In a past life, it had been called the "War Room".

The sign outside was new, and entirely less conspicuous. Perhaps it lacked a certain flair that the old sign had. Then again, perhaps it also lacked a certain melodramatic theatrical touch that spoke of Armageddon. His former employer had held the same aim as himself, as far as he could tell. It was a simple aim. Many had tried for it, though it had yet to be properly done. The sign had inappropriate to the Kabal's cause. It had implied things that were entirely untrue. Really, just because one is taking over the world does not mean that one cannot be peaceful about it.

Just because one can be peaceful about it does not mean that one will.

Slate was on a bit of a time schedule, here. He would like to get things done in this lifetime. It was always easiest to achieve your goals while you were alive.

He sat in on of the leather chairs just off from the head of the table, his baby blue gaze idly on the clock across the room. He was a young man; only eighteen. A teenager. Lanky, and not particularly tall. His Italian heritage showed in his face and dark hair, though the nose was pure Hungarian. Irish and German completed the genetic package. Really, it was curious how genetics defined their world.

He was dressed well, in khakis and a dark blue button-up shirt. He waited without a trace of either patience, impatience, or particular interest. The door to the room was unlocked. He'd had Nigel Banks order the man here, through the communicator that each Kabal member had been given by Hunter Anotonescu. There was a manila file open on the table in front of him. Slade. A new member of the Kabal. Employed in the vehicle bay, as head engineer.

The teenager waited.

It was called the "Board Room", and it would see more use than the "War Room" had ever gotten.

Slade had got the usual dramatic communique from Banks, he didn't particularly mind as any drama was to be cherished at the present time. Recently the upper echelons of the kabal had been worryingly quiet. Mr Antonescu, while naturally shrounded in mystery and darkness, had been unnervingly absent in his duties as leader and overall economic evil genius. Not that Slade would dare criticise, if his employer was to be quiet, then he would inevitably and unchangeably be quiet. He was paid not to dare after all... Regardless of said contractual duties Slade felt trapped in the vehicle bay, the very aura of general inertia and inactivity that had infected Mondragon was choking him with every day that passed. It wasn't that he disliked his work, this was the dream opportunity that he'd never even hoped to aspire to; even before his... mutation. Slade strived for direction, even in inactivity there had to be a prupose behind it. As such, working for a seemingly headless organisation was driving the very spirit out of Slade piece by piece.

Finally, however, the orders were returning. He had to report directly to the war room, the war room... It had a certain, how to say, excitement about it. The name of course appealing to that primitive and child like nature of men, mention war and it instills emotions in almost all men, be it euphoria, honour, chivalry to disgust, fear and trepidation. War gave direction, and as such suited Slade's needs perfectly. He just hoped the anticipation on his summons would be rewarded in kind. There seemed to be a change already, the halls and offices of Mondragon were brimming with activity. In business terms one rarely saw this outside a reshift in the management, Slade guessed that the very return of 'business as usual' was as good as said for the workers here... Unless of course there had been a reshift? Impossible...

Slade came to the imposing doors and knocked with the due deference they deserved, people here liked the hierarchy and Slade felt it prudent to at least play along. The pay cheques if anything helped Slade to 'play the part'. He glanced at the imposing atrium as he waited for the orders to enter, something wasn't right. Slade quickly tried to glean the change before he had to enter, and soon he found it. The board room? Real nerves began to flow through his body; the dull quiet, the inertia, the re-establishment of activity throughout Mondragon. Could something have changed? As he was given the signal to enter Slade entered with renewed caution, with all this new and sudden change he had no idea what to expect from this meeting.

A knock came. The teenager waiting in the leather chair did not turn his head towards the door; the merely lowered his gaze back to the file in front of him.

"Enter, please." He called. The car mutant did.

His appearance was quite distinctive, as Slate already knew; file photo aside, it was safe to say that anyone that "Chimera" had met, Slate was also familiar with. How very curious that things did not work in reverse: to Slade, the brown haired, rather average looking teenager waiting for him in the room was in all likelihood an entirely unfamiliar face.

He motioned easily to the chair across from him; the arms had been removed and the stand fortified in an impromptu attempt to accommodate the werecar's somewhat surplus-of-human frame. If the mutant remained on the Kabal, Slate would see to ordering a proper chair for him. There was no need to hastily waste their budget, however, even if the budget in question had a somewhat higher ceiling than the average company's. Noin and the other secretaries had been in charge of the money transfers between Antonescu's accounts and the other employees'; earlier today, he had belatedly set them about the task of transferring as much as they could from as many of the man's accounts as they could before any of the man's overseas agents caught them. Things had been going well, particularly as the secretaries had full authorized access. It was only a matter of time before the suspicious action resulted in some manner of lockdown. Even if the amounts they were dealing with were already in the billions, Slate was in a monetarily conscious mood. Until the mutant's contract was renewed, there would be no special-order chairs, and that was final.

"Hello, Mr. Ravenscroft. Do you prefer that, or do you prefer 'Slade'?" He asked.

There was no preamble as he launched into what he had to say next. There was no need for preamble. What was fact was fact.

"My name is Slate. You may call me that, or you may call me 'Sir'. Mondragon Labs and the Kabal are now mine, and have been since early yesterday. Please forgive my rudeness in delaying our meeting; I fear I have had other business to attend to."

He paused there for the moment, his hands lightly clasped together over the man's open file on the table in front of him. The thing he was most interested in seeing with the old Kabal members--and the reason which he had decided to meet with each of them in isolation--was their reaction to this news.

An impassive blink was all the more sign he gave of just how interested he was. Was Mr. Ravenscroft loyal to his former employer, or to his paychecks? It was a question that would make all the difference in whether Slate's take over of the Kabal itself succeeded. He could build a new one, of course. That would be an inconvenience, however, and Slate had little desire for inconveniences.

Slade paused for the briefest of moments as he entered, it was not mr Antonescu. Slade rationalised this unsettling moment by presupposing that the... kid... for lack of a better description was under mr Antonescu's orders. Then he moved swiftly to the chair he'd been indicated and sat, it at least had been modified.
"Either that or vandalised." Slade thought as he sat uncomfortably on it.
The meeting began without delay, no niceties, which was a small comfort. This kid was at least a chip off mr Antonescu's block, no need for mollycoddling just business all the way, Slade was used to it. The young man asked what Slade prefered to be called, was it important? As far as Slade was concerned the employers could call him whatever they wanted, but this kid wasn't the employer... was he?

Slade listened with more and more consternation at the information passing from the young man, he was in charge? What happened to mr Antonescu? Slade had no doubt his now... well previous employer could snap this kid like a twig, but here he was. Slade began to have a small yearning for inactivity, this was way over his head. As far as he was concerned he just wanted paying, but surely he should have been doing something to stop this kind of take over, was it violent? By the books? Had mr Antonescu requested this or was it even a test? Slade had to play this carefully, by no means did he mind who he worked for but he couldn't look too eager, neither could he look to hostile to the prospect of a new employer...

As far as Slade knew, his facial machinations were harder to read than a normal humans. He hoped this guy wasn't able to decipher anything from his expresssions as he loaded off the new information, Slade had to remain impassive. The young man was looking at him expectantly, obviously expecting some sort of response... Slade took a breath and replied carefully, his voice laced with the onset tone of indifference; while human enough so not to come across as rude or nonchalent.

"I am more comfortable referring to you as sir, mr Antonescu referred to myself as Mr Ravenscroft. I believe he used it because few others did, what you wish to call me is entirely up to you, sir. May I ask why mr Antonescu is no longer in charge? OIr indeed why I have been summoned, sir?"
Slade was stepping out of line, but in the circumstances asking for clarification could be understood. If this meeting was about Slade's support or services, Slade wanted to understand fully the current state of Mondragon and its new direction.

One thing quickly became apparent: a car did not share many facial expressions in common with a typical human. The most surprising thing was that this came as a surprise to him.

When Mr. Ravenscroft spoke, Slate did not know what to expect. Apparently the feeling was a mutual one.

>> "I am more comfortable referring to you as sir, mr Antonescu referred to me as Mr Ravenscroft. I believe he used it because few others did, what you wish to call me is entirely up to you, sir. May I ask why mr Antonescu is no longer in charge? Or indeed why I have been summoned, sir?"

"Mr. Antonescu is no longer in charge," Slate answered, with boldfaced honesty that left no room for mercy, "because I have performed a coup d'état in his absence. I have been with the Kabal since its beginning, Mr. Ravenscroft. I have found myself dissatisfied with his leadership methods and aims." Namely, such things as squashing the legitimate questions of employees, and pursuing aims merely for the benefit of his own gain. "I have my own vision of how Mondragon Labs and the Kabal will be run. Honestly, if the man is surprised to find a coup has occurred while he has been neglecting this continent, then he clearly had no sense of his employees."

"As to why you have been summoned," Slate continued, with the same impassive tone; "I wish to offer you the same contract that Antonescu did. You position and its benefits will remain the same, though I may call on you for missions that range somewhat further than the vehicle bay. Will you join me?" He asked, quite simply.

"Though I suppose that question is unfair at the moment. First--what questions do you have for me?" The teenager's baby blue eyes were cold and nearly inhuman, themselves. It was hard to tell whether he was actually inviting questions, or simply wishing to see whether the potential employee sitting in the slipshod chair in front of him would be silly enough to voice them.

Slade listened to the young man, talking with either a fiendish honesty or a childish naievety. It certainly accounted for how the coup survived to this stage: mr Antonescu's absence. Slade was still trying to fit the two pieces together, a grand coup and this young kid... It was so ludicrous there had to be something else.
"You're a mutant, right?" Slade mused, he realised what he'd just said and shook his head.
"Uh, sorry sir I spoke out of turn."

Slade took a breath, he was suffering from slight overload. This was a large amount of information to process and he needed to keep on top of it. As far as it looked nothing would change for Slade except the leadership and activity, he'd actually get some real missions to partake in at last... Either way he had to make his position clear, it sertainly seemed like the new boss had.
"Look, sir, my loyalty is to whoever pays me, I enjoy my job and I'll stick at it, whether it's you in charge or mr Antonescu. I won't, however, become involved in a powerplay should he ever return. It's no disrespect to you but I just want to do my job, be paid for it, and have piece of mind..."
Slade waited to gauge the kid's reaction, he hoped it would be enough. In a way the promise of no involvement might be preferable to an intent to take a side should that particular battle ever occur, safer not having to rely on others as a business lord...

He moved to questions, there were a few; even fewer he would actually ask.
"Is the aim of the Kabal still the same, where do I stand and if I am still in your service what is my first task for you, sir?"
Direct, and to the point. Just the way things should be like around here.

>> "You're a mutant, right? Uh, sorry sir I spoke out of turn."

A shake of the head. Truly, there were very few clues that this man gave. It would be a convenient mutation for poker. Briefly, he wondered at his choice at sending mercenaries to pick up his package from the poker tournament in California; perhaps he should have held off for a few days, and sent actual Kabal members. Then again: he would rather like to keep the Kabal members close for the moment. One should not send one's power base out into the world without first stabilizing it.

A small smile twitched at the corner of the teenager's mouth in response to the mutant's question, for the briefest of moments, before fading away like a shadow barely glimpsed.

"I did just ask for questions; you are hardly speaking out of turn. Yes, I am a mutant." The man had not asked about his abilities, and the habit of volunteering such information that seemed so prevalent in the mutant world held little appeal to Slate. It was nothing to hide: it was nothing to spout out inanely at every opportunity, either.

A deep breath. Did it have the same meaning as it would have with a human? What meaning would that be, precisely? Without an accompanying facial expression, there were many options.

>> "Look, sir, my loyalty is to whoever pays me, I enjoy my job and I'll stick at it, whether it's you in charge or mr Antonescu. I won't, however, become involved in a powerplay should he ever return. It's no disrespect to you but I just want to do my job, be paid for it, and have piece of mind..."

The smile twitched again. At the same time, the teenager's impassive baby blue eyes seemed to chill. "I appreciate your honesty. Allow me to return the favor: if and when Antonescu does return, all I would ask of you is that you do not heed a summons to fight at his side. You may fight with me when the time comes, if you wish, but I will by no means require it. My brother and I have fought Antonescu before. We held our own, at that time. We are both stronger now." The longer Antonescu remained away, the stronger they had the potential to become. The day would come when Calley and he would do more than 'hold their own': they would win. "If your plan is one of noninterference, then we are already in agreement." The werecar's sense of self-preservation was entirely understandable; further, his loyalty to his paycheck had been as thoroughly confirmed as possible. That was all Slate really wanted to know.

>> "Is the aim of the Kabal still the same, where do I stand and if I am still in your service what is my first task for you, sir?"

Slade gave a short nod: an acknowledgement for the directness of the mutant's questions, and the highest praise he was liable to give. "Our aim remains the same, after a fashion: I still aim to control the world, as Antonescu did. My methods will vary, however, and my vision is somewhat farther reaching. You will see for yourself, soon enough."

"Your first task," he answered the final question, "is to help me in a training session. One of your fellow Kabal members has recently recovered from an injury, and I wish to see both her and your powers for myself. There is only so much one can gain from a file," he said simply, not acknowledging the file set in front of him with so much as an eye flick: if the car mutant was not observant enough to see his own photo and name sitting on the table, then Slate would not be the one to point it out bluntly. "The session will begin tomorrow morning, in Training Room Three."

"Will you join us?" Slate asked. A simple question, and a loaded one.

Slade was appreciative for the deflection of his indiscretion, but it did in a way settle his fears. It also settled the question of authority, regardless of age this aspiring megalomaniac had powers to back up his position. Not to mention the man appeared to have a brother? Slade assumed that this Slate was the only man in charge, or at least hoped. Sibling rivalry had caused the downfall of many an empire and Slade's paycheck couldn't afford the instability. Another indiscretion would be intolerable however, and since he was wrapping up the meeting it was hardly the place nor the time to ask such personal questions.

The young man gave Slade his first assignment, training. Well it was to be expected of course, a new boss never sends a team out into the field before he has had chance to assess and doctor them. Slade felt confident he would not disappoint. The young man finished with a clear question of loyalty, Slade felt it prudent to show that his had never wavered for the Kabal at least.
"I never left, sir, I'll report tomorrow as ordered."
Acknowledging the sign that the meeting was over, Slade left the now 'Board' Room. Things looked like they were going to get active again, tomorrow would be the beginning.