The flashbulbs were relentless. It was like staring into a strobe light set to 'seizure'.
Luther stood at the podium, unblinking, letting the waves of noise wash over him. The initial shock of the product announcement had worn off, replaced by the frantic, hungry energy of a press pool that smelled blood in the water.
They had realized the implications.
"Mr. Luther! Over here! The Washington Post!" "Mr. Luther! Is this legal? Has the FDA approved a sixty-minute steroid?" "Mr. Luther! regarding the 'Enhancement Loans'—are you essentially creating indentured servitude for biological upgrades?"
The questions overlapped, creating a wall of sound. Luther leaned into the microphone, his expression calm, almost bored.
"One at a time, please," he said, his voice amplified through the hall's state-of-the-art sound system. "We have all day. well, you might. I have a company to run."
He pointed to a reporter in the third row. A sharp-eyed woman from The Wall Street Journal.
"Mr. Luther," she stood up, checking her notes. "You're offering loans for genetic modification. You're offering temporary super-strength for the price of a used Honda. My question is about the societal impact. Are you not worried that you're monetizing evolution? That you're creating a class war where the rich are gods and the poor are... well, obsolete?"
Luther smiled. It was the "sympathetic billionaire" smile.
"That war already exists," Luther replied smoothly. "Go to a private hospital versus a public clinic. Look at the life expectancy in the Hamptons versus the Bronx. Money has always bought better health. We are simply being honest about it. And with our loan program? We are giving the Bronx a fighting chance to catch up."
He didn't let her follow up. He pointed to another hand. A man from a major cable news network, known for his aggressive style.
"Mr. Luther!" The man barked. "Let's talk about safety. You're selling Vigor. A pill that makes someone strong enough to flip a car. You say it's for 'emergencies.' But what happens when a bank robber takes it? What happens when a domestic abuser takes it? Aren't you just handing loaded weapons to criminals? You are endangering public safety for profit!"
The room went dead silent.
It was the question everyone was thinking, but only the brave (or the desperate for ratings) dared to ask. The implication was clear: Emperor Industries is an accomplice to future crimes.
Michelle, standing to Luther's left, tensed up slightly. She looked at Luther, ready to step in with a PR deflection.
Luther didn't flinch. He didn't look offended. He looked... disappointed. Like a teacher whose student just asked a particularly stupid question.
"That," Luther said softly, "is a very colorful scenario. And a very good question."
He stepped out from behind the podium, removing the barrier between him and the crowd. He walked to the edge of the stage.
"Regarding criminal misuse," Luther began, his voice conversational. "First, let's look at the logistics. Vigor is not going to be sold at gas stations. It won't be on the shelves at CVS next to the aspirin. It will be sold exclusively through Emperor Industries' retail centers. We require ID. We run background checks. If you have a violent felony on your record? You don't get the juice."
He paused, letting that sink in.
"But let's be real. The black market exists. Straw buyers exist. Bad guys get guns, they get cars, they get lockpicks. They will eventually get Vigor."
The reporter smirked, thinking he had won. "So you admit it. You're arming criminals."
"No," Luther corrected him sharply. "I'm arming victims."
He paced the stage.
"You call it a drug. I call it a tool. It is a self-defense mechanism. It is, effectively, a more efficient version of pepper spray."
"Pepper spray?!" The reporter scoffed loudly, interrupting him. "Mr. Luther, with all due respect, pepper spray doesn't cost ten thousand dollars! And pepper spray doesn't let you punch a hole through a brick wall! You're comparing a condiment to a bazooka!"
A few people chuckled.
Luther stopped pacing. He turned and looked directly at the reporter. His eyes, usually warm for the cameras, went cold.
"Have you ever been mugged?" Luther asked.
The reporter blinked. "I... what?"
"Have you ever been mugged?" Luther repeated, louder this time. "Walking to your car in a parking garage at night? Or maybe taking a shortcut through an alley?"
He looked out at the audience.
"I think, in real life, many people know the feeling. The fear. The helplessness. A stranger steps out of the shadows. Maybe he has a knife. Maybe he has a gun. And you realize, in that moment, that all your rights, all your money, all your plans for the future... they don't matter. Your life belongs to him."
The room was quiet now. The chuckling had stopped.
Luther mimed holding up his hands in surrender, his voice trembling slightly, acting out the scene.
"I'm sorry, sir! Take it! This is my wallet. Please... please don't take my driver's license. Please don't hurt me."
It was a humiliating posture. It was the posture of a victim. And everyone in the room recognized it. Even the wealthy reporters living in gated communities knew the fear of random violence.
"That is the good scenario," Luther said, dropping the act instantly. His voice hardened. "That's if he just wants your money. But what if he wants more? What if it's a hate crime? What if it's a sexual predator? What if he's just crazy and pulls the trigger anyway?"
"In that moment," Luther whispered, "you have two choices. You can swallow your anger, obey, and hope you survive. Or..."
He reached into his pocket.
"Or you can change the equation."
He pulled out a small, sleek black box. It looked like the packaging for high-end jewelry.
"What if you didn't have to be a victim? What if, for sixty minutes, you could be the strongest person in that alley? What if you could catch his wrist before he swings the knife? What if you could subdue him before he pulls the trigger?"
Luther pressed a button on the box.
CLICK.
The lid popped open. Inside, resting on white foam, was a single, two-toned capsule. One half black, one half white.
This wasn't just a pill. It was the first public application of the Universal Capsule Technology. Luther had shrunk the serum delivery system into a micro-storage unit.
"This is the Vigor Capsule," Luther announced. "It's not a pill you swallow and wait twenty minutes for digestion. You bite it."
He held it up between his thumb and forefinger.
"You bite down. The casing breaks. The serum is aerosolized and absorbed instantly through the mucous membranes in your mouth. Reaction time? Three seconds."
He looked back at the hostile reporter.
"You mentioned pepper spray. Have you ever tried to find pepper spray in a purse while you're panicking? Have you ever tried to aim a taser when your hands are shaking? It takes too long. And if you miss? You're dead."
Luther closed his fist around the capsule.
"But this? You keep it in your pocket. You pop it in your mouth. And three seconds later, you aren't the victim anymore. You're the predator."
"Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money," Luther admitted. "But tell me... how much is your life worth? How much is your dignity worth? Vigor isn't a drug. It's insurance. It's the only insurance policy that pays out before you get hurt."
He stared down the room.
"So, to answer your question: Yes, criminals might get it. But thanks to me, the single mother walking home from her double shift might have it, too. And I like her odds a lot better with Vigor than without it."
For a second, there was silence.
Then, someone in the back started clapping. Then another.
It wasn't the polite applause of a press briefing. It was the applause of people who had been sold. He had taken a dangerous, unregulated combat drug and rebranded it as the ultimate symbol of American self-reliance.
"Thank you," Luther nodded. "That will be all."
One Hour Later. The Executive Suite.
"You were terrifying out there," Michelle said, scrolling through her tablet as she poured a glass of water. "In a good way. But terrifying."
Luther loosened his tie, sitting on the edge of his massive mahogany desk. "Fear sells, Michelle. I just gave them a solution to their nightmares."
"Well, the nightmares are buying," she said, showing him the screen. "The pre-order site for Vigor just crashed. We have fifty thousand orders in the first twenty minutes. The servers can't handle the traffic."
"Route it through the backup cluster," Luther ordered. "Don't let them see us sweat."
"And the pundits are going crazy," she continued. "CNN is bringing on a bio-ethicist to condemn you. Fox News is calling you a patriot for supporting the Second Amendment of... biology? They're arguing that 'the right to bear arms' includes 'arms that can lift a truck'."
Luther laughed. "Let them argue. Controversy is free advertising."
Michelle hesitated. "There's one more thing. A call came in on the private line. It's the Police Commissioner."
Luther raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"He's furious about the 'criminal' comment. He says if the bad guys have Vigor, his officers are walking into a slaughterhouse every time they make a traffic stop."
"Reasonable concern," Luther nodded.
"He wants a meeting. He's talking about the police union going on strike unless..."
"Unless we equip them," Luther finished the sentence.
"Exactly. He wants the department outfitted with Vigor. On the taxpayer's dime. He's asking for a municipal contract. And he wants it covered under the city's insurance plan."
Luther smiled, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face.
"Tell the Commissioner I'd be happy to meet," Luther said. "But tell him the price is non-negotiable. Ten thousand a dose. No bulk discounts for the government."
"He's going to scream extortion."
"Let him scream," Luther said, looking at the glowing lights of the city below. "When the first cop gets tossed through a window by a teenager on Vigor... the city will pay whatever I ask."
He stood up and walked to the door.
"Get the contract ready, Michelle. We're about to privatize the police force's courage."
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