Truly Grand Opening
The press release had been issued Friday evening, and by Saturday morning the protesters had already started to assemble.
They had come in droves: protesters against mutants, protesters against exploitation, protesters against protesters. It mattered not, however, thanks to the invisible partition which prevented the doors from being blocked. The Heads of X-Corporation had gone to a lot of trouble to plan this event, and nothing, not even civil rights would undermine the evening.
The stage was set, the band had already begun tuning their instruments, the smart-servers (handy little hover-platers with hors d'oeuvres and flutes of champagne), one of many toys provided by Forge, were ready, their individual delicacies chilled to the appropriate serving temperature. On each of two opposing walls were lined three flat screen televisions, hung vertically, and displaying the goings on at each of the other parties, one party to each plasma screen T.V. Everything was running smoothly, as it should given the number of rehearsals. Even the buildings A.I. system had been forced to practice welcoming the guests repeatedly until Monet, the public face of X-Corp, had been satisfied with the computers performance.
Yes, everything was perfect, even the arrival of the first guest was right on the dot. The X-Corp A.I., a holographic woman with short cropped brown hair, and a brown, a-line mini-skirt suit, solidified and greeted them, "Welcome to X-Corp, we hope you will have a wonderful time this evening. Now, please follow the glowing arrows to the ballroom," as she stretched her arm outward, a line of translucent, glowing arrows appeared, hovering down the center of the corridor and around a corner.
They had come in droves: protesters against mutants, protesters against exploitation, protesters against protesters. It mattered not, however, thanks to the invisible partition which prevented the doors from being blocked. The Heads of X-Corporation had gone to a lot of trouble to plan this event, and nothing, not even civil rights would undermine the evening.
The stage was set, the band had already begun tuning their instruments, the smart-servers (handy little hover-platers with hors d'oeuvres and flutes of champagne), one of many toys provided by Forge, were ready, their individual delicacies chilled to the appropriate serving temperature. On each of two opposing walls were lined three flat screen televisions, hung vertically, and displaying the goings on at each of the other parties, one party to each plasma screen T.V. Everything was running smoothly, as it should given the number of rehearsals. Even the buildings A.I. system had been forced to practice welcoming the guests repeatedly until Monet, the public face of X-Corp, had been satisfied with the computers performance.
Yes, everything was perfect, even the arrival of the first guest was right on the dot. The X-Corp A.I., a holographic woman with short cropped brown hair, and a brown, a-line mini-skirt suit, solidified and greeted them, "Welcome to X-Corp, we hope you will have a wonderful time this evening. Now, please follow the glowing arrows to the ballroom," as she stretched her arm outward, a line of translucent, glowing arrows appeared, hovering down the center of the corridor and around a corner.