The Man On The Throne

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"Sir. They have been tracked." A grunt in black spoke. His words were unsteady and his eyes bore no life.

At the end of the table, a man calmly taps his cigarette for the ashes to fall in the tray just ahead of him. He spoke no words to the grunt but mearly waved him away.

Alone once again, he spoke. "Finally that worthless peice of shit comes through for me." He spoke with a deeper voice. One of great authority. Though deep, it was of the same reqisture.

He runs his fingers through his hair. It was black with a touch of gray. His suit was made out of the finest materials.

Opening his jacket, he pulls out a box. Within it had cigars of fine quality. Taking one in his mouth, he leaves his office. Only leaving behind a paper with the words:

'Retrieve them.'

xXTo Be ContinuedXx

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