The legal pad beneath my fountain pen ($275 retail, corporate expense account) is filling with precise annotations, each clause meticulously dissected, analyzed, and rebuilt. Contracts are architecture - structural integrity first, aesthetics second - and this particular building needs reinforcement after that Westwood kid took a wrecking ball to our enforcement clause.

  (Mental note: acquire full dossier on Jordan Westwood. Clearly more intelligent than initial assessment suggested. Potential recruitment material, if properly approached? Unlikely - demonstrated willingness to expose operational methodology indicates fundamental philosophical incompatibility. Still, respect where it's due.)

  The video itself was... instructive. Painful to watch, certainly (nothing worse than seeing your own work stress-tested to failure), but the methodology was elegant in its simplicity. Force verbal confrontation in public setting. Deliberately trigger enforcement clause. Document outcome. Release footage showcasing physiological compulsion rather than voluntary action.

  Viral within hours. Informative content spreading beyond containment parameters.

  Problematic.

  I adjust the monkey mask slightly, the casual one that isn't full-head but is more just a flat sheet over my face - necessary even in private, both for security protocols and, if I'm being honest (and why not be honest with oneself?), the psychological demarcation between Lawrence Sullivan, Esq. and Monkey Business, architect of meritocratic revolution. The mask stays on during business hours, just as the suit stays pressed and the shoes stay polished. Presentation matters, even when nobody's watching. Even if it makes my face kind of sweaty.

  Birthday Suit thinks it's theatrical overkill. She's not wrong. She's also missing the point entirely.

  I circle the fifth clause of our standard contract, the one the Westwood kid exploited:

  "If anyone questions you about Rogue Wave more than once, you will immediately attack them through whatever means possible until they are unconscious or out of your range of sight and hearing."

  Clean. Direct. Functionally elegant. But flawed, as the security guard demonstration proved. The immutable thing about contracts is that they execute exactly as written, without nuance or proportion. The guard (Ridley, according to dossier, previously documented racial bias incidents, superiority complex, perfect recruitment profile) followed instructions with lethal intent, creating precisely the spectacle Westwood desired.

  I strike through the clause and draft alternatives:

  "If questioned about Rogue Wave, you will provide plausible misinformation while maintaining normal demeanor."

  No, too vague. "Normal" lacks specific parameters. My contracts require precision - vague language creates unpredictable results, which defeats the purpose entirely.

  "If questioned about Rogue Wave, you will immediately provide false information without physiological indicators of deception."

  Better, but incomplete. The secondary trigger needs recalibration.

  "If questioned persistently about Rogue Wave, you will excuse yourself from the interaction through the first available non-violent means."

  Hmm. Creating a multi-stage response hierarchy introduces complexity, but the tradeoff in operational security seems worthwhile. I add specific definitions of "persistently" and "non-violent means" in parenthetical subsections, annotating with appropriate legal precedents. (Sullivan v. Bradshaw, 2018: reasonable definition of persistence established as "three or more related inquiries within twenty-minute timeframe.")

  A knock at the door interrupts my revisions.

  "Enter." I don't look up from my work.

  Birthday Suit slips into the room with the practiced efficiency that makes her invaluable. Six-foot-six of concentrated purpose, tactical gear deliberately unmatched to create the impression of ad hoc assembly rather than corporate procurement. The birthday hat (her idea, not mine - I argued against it initially, but she insisted on the absurdist touch) sits at its usual angle.

  "Team's assembled," she says, her voice characteristically flat. "Snake Oil says he needs to speak with you before the meeting."

  I suppress a sigh. "Jackpot manifested something interesting?"

  "Useless, actually. That's why he wants to talk."

  I cap my fountain pen and slide the legal pad into a leather folio (Italian, handcrafted, another justifiable expense when one represents a multimillion-dollar operation). "How useless are we talking?"

  "He can hear plants growing." Birthday Suit's face remains impassive, but I detect the microscopic twitch at the corner of her mouth that constitutes her version of amusement.

  "Delightful." I stand, adjusting my tie. "I assume extraction preparations are underway? I wouldn't exactly call that useless, either."

  She nods once. "Lab's prepped. Snake Oil is, quote, 'not burning valuable research time on botanical telepathy,' unquote."

  "Charming as always." I gather the folio and my tablet. "Tell Snake Oil I'll speak with him after we review the Philadelphia metrics. Jackpot's lottery can wait; we have actual business to discuss first."

  "Understood." She turns to leave, then pauses. "The Jordan Westwood footage is trending on all the forums that care. People are trying to cancel their contracts. Not a lot, but some."

  I maintain my expression, though the mask renders the effort unnecessary. It's acceptable, but the trend bears monitoring.

  "Add it to the agenda. And Birthday Suit?"

  She turns back.

  "Tell Dead Drop to accelerate Undertow deployment. I want the revised contract language field-tested by Friday."

  "That's cutting it close."

  "Time and tide," I remind her, "wait for no man. Or monkey, as the case may be."

  The smile twitch returns. "I'll let her know."

  After she leaves, I take a moment to center myself. The attrition is manageable. The Jordan Westwood incident, while inconvenient, also provides valuable data for system improvement. We adapt. We evolve. That's what sets us apart from dinosaurs like the Kingdom of Keys. Sclerotic reptiles, too cold-blooded to survive the age of ape and man. Don't they know that socialization and tool use are what sets us apart from the other animals? It's evolution, baby. Do the evolution.

  Besides, a system that can't withstand stress-testing doesn't deserve to survive. That's the whole point of this exercise.

  The conference room - the Nerve Center - is deliberately arranged in circular formation. No head of the table. No power positions. Pure meritocratic design, where ideas rise or fall based solely on quality rather than source.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  (Though it doesn't escape my notice that everyone waits for me to speak first. Old habits, hierarchical thinking - society's programming runs deep.)

  Today's assembly is complete: Birthday Suit standing at parade rest by the door; Dead Drop fidgeting with her chains, eyes darting around the room in perpetual surveillance; Rush Order practically vibrating in his seat, one leg bouncing at approximately 240 BPM; Snake Oil reviewing data on his tablet with the condescending focus of someone who believes everyone else in the room is wasting his valuable time; and Jackpot, slouched in his chair, peach fuzz mustache more pathetic than usual, listening intently to... nothing.

  "The fern in the corner wants us to know it's thirsty," he announces as I enter.

  I place my materials on the table and sit down. "I'm sure it does. But unless it's also offering tactical insights on Jump distribution networks, I suggest we focus on the agenda."

  Rush Order snickers. Snake Oil doesn't even bother looking up from his tablet.

  "Metrics first," I begin, activating the central display. "Philadelphia operations continue to exceed projections despite recent... complications."

  The projector, low-fi, on the ceiling pointed down at the table, shows a map of Philadelphia with distribution nodes highlighted in varying intensities of blue.

  "Rush Order?"

  He sits up straighter, the perpetual motion temporarily channeled into presentation mode. "Contract distribution up twenty-two percent over previous quarter. Retention holding at ninety-two percent post-Westwood, which is honestly better than I expected." His words come out in rapid bursts, his natural diction accelerated by his rapacious anxiety and vague sense of mania. "We've established seven new distribution hubs in previously contested territory, primarily in areas where Kingdom presence has weakened following their warehouse... situation."

  The last word is delivered with a knowing smirk directed at Dead Drop, who responds with the slightest nod of acknowledgment.

  "Speaking of which," I continue, "Anyone have any update on Kingdom activities?"

  She shifts in her seat, chains clinking softly as she leans forward to tap the clicker advancing the slideshow. I didn't even know we had more slides. I think she just did that while I was busy. The map transforms, Kingdom territories appearing in red, overlapping with our blue in various purple conflict zones.

  "They're scrambling," she says, her voice tight with the perpetual edge that makes her simultaneously valuable and exhausting to manage. "Loss of the warehouse created significant operational disruption. Surveillance indicates they've moved production to an alternate location in Camden, but at reduced capacity."

  She hits the clicker, the chains around her wrist briefly defying gravity, and the display zooms in on the Delaware River waterfront. "Their distribution network is maintaining appearances, but our contractors report increasing delays, inconsistent quality, and price fluctuations."

  "Perfect conditions for market expansion," Rush Order interjects, practically bouncing in his seat again.

  "Or overextension," Birthday Suit counters from her position by the door. "Kingdom won't stay disorganized forever. We push too far too fast, we create counterattack opportunities."

  I nod, acknowledging both perspectives - a gesture I've found helps maintain the illusion of collaborative decision-making while actually just buying time to present my predetermined direction as a synthesis of their input.

  "Both valid considerations," I say, manipulating the display to highlight specific neighborhoods. "Which is why we'll implement a controlled escalation strategy. Rush Order, increase Jump distribution in these areas - " I circle six neighborhoods in North and West Philadelphia, " - while lowering levels elsewhere. This is where the Kingdom is focused, and this is where they're vulnerable. They're multi-city, we're small fry - we need to nibble at the edges. Dead Drop, I want weekly reports on any interesting superpowers out there, and especially if they're wearing suits and ties and look like they're from the Godfather. If they're shifting resources to rebuild production, they'll be leaving vulnerabilities elsewhere."

  Dead Drop's chains rattle as she makes notes on her tablet. "Already tracking movement patterns. Their enforcer deployment has been... erratic. Like they're searching for something."

  "Or someone," Snake Oil finally looks up from his tablet. "Those Young Defenders have been unusually active. There's speculation they were involved in the warehouse incident."

  Interesting. Not surprising - teenage vigilantes are statistically overrepresented in property damage incidents - but potentially useful information.

  "Add them to the monitoring list," I instruct Dead Drop. "Low priority, but track movement patterns. If they're targeting Kingdom assets, they might inadvertently create opportunities for us."

  "Already on it," she responds, a hint of defensive pride in her tone. "I've been tracking powered signatures across Tacony and Fishtown. There's definitely activity. Them and the Tacony Titans."

  "Good." I turn my attention to the financial projections displayed in the lower corner of the hologram. "Now, regarding revenue allocation for the next quarter - "

  A strange, discordant humming interrupts me. All eyes turn to Jackpot, who has closed his eyes and begun swaying slightly in his chair.

  "Tommy," I say, my tone measured, "are you communing with the office plants again, or is something else happening?"

  His eyes snap open. "It's changing."

  Snake Oil is instantly alert, tablet forgotten as he leans forward. "When did your last power cycle out?"

  Jackpot glances at his watch, eyes slightly unfocused. Timer's probably about to go off. "Three hours, thirteen minutes ago. This is... different. I can feel it."

  The room's atmosphere shifts immediately. Even Birthday Suit steps away from the door, moving closer to observe.

  "Different how?" Snake Oil demands, already reaching for his extraction kit (customized medical bag, sterilization equipment, specialized crystallization apparatus - all proprietary designs).

  Jackpot's eyes have taken on a faint golden glow - subtle, but unmistakable to those of us familiar with power manifestation indicators. "It's like... I can sense probability. Not just hear it or see it - I can feel the mathematical chances of everything happening around me."

  Snake Oil's excitement is palpable, his usual disdain momentarily forgotten. "Precognition variant? Quantum observation capability?"

  "No, not seeing the future," Jackpot clarifies, his gaze darting around the room as if tracking invisible particles. "Just... knowing the odds. All of them. Simultaneously."

  I observe with calculated interest. Probability assessment could be extraordinarily valuable - Jump variants with such capabilities would command premium pricing - but the extraction process will likely interrupt our meeting for at least thirty minutes.

  "Snake Oil," I say, making a quick cost-benefit calculation, "prepare for immediate extraction. Jackpot, can you maintain focus long enough to complete the procedure?"

  He nods, though his attention remains divided, eyes tracking something none of us can see. "Yeah, but it's... intense. Like having a hundred betting tables in my head at once."

  "Meeting adjourned for thirty minutes," I announce, already calculating how this development affects our scheduled agenda. "Snake Oil, full documentation protocols. I want complete analysis of crystalline structures, potency metrics, and application potential."

  As the team disperses - Snake Oil and Jackpot heading toward the lab, Rush Order practically sprinting to grab a coffee during the unexpected break, Dead Drop slipping away with her usual suspicious glances - I find myself momentarily alone with Birthday Suit.

  "Convenient timing," she observes, her tone neutral but implying the question.

  "Indeed." I gather my materials, keeping my voice equally measured. "Almost as if the universe is conspiring to delay our discussion of the Westwood countermeasures."

  "You don't believe in cosmic conspiracy."

  "No," I agree, "but I do believe in statistical anomalies clustering in ways that appear meaningful to pattern-seeking primates. Speaking of which - "

  "Yeah, I know. Guns at the window," she says, anticipating my concern.

  I nod, appreciating her efficiency as always. "And perhaps check on Snake Oil's mood before we reconvene. A probability assessment power could be significant - I'd prefer his scientific enthusiasm not override proper documentation procedures."

  "Understood."

  As she leaves, I allow myself a moment of genuine satisfaction. Despite the Westwood setback, operations are proceeding according to projections. The Kingdom's vulnerability creates expansion opportunities. And now, a potentially valuable new power variant for our product line.

  The system works. Not perfectly - no system is perfect - but it adapts, evolves, improves through selective pressure. Unlike the artificial constraints of government regulation or corporate oligarchy, our meritocratic approach embraces failure as the necessary pruning that strengthens the whole.

  Let Jordan Westwood expose our contracts. Let the Kingdom rebuild their production facilities. Let Bloodhound and her teenage vigilantes play at heroism.

  These challenges aren't threats - they're evolutionary pressures, forcing us to improve, adapt, and ultimately emerge stronger than before.

  That's how nature works. That's how power works. That's how society should work.

  And soon, it will.

  I check my watch. Twenty-eight minutes until the extraction concludes. Just enough time to finalize the contract revisions before observing the process. I return to my legal pad, fountain pen poised over the fifth clause.

  "If questioned persistently about Rogue Wave, you will excuse yourself from the interaction through non-violent means, maintaining plausible deniability regarding organizational knowledge..."

  Yes. That feels right. Let the world adapt to us for a change.