Sarcastic_285
Legacy Name: Sarcastic_285

This is probably not your mental image of a CEO. Lanky, rainbow-haired, decked out in plaid and custom kicks. Is it some sort of joke? Nope. It's just Oliver. Well, Scene, really, 'Oliver' was an awkward fourteen year old who didn't fit in. Oliver was long gone now, perhaps he was in remission somewhere. Scene was a conqueror, and a widower, left alone after a tragic accident. Accident was what was written on the autopsy report for the woman, and that's what he stood by. So sad, he'd mourned, how untimely that she'd die right before her 80th birthday! Naturally, her funds had to be collected - all the hundreds of millions of them. Naturally, they all went to her bereaved husband. Naturally, he went into seclusion, retreating to the shadows and biding his time. He wasn't one you'd see in a glossy magazine, showing off his glossy house with a glossy smile. He was too busy for that nonsense. Time melted as he worked, carefully slipping the pieces into place until they all fit, and just like that - he'd bought it.

Young as he was - barely 19, now, decades away from the shareholders and stuffy accountants that managed the finer aspects of the company - he owned it. What was it? It was the Company. Tres Corp, a network of big box stores and soulless companies, all out for the next dollar at the price of destroying communities and crushing the pathetic Small Business Owner. No room for anything else besides expansion. Behind closed doors, the board members worked, spreading their agendas like a disease - a strain here, a dusting there, until they covered the world, tendrils out and rooted deeply into whatever native soil they could find purchase on.

Scene was rarely seen at the office. He was somewhat of an enigma, a bright spot among the bleak business suits that swarmed the sky scraper each and every day, never spotted for more than a few minutes in the same spot. Moving, moving, always moving, onto the next thing, never content with their progress. He was cold, quiet, intimidating, and his company moved with the slick efficiency of a mechanical snake, and for those who had the unfortunate task of working closely with him, they had to wonder where that metaphorical snake stopped and where Scene began. It was difficult to imagine him with anything but his usual apathetic grimace, even more difficult to picture him sitting still for more than three minutes in a slow meeting without informing everyone around him that they were doing a "fantastic job boring the hell out of me".

***Cigarette smoke filtered through the room, dousing everything in the gritty smell of nicotine. The cigarette itself was clenched between gritted teeth, the ash on its end dangerously close to falling on some incomprehensible-looking charts. The cowering intern across from him seemed to be at a loss for words, simply staring at his boss and hysterically wondering how long it took to dye hair like that.

"Uh, sir, I-I have asthma, would you mind putting that out for now?" The intern finally spoke, his voice crumbling and timid.

The twitching of the cigarette paused as Scene's eyes slowly made their way up, finally settling on the intern as if he were noticing for the first time that there was another person in the room. His pale fingers removed it from his lips, and a wry smile cracked his lips. "Oh, sure. You should've told me earlier. You know, I really admire your gut, kid. We need people like you at the top."

The intern went from pale to beet red, and he looked immensely pleased. "Thank you, you mean that? Wow!"

The smile was frozen on Scene's lips as he said smoothly, "Nope, don't mean a word of it. Now get out of my office. You're fired, by the way. I don't keep people who can't understand sarcasm." He put the cigarette back between his lips, taking a deep drag as he went back to looking over the documents.

All art credits available upon request, done by offsite artists. Character design, story, and OC by me. Wonderful profile by Pinto.