that apparently got a sleep scientist named Kostya some award. Not a Nobel, but something in that direction. Everything was perfectly calming.

Except for the millimeter-thick electrode spike that skewered his bolted-down skull to regulate his hypothalamus.

Still, he went over a few old airman tricks, ones crafted to get someone asleep in minutes in case that would make the difference between a failed and a successful operation. And who knew, maybe this was one of those times. He breathed in, tightening everything from the waist down before letting it go on the exhale. Then, everything between his waist and his neck. Then everything above the nec- Ouch. Then, he imagined sitting on a black velvet hammock beneath a dark sky, telling himself calmly and nonjudgmentally not to think. And as he drifted away, the first oneironaut to pierce the human psyche, he wondered how much it cost to train him to do something that had never been done. He hoped it was a lot. Because all that stood between him and whatever dangers laid beyond was PolyCorp.

After all.

It’s Only Business.

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