[ WP ] In the future , the global currency has evolved from physical money into something new : fear .

Sir Richard clamoured out of the Bentley with laboured breath. He was sweating heavily down his back and around his neck, but the rain provided welcome relief - now he was uncomfortable all over. 
 
 Hurst Hill Hall stood ominous ahead. In the lower classes such a structure would have an effect ranging from slight unease to nervousness, but Sir Richard doubled over in dread. 
 
 He could not bear to open his eyes. 
 
 Hands pulled at his arms, breaking them away from his chest, and hoisting him into a functional posture. From their strength and quiet breath Sir Richard knew them as the guards. 
 
 `` Thank you.'' He squeaked. He felt a headache coming on from lack of oxygen. 
 
 `` You're okay my Lord, just a tad further and we'll be at the door.'' One of them cooed. Although they were required to do so under their employment contract, Sir Richard liked to think they at least looked at him with pity, if not a swelling compassion, and that their assurances were genuine. Such emotions were luxuries the rich had no time to enjoy. 
 
 A few steps further and the guard spoke again. 
 
 `` We're going to knock on the front door now, my Lord.'' 
 
 Sir Richard nodded his head violently, eyes scrunched up. He felt the guards tender hands cover his ears, and press tight, creating a suction of pressure. They were so close that he inhaled her perfume. Hibiscus, he guessed. 
 
 `` Is he ready?'' The other guard questioned. He could hear the dull and uncaring tone in her voice. 
 
 `` Ready.'' 
 
 The stern guard grabbed the large brass knocker and rammed it once against the door. A staggered noise of terror escaped Sir Richard. The scented guard held tight as he pulled her down into a squat. He could hear his heart pump like one of those antiquated steamboats paddling at full power. He could here hers too, imploring him to set his beat by her own. He heard the ripping of velcro, and sure enough a brown paper bag crinkled against his mouth. 
 
 `` Breath, my Lord.'' 
 
 `` Oh, for heaven's sak-'' 
 
 The main door creaked open. 
 
 `` Ah, Sir R-rich... ard! W-w-wonder... ful.'' 
 
 A reed of a man in the same state of finery as Sir Richard cowered in the doorway. His peppered moustache pointed true East to West, eyes unfortunately recessed for his status, so much so that he made a point of widening them to the brink of tears for the scrutiny of his colleagues. 
 
 The scented guard pulled Sir Richard to his feet. 
 
 “ Peter! I trust you are well? ” A sentiment that made the stern guard hide a smirk. 
 “ Y-yes, of c-course. ” 
 “ And you… ” Sir Richard gulped, “ Inspected the body? ” 
 
 Peter couldn ’ t reply. The stern guard lay her hand gently but firmly on his shoulder. He jumped slightly. She gave him an encouraging look. He cleared his throat. 
 
 “ M-marina will t-take you to see…him. ” 
 
 ————————————————————————— 
 
 Marina the scented guard led him up to the tower. Her arm curled around his, offering support and calm. She hummed in a low and lulling key, and smiled warmly when he took glances at her. He would need her skills if he was to survive his ordeal of inheritance. 
 
 His great uncle had been the wealthiest man in all Great Britain. His shrieks were heard across the moors and farmlands on the darkest nights, raising the fortunes of all it reached, for no one could ever shake the dread it carried. It was a deciding factor in Sir Richard ’ s own principle source of status - ligyrophobia. 
 
 Marina leaned into him as she opened the creaking door. Sir Richard focused on her scent and hum. He thought about planting a Hibiscus garden for his next estate renovation. 
 
 `` His heart rate is stable.'' Marina relayed through her walkie talkie. She had been taking his pulse from the moment they had started the climb. The voice of the stern guard crackled back. 
 
 `` Video feeds are up, we're going live in two minutes.'' 
 
 Sir Richard's focus broke as his gaze drifted naturally to the tarpaulin. It was the most offending and out of place object of fear in the room, the thought of it's crunch making him squirm. Marina led him to it. 
 
 It. That is what his great uncle now was. As often as he could in childhood, usually from the silence of an intensive care ward after a particularly gruelling conditioning, he had wondered about the order of things. Those kindly nurses and their songs were always hurried away before he could feel too calm. They always came back around though, sneaking him smiles and chocolates. 
 
 `` My Lord?'' 
 
 He and Marina were knelt beside... it. The blinking red light of the camera surveyed him; his peers and their proxies ready to pass judgement. He looked at Marina, and though she was not permitted to look at him now, her head was bowed low enough that the camera could not notice her eyes straining sideways to meet his. 
 
 `` My great uncle has done me a service,'' he murmured, `` If I survive this I may never have to scream again.'' 
 
 `` Why are you telling me-'' 
 
 `` I should very much like to hire you.'' Sir Richard stuttered. 
 
 Marina smiled sweetly. She pulled back the tarpaulin. 
 
 The corpse of Sir John Dodson was one wasted by the constant adrenaline flushing into his system. A fate he and many like him brought on themselves for the sake of fortune. His sullen face was stuck in permanent terror, shrieking silently into the soul. To say that Sir Richard's terrified screams before he lost consciousness rivalled that of his uncle's is a gross understatement. 
 
 
 A less ridiculous society could not have made a dog two towns over richer than his master. 
 
 
 

