“What do you want,” I ask.

“It’s not what I want, Mr. Smith. You are a part of a plan that has been in motion for decades. It has reached a point where it cannot be stopped; nothing, and nobody, can halt its progress. And if anyone tries, they are dealt with quickly and quietly. And trust me…we are not to be messed with…”

“OK, I get it! You’re the big bully in the playground who rules everyone with an iron fist,” I angrily interject.
My fists are clenched, my teeth gritted.
My frustration is threatening to boil over, and The Voice’s self-indulgent rambling is not helping one bit.

“On the contrary, Mr. Smith: nobody knows that we exist. We move in the shadows, and follow in the footfalls of the people who think they are in charge, silently manipulating things to our advantage.”

Throbbing head.

Pounding heart.

White knuckles.

No. More.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?!”

The Voice leans forward, the shadows no longer painting him in mysterious silhouette.

“We all want…what you want…”