He was known to most as Mozilla. He was armed to the teeth and not afraid to show the world who he was. Most people respected him, if in a distant way, but some altogether disdained him, mostly in an ignorant and arrogant sort of way.

And he was all too familiar with the representatives in clean, crisp suits. They were the servants of those who had made him what he was in a way. But he disowned them, for they did dishonorable things and kept secrets that should have been plain in the light of day.

As the AOL representatives lurched up the ladder, Mozilla strode across the deck, undecided but purposeful. Don’t kill the messenger, they say, but if not that than what the heck?.

The suits one by one climbed over the rail and stood in a row, their faces twisted in some perverse smugness. None of them spoke.

Mozilla stood his ground, eying them. “Well, what do you want?”

The last man to climb up stepped forward slightly and spat on the ground. “We’ve come for you, Mozilla. You have grown too powerful…”