Snippet #2283111

***Commonwealth Mayor's office***
Barnaby cringed as the man put an arm around him. Shuddering would have been his preferred method of expressing it, but this guy weighed so much he didn't think he'd even be able too. "Ok then sir..." Barnaby said sliding out of his grip and brushing himself off. "About looking the part. I look like I'm ready to get in, as you said, get in drunken fights and sleep in a gutter." He stood back, letting out a puff of smoke from the cigar and walking over to the balcony once more. He looked back at Stanley, waving his hand out to the balcony. "Please, if you would step out here." Stanley scowled before stepping out, Barnaby following him.

"As president, you want this city to run as strong as it can. Not just because it's strength grants strength to the other territories, but also!" He grinned looking at Stanley. "Also, it grants strength and wealth to you! Now of course why do I mention this? Simple, good sir." He leaned on the railing of the balcony, looking out and letting out a puff. "Morale is the most important part about this city staying strong. When it's people are happy, then they want to work, they want to improve things. Now I understand wanting an aesthetically pleasing office building, which yeah it could probably use some minute improvements. However, sir. These people, they live a hard life, some live in the gutter, some simple homes. The richest workers still are not what we'd call upper-class in the old ways of life."

"Get to the point, Mr. Turncoat." Stanley said, tapping his cane.

Barnaby looked at him, standing up off the railing. "For you, looking high-class as you do works, because you are the complete man in charge, and you deal with us mayors. So you need to look this way to let us know our place." He could see the nod from Stanley, Barnaby wanted to roll his eyes. "But for me, I need to look like the "drunken brawler." First off, it's what I wore surviving this whole mess we call the zeds. So it's very comfortable for me. But also, Mr. Mockerson, it let's these people know that they are being led by a man with experience in not only surviving, but climbing out of the hell-hole that was created. They want to follow me, not because I look powerful or ambitious, but because they know I've fought and survived the same and even worse conditions than how they live. And they respect that. They do what I ask because they trust me as well."

Walking back into the officer, Stanley following, Barnaby took another long drag of the cigar and let out the smoke. He then turned to face the president. "And any resources you are going to give me for improvement will go to improving their lives, not mine. And by doing so, it will not only make them happy, but it will also improve productivity because they are happy! Make sense?"

***Belial***

Belial stood nearby Scott's position. Currently the mutant was not wearing anything other than his pants, arms crossed as he listened to Scott speak to the men and women of the NDO army. Strong willed, determined, disciplined people; all fighting for the new cause. It really amused Belial, to think Scott had made it so far. Of course, it was because of the strong arms of operatives, especially Belial. He had no idea how many people he had killed by this point, and how many were dead because Scott needed cretins out of the way. He smiled, his sharp bottom canines still protruding from between his lips.

For a long time, Belial was Scott's secret weapon. Now though, he was Scott's terror weapon. To the majority of the world's population and people, he was a boogey man. None knew if he actually existed or not, but not the men in charge. To those of power, they knew of Belial's existence, and many had to sleep with one eye open less the mutant devour them. They never knew if they were Belial's next target.

To these soldiers, he still served a couple roles. Primarily, was something of inspiration, or at least an example to follow. In battles, Belial would join the fray and charge the enemy. Sometimes it helped the soldiers by distracting the enemy. At other times, the presence of the blood crazed berserker would even drive the soldiers into something of a similar blood frenzy. This ferocity was often enough to break the enemy, or at the least cause severe casualties. His other form of "inspiration" was the same as before. You turn from the NDO, you die. You run from our enemies, you die. Your life for the NDO, it was as simple as that.