There was a so far silent, somewhat large and shady man sitting near the table. Unlike the rest of executives around, he was dressed in a fancier version of PFI's security uniform. He didn't really gave a single... - ...payment cut... - Yeah, not that their last CEO was sane, but this woman just asks to be thrown out of an airlock. It didn't bothered him much, however some people in here would do anything to keep their paycheck as high as possible.
Marcus shook his head, hearing the corporate bullcrap thrown back and forth between Clarissa and Lincoln. Precents, payment cuts, some giggly patriotic stances. He frowned with disgust. This falling corporation didn't need debates. It needs decisions. And this stupid ego-war isn't going to bring them any. He sighed and pulled out a cigar. He shook his head again, looking at Lincoln's datapad and lit his cigar. Increasing production, increasing shifts... And who was supposed to keep al this safe? Marcus and his bunch of almost pirates. And now she even want to phase out Falcons and Marauders. Who the hell would fly a Templar these days anyway? Everyone saw how much they got kicked up in north... Something told him there are hard times ahead of him and his men.
