Sitting in a poorly lit hallway was a man trying to light his cigarette.

He was young with an exhausted expression and equally exhausted features.

The only thing that proved his youth was perhaps the slight spark of energy in his black troubled eyes and the crisp ID that hung from around his thick neck.

The Intelligence Department never hired old folks, even if they were well versed and decorated. To the department those accolades meant nothing more than a large red "USED" stamp. To him the perfect analogy would be that they were simply clay pots: beautiful to look at, usually empty, and way too outdated.

Managing to finally get the cheap plastic lighter to work, the man took a long drag before looking down at his torn slacks and bloodied button down.

He let out a wet cough.

As of fourteen hours today, the Ethos Intelligence Department had lost contact with the outside world.

Its twelve hundred staff members were either missing or dead.

Feeling a dull pain in the back of his head, the man took one last drag from the stick of cancer before tossing it besides the disfigured bodies that were piled right outside the elevator doors.

They had all tried to rush out, screaming and begging for help.

But there was little he could do for them. He had his orders. He understood the risks of even letting a single person out of this building.

Looking at his own hands he felt somewhat disturbed.

It was as if the hands covered in blood were no longer his.

Watching as they dug into his pockets, the man questioned what he was looking for. To his surprise, his hand resurfaced with a ball point pen.

Smiling at the pen, he licked his dry lips.

It tasted of blood and tears.

He stared at the object with a heavy conscious.

"Forgive me."

Then, as if by magic, the pen disappeared in between the milliseconds when the lights flickered off, on, then off again.

Surprised he reached up to rub his eyes to find nothing but air where his head had been.

The headless figure fell over as large chunks of flesh started to disappear from the corpse, as if the heavy atmosphere of guilt chewed hungrily at his existence.

Then, just like that, the building's emergency power gave up and the struggling light went out.

"Listen Jack, I don't give a damn if you have to suck the guy off."

Visible irritation and fatigue plagued the man's face as he rubbed his brow in frustration. An empty cup continued to danced closer to the edge of the his table as the conversation continued, catching the attention of the silent secretary who's eyes had jumped up from her desk at the sudden escalation in volume.

Geoffrey Franz Ferdinand was impatient man in the face of incompetence. To him, perfection was not a goal but a standard, one that he expected everyone he associated himself with to uphold. His family, friends, but more specifically co-workers and employees were always under constant pressure to get things done punctually, effectively, and within the realm of his knowledge.

It was for this reason that just as the cup started its descent towards the floor that a fresh cup filled with warm coffee was placed onto his table, and the old cup caught seconds away from its demise. A Café con Leche with enough sugar that would cause his dentist to turn in his grave.

Geoffrey didn't even bat his eyes at the sudden event.

Casting her a small grin, he nodded a "thank you" before nursing his expresso by the window of the forty-five story building.

Istonia was a busy city like any other its size. It was however, likely the most wealthy. High end cars littered the parking lots and the roads, huge fashion posters advertised new designer products, and tall buildings were scattered all throughout like tombstones to those who dared oppose the company's that they housed. Money was a language that Istonia's inhabitants knew well. Poetic schemes to obtain power, contracts like odes to secure assets, everything in this city had a price tag and with just the right words, they can be obtained.

Everything except the very building he stood in.

Some might say that with enough money, one could buy anything, even power. Those people obviously have no idea what they're talking about. Simple small timers with big mouths and foolish dreams. Geoffrey has yet to see any person suitable of controlling the amount of power he controlled.

"...Right, Jack, just do as I said and I promise he'll hand deliver the information we need to you by tomorrow morning."

Hanging up before rolling his eyes and falling into his chair, Geoffrey let out a long sigh.

To think that Ethos could have gone down in less than a whole hour...

The thought frightened even him.

Especially since there was almost nothing to work on. No information on the perpetrators, the tools used, or the whereabouts of the missing employees.

The only thing that there was an abundance of were body bags and those corpses proved useless to him. No DNA, just bodies mauled beyond recognition.

His face darkened as he repeated the word mauled in his head.

It would be troublesome if new age bio-weapons were involved.

Setting the empty cup of expresso down, Geoffrey and his secretary both looked at their watches. Their eyes met and voluptuous brunette stood up.

"I'll go escort Detective Genkou upstairs." she said before bowing respectfully and heading off to the door.

"I want you to contact the Lab and tell them to get Carbon prepped while you're getting downstairs. Take the private elevator, you know the access key."

The chair hid his expression as he stared out the window. There was an uncertainty in his voice, something so rare for the man that it caused the secretary to hesitate at the door.

"Is there a problem, Shelly?"

She swallowed.

"No Mr. Ferdinand."

... and with that the door closed on the office and the man behind his desk.