Beach City was not a resort town, it was a fortress. But you'd never know that if you didn't see the subtle clues, clues that the average vapid, extremely rich person would see just as a normal routine. From the ground up, it was built to be an impeterable, man made fortress of corporate might. Rent found arrogance amusing, if it wasn't so goddamned wasteful. The CDA was filled with a bunch of dicksucking, money spitting idiots. He had been against the plan from the start, not because it wasn't a good idea..but because it was a beacon for Fixers. But no, they claimed, there would be no Fixers. Their security would be air fucking tight.
His goddamn ass it was. There were more Fixer reports here than places like New York, Tokyo and Moscow...places that were practically corporate holy ground. He tried to keep a tight ship, but every ship needed to let off some pressure...this wasn't the pressure he wanted, or needed, however. Jamieson Marcus Rent stalked into the SMDA headquarters, his face as stoic as usual. But he was here for a reason: he wanted answers...answers that Kerry probably wasn't going to give him.
"Bring me Kerry, now," Rent said, to the pale faced woman who quickly sent a relevant message to the top of the food chain. She always thought she could do whatever the hell she wanted...he was already feeling a headache start, and morning had just barely peeked out of darkness of night.