The Quest for Sleep.. is Over

[Demand for Stims in North America has increased to 5.]

A hundred screens can be seen in the walls and windows of the CEO office at top of the building, "La Ortija" , the tallest skycrapper in the whole metropolis of Lima if not in the whole south of America. Its position was just right off the shore, next to the island San Lorenzo where one could see the green cliff just above the sea level, over a hundred skycrappers could be seen from this place and it was all thanks to this corporation and the effort of its CEO. Enrique Francisco Castilla de Casales.

Over these last few twenty years, he had led the company through several crisis in south america, Asia and even Africa, selling simple yet effective weapons to the involved parties, but most of the time to those sides that would benefit him the most in the long run. As he walked to the window, he waved his hand and the whole screen that portrayed news all over the world, stock prices of rival companies and even his own manufacturing producing the weapons he would sell later simply vanished and allowed the sunlight to enter.

A sea overflowing with freight ships was all that Castilla wanted to see, some of those ships were probably even his and some not so much. Lately, he had seen a decrease in the volume of weapons shipped, so far it seemed that the guerillas in the Amazonas and other border had come to a somewhat standstill, but that didn't meant that the nations of south america would no longer buy weapons in the contrary, it was more as if they were going to prepare for further conflicts, however, for that to truly reflect on his sales would still take some time.

In the meanwhile, he decided to focus on two things. One to sell weapons and second to increase the demand of weapons.

“Do you feel under the weather? Have you come into contact with some undesirable disease that might just make you feel sick. Well then come and get the MedQuik, a fast acting relasive pill that will make you feel healthy. *A long list of the items used in the product and noting it’s not a miracle drug along with other legal notices*” - A short add to buy medquik spread throughout the european protectorate.

Lukas nodded and turned to his executive staff. “I suppose that will work, but we need something new. Something that will stand out. Rebecca how is project Cronos-1?”

Rebecca a young esteemed scientist who had moved fast up the ranks of the corporate ladder peaked her head up. “Well.. we’re working as fast as we can but it’s slow moving we’ll require some time before any major breakthroughs but I believe we can get you something to work with.”

Lukas nodded “Excellent, That’s what I wanna hear. Now, get to it people we got lives to save and money to make.” Lukas walked out the clear doors and headed into his office to review the stocks and continue competitive research.

קוגניטיבית רובוטיקה

Picture of the patented Help-Bot from Cognitive Robotics

"Are you tired of walking the dog? Is the wife bemoaning how the trash needs to be taken out again? You could get off that comfy chair and do the chores, or you could let your friendly Help-Bot do it for you! No more wasting your time cooking, cleaning or even moving! Help-Bot does it all!" Video of Help-Bot doing all manner of different chores and activities. "And the best part of it all is that you do not even need to pay him. We are working hard so you don't have to. Coming from your friends at Cognitive Robotics." Picture of Logo flashes on screen.

The advertisement is played throughout North America in order to stir up the craze for Help-Bots. Orders can be placed immediately and shipped within a timely fashion. CGR sales representatives begin the process of shipping bots overseas in order to be ready for the predicted increase of demand for the robots. Shareholders are excited to watch company assets increase as soon as possible.

SH Holdings

The First Draft of the SH7 Ad



Chairman Lee sat in the boardroom, surrounded by the heads of each department. It was like a family reunion... with each head being related by blood. The head of marketing, a niece of the Chairman, was preparing the screen to show the first iteration of the SH Holdings' ad in the international market. Their last generation of holographic smartphones sold around the world. It was rare to see anyone without some sort of SH device. But now, they were ready to launch the SH7 into the European market where the biggest demand for their products currently seemed to be.

However, as a giant corporation, it was crucial to continue to innovate and create new products to meet the demands of the future. Thus, the company was also holding a strategy meeting. They sought to expand their line of transportation products as the developing markets clearly needed such products to aid in their strained logistics systems. Regardless, the goal was clear, to continue to expand and grow... with nearly no price that was too much.

A multicultural group of vaguely businesslike looking men and women of various ages sit in a liberally sunlit board room, smiling gleefully to each other in their business-casual wear. They don't actually say anything to one another, just mouthing random muted nonsense to their coworkers as the narrator speaks over top of them. He uses a lot of pleasant sounding buzzwords, like 'success' and 'potential', extolling to the probably miserably poor listener on some street corner somewhere how great it is to actually be rich enough to matter in life—just, saying it more subtly than that. The camera pans out of the room, following a window into a shot of the skyline of a generic looking megalopolis that could pass well enough for whatever city the viewer happens to be living in. Various stereotypical markers of economic development are shown; skyscrapers under construction by small armies of autonomous cranes with a handful of human supervisors, a gaggle of stylish young women with their eyes glued to the latest needless electronic entertainment device, the newest hotrods zipping down luxury superhighways reserved for driverless cars at humanly impossible to manage speeds, etc. The impression given by the narrator—a middle-aged British man speaking in perfect received pronunciation—is that society is going just swell, and all of the people pictured are benefiting from the preeminence of the megacorporations previously depicted in the boardroom scene.



But then, the scene shifts to one of the proles, a young adult male in working class garb, standing at the ground entrance of a Pretoria Qualified skyrise. He has a beverage in his hand from a popular contemporary fast food joint, both to show that he's not suffering too badly and to help endear him to the viewer at home, who will see his beverage as being from whichever restaurant the advertising AI has determined is their favourite. He glances upward at the tall building, arching his back slightly more than is necessary to emphasize the enormity of it. As he simple-mindedly gawks, a woman with supermodel looks who for some reason is merely an attendant for the building the man is staring at goes above and beyond what she's paid to do and actually steps outside to personally greet the man. Her voice, very friendly and welcoming and in whichever language and accent is predominant in the region the commercial is being played, is the first we hear besides the narrator's. The woman isn't actually speaking, but is simply dubbed over after the fact, her mouth digitally altered to look like she's saying what she is; the model only spoke English and sounded kind of nasally. She invites the man to open up an account with PQ, a proposition that surprises him so much he drops his drink. A small, cute looking janitorial robot cleans it up for him immediately. After it does so, the attendant laughs, and ushers the man next door. She introduces him to a busy-looking bank branch labelled 'PQ+'. All of the people standing in line there are obviously not wealthy, just regular working class slobs. The man ignores the busy line, instead escorted into the building by the attendant. She introduces him to Pretoria Qualified's newest money-making venture: PQ+, the brand new "working man's" brand of financial services offered by Pretoria Qualified.

The comforting voice of the narrator returns to explain some of those new services. As a series of disclaimers rapidly scroll across the bottom of the screen in an obscenely small font size, the narrator focuses in on one service in particular: the "orange book", an investment plan offered by PQ+, which the narrator unreasonably promises will help give opportunity for anyone to join the ranks of the megarich elites shown in the boardroom in the previous scene. To emphasize the point, the camera returns to the boardroom, panning to the side slightly to show that the same Average Joe introduced to PQ+ by the PQ attendant was actually a member of the board all along, just outside of camera. The shifts in time over the course of the commercial aren't fully explained but it's assumed people at home can get the idea. The implication is that the orange book investment plan will enable any random guy off the street to become a corporate executive. Probably not believable, but people will get the impression that it's worth their time anyway, even if the returns are dismal and it's hard to back out of the program once you're in.



The ad ends with the generic orange PQ logo, sans plus sign, over top a white screen. The white screen quickly dissipates to show the vibrant city skyline again, just as PQ's slogan, "Best of a Kind", appears beneath the logo. The narrator says it aloud to bring home the point, and the commercial gives way to some other company's corporate propaganda.

The world of news and media had become a battleground for new customers, but for the SIMA department of media and public perception, it was a matter of what to do to make the countries and its people want to spend more money on weapons. Publishing articles or even making the tv channels put out some new commercials was all the spark that was needed to create discussion about wether the neighbouring nation was buying more weapons and what weapons should their own army buy to keep themselves on the race.

In the last few years, tactics varied but what never changed was the objective and that was something that would never change.

The market for decent grade weaponry was always something that there had been a demand for, constantly shaping the way of how weapons develop in modern day society. Never more the case for the North American Union, though weapon industries were not in short supply, however, one of the more prominent mega-corporations along the eastern seaboard was Tidal Enforcement. The mega-corporation, based in Tampa, was among one of the leading Security and Weapons dealing companies, and with its relatively close proximity to Kennedy Space Center, which the company now worked with to test space-flight capabilities of new spaceships.

With the nature of Tidal Enforcement, and their popularity among the eastern seaboard of the NAU, the TBR-90, a small-arms weapon invented by TEF in 2087, was a popular choice for self-defence, sport, and mercenary weapon choice. The popularity of the weapon would grow as demand for weaponry grew in North America and its territories. In fact, the influence of the TEF made sure that the TBR-90 was the most popular weapon along the Eastern Seaboard through propaganda and campaigns showcasing the weapons capabilities.

With that said, the TEF continued its pursuit of being the one of the dominant security forces in North America, competing with companies like the Kettler-Russo Corporation, which was its primary domestic competition. However, that did not stop the TEF from selling the TBR-90 on the west coast, as the KRC was not a competition in the weapons industry yet. Though, Alexander Camacho, CEO of the TEF, has stated that he will work with the KRC in “an effort to maintain peace throughout the region should the domestic home be threatened with any rising chaos that would disrupt the public at large.” Granted, whether this was just an effort to make sure the public continued to support the TEF was noted by differing news agencies since the crime in the NAU, while in the rise, showed no threat to the people.

The System 1 was the pinnacle of everything Sakuma Katsumoto had dreamed of since he was a child, decades before, but as he pulled the headset from his face, blinking slightly against the bright lights of his office, his dreams only got more fantastical. Despite the smile playing across his face, the adrenaline pumping through his veins, some part of his dream alluded him. Just moments before, he had been walking in the shade of forests, listening to the calls of species long extinct, before that he had been fighting in the pouring rain against a warrior whose armour and weapon had seemed as real to him as the desk in front of him now. The System 1 didn't just offer a second reality, it offered thousands of them, but thousands weren't enough, not for Sakuma, not for his vision.

While other's pedaled drugs, or weapons, Phoenix offered dreams, memories of a time before the skies clouded over, before greed became the only emotion people could feel. Pressing the intercom button inset into the arm of his chair, Sakuma spoke softly, and the reply came quickly. He smiled again, turning his chair so he could look out over the glittering lights of Tokyo, spread out beneath his office like an outlandish constellation. The people craved an escape, and like the Phoenix, he would help them raise from the ashes.

An elderly gentleman with half balding obsidian black hair, dull grey suit with red tie, and worn out tired eyes sits calmly in front of a set filled with cameras. Behind him the image of the North American Union’s capital building providing the false impression that the set isn’t located in a dark, dimly lit studio. A man in the back of the newsroom begins a countdown “3...2...1...and we’re live.”

“I’m Logan Sharp, Hurricane Lisa turns deadly as it’s devastating winds and flooding move inland from the Texas coast.” The screen begins to fade, a tense beat begins to play in the background, and bright white text flashes across a luminescent screen “DMC News w/ Logan Sharp.”

Video begins to play of a windy city street, trees nearly collapsing under the strength of the winds, a different man begins to narrate over the imagery “I do want to emphasize this is only the beginning.” The scenery at the last moment reveals the speaker to be a FEMA representative. “Lisa is a very slow mover…” It cuts off, purposeful editing switching to the governor of Texas speaking in an emergency address “...It’s an uninvited brute who doesn’t want to leave.”

Video once again displays the devastation of the Hurricane, flooded streets and individuals boating from building to building. Sharp begins narrating “We’ll have live reports from the ground and get an update on the federal response from FEMA administrator Wade Burke and we’ll learn about the impact on the people in the storm's path from Texan senator Andrew Mills. Only on DMC News.” The screen flashes once again with bright white text displaying over a blue background “DMC News w/ Logan Sharp”.

The System 1 had flown from the virtual shelves, grabbed by the consumers across East Asia like the hungry would snatch at a morsel of bread. But that hardly came as a surprise to Sakuma Katsumoto. This first wave had only been a glimpse, a taster to stir demand into a frenzy. He knew all too well that demand bred demand, and those who had missed the first wave of the System 1 were only more desperate for it now. And Sakuma would be all too happy to provide, already millions of them were being shipped, far and wide. It would offer a faint glimmer of hope, of joy, against the suffocating smog that filled the air and leaked into the lungs, the shadows that never left the streets, and the blaring of engines that drowned out even the memory of birdsong.

A perfectly white, crisp, paper envelope, resting on his desk caught Sakuma's and he reached for it, wincing slightly as he leaned forward. His hands closed around it, shaking slightly, and he opened it, pulling the small, plain note-card from within. His eyes took a moment to focus, and he read the short paragraph scrawled across the paper. A smile crept across his face as he read. Undoubtedly an asset, but not for now. Placing the note-card back into the envelope, he placed it in a drawer of his desk, before reaching for the headset again, already yearning for the escape.

"Nine percent."

The close proximity of this cramped, obnoxiously lit conference room made the words reverberate for a rather dramatic effect. For all the discomfort this new headquarters brought, it was a small boon to brighten up an otherwise rather disappointing day for one Stephen Bernard Sobel. It made the suits sitting across from him all the more uncomfortable under his hardened gaze, pale blues unflinchingly held upon one of the many underlings his chief operating officer had sent to brief him on their recent foray into foreign markets. In truth, he held little in the way of malice towards this young man of thirty or forty years, but it was always amusing to watch them squirm before him as they explained away failing that were far out of their hands to control. The perks of success, he always found.

"Y-Yes, sir, we only managed to fulfill nine percent — of our rather optimistic projections, mind you — in the East Asian market as of last quarter. Regional competitors, primarily Phoenix Rising Entertainment, managed to supersede our production expectations and flooded the market with a virtual reality device in the weeks leading up to our big release. Our returns were substantial even still, but—"

"But we fell short. Ten times shorter than we should have. Every man, woman and child from the Indian Ocean to the South China Sea should be using our software, our personal assistant, and you're telling me some Japanese wannabe news network, peddling a headset twenty-five percent more expensive, priced us out. You let this happen?" His gaze did not falter for a moment, even as the young man did.

"We couldn't have known... The products were very, very different in design. Entirely so. Four million units is still very good, and our returns almost entirely covered the expansion of the new Research and Development department. If we simply—"

"I'll not take advice from some bumbling... what are you exactly, some kind of secretary? I don't need the incessant dribbling of some low-grade, paper milling secretary to tell me what we can do to mitigate this big a failure in our first big push outside the domestic market. We make secretaries. I could have you replaced by phone, and it'd like as not do a better job at predicting what four billion people are going to want to buy. Get out of my face. Take your secretary's secretary with you."

While watching the poor lad scurry out of the room with his fellow in tow brought some small semblance of joy to the titular Sobel, he did have a damning prospect of where to go now. He had grown complacent, no doubt, in the position that "merging" with Braunson had put him in. They were healthy in capital despite maintaining a small, private set of investors, and had more than enough in the way of stock of their latest assistant to dominate whatever market they set out to. Asia was a given, considering the demand, yet he had underestimated the presence of the companies there. The returns Sobel-Braunson had made were certainly not insignificant, the chicken legged secretary was right about that. With a bigger and better intelligence development team, they could push forward with more ambitious projects without worry. Yet now there was a challenger for dominance, an entrenched challenger with capital to throw and a home market, by all reports, depleted of funds to buy up whatever that capital chose to create.

So where now? Where would he peddle his precious Sobbie, as the boys in the lab had affectionately named the crisp Irish tone that chattered every handheld device in the damned building. It was a matter of principle for the company to use company software, after all.

There was always the motherland.

"Sobbie, economic reports, European Protectorate. Let's see what the old country thinks of a little new blood."

"Right away, sir."