<span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Mr. Valentine was a man of principle.  He understood that there was a moral system that the structure of the world depended on.  It was merely... fluid.  Interchangeable, so to speak.  <br/>
<br/>
After all, there was also a food chain in the world's structure and without it, reality would collapse.  It wasn't his fault he was destined to be a lion while everyone else was seemingly content being mice.<br/>
<br/>
Despite this, he was a kind and generous man.  Those who served him <i>would </i>be rewarded.  They merely had to prove themselves first and they all had a long way to go.<br/>
<br/>
Nearing the floor-to-ceiling length mirror that encircled his office on the top floor of the MDAO building, he ignored the mirrored image of an aging man with gaunt cheeks and bottomless, black eyes reflected there and peered down at the agents running around below.  Casually, he held his hands behind his back and tilted his head to gain a better view of one new agent in particular before she disappeared behind a computer, her fingers thrumming the keyboard like a humming bird's wings.  <br/>
<br/>
He lifted a thumb and struck it against his palm like a gavel.<br/>
<br/>
She would have to be eliminated.  Quietly, of course.  Her recent objections to his hiring techniques gave him little choice.  That kind of rebellion tended to spread if it was not taken care of and that was the last thing he needed in the homestretch.  Of course, he needed someone capable of doing the job without protest and as discrete as possible.  <br/>
<br/>
Idly, he began mentally listing the agents he trusted enough with the task and found the length of that list wanting.  He needed more trustworthy employees and soon.  People willing to question the world's moral system to see the change brought about it was so in desperate need off.  His mind immediately went to President Riley and he cringed inwardly.  <br/>
<br/>
The man had cut his funding in half the year following the election.  Half!  <br/>
<br/>
It was no secret that the president depended on the MDAO, asking them to clean up personal messes that would imprison the average man for two lifetimes.  <br/>
<br/>
Then there was the matter of Umbrella.  <br/>
<br/>
His jaw clenched at the remembrance of the mission.  Fifteen agents had been dispatched, per request of the president, but only three had returned home.  For that alone, he deserved the downfall awaiting him. <br/>
<br/>
A knock at the door interrupted his dark thoughts, but he didn't move away from the window.  <br/>
<br/>
"Come in," he called out, watching the one agent rise from her computer and wave to a male with a shock of brown hair.  His eyes narrowed.<br/>
<br/>
Her time was limited, but his was about to come.  <br/>
<br/>
He just needed to wait a little while longer.</span>