The crowd started an uproar of applause and cheers, the entire auditorium abuzz with noise and festivities. One of the official speeches of Alpha Zone talking about 'change' and 'refinery for Beta Zone'. Victor couldn't help but inwardly scoff, masked by a hollow and false, yet convincing smile exuding warmth and friendliness. 

[i]'The only thing retiree politicians and ambassadors are good for is taking up space, smiling for pictures, and attending these asinine events.'[/i] Victor thought bitterly to himself as he waved to the crowd. He had served as an ambassador and diplomat of Zone Alpha for over 30 years, speaking to disgruntled authorities, furious citizens, and of course; the anarchists. New Ancora was in a place of civil unrest and the windbags up in Zone Alpha Administration decided to sweep the issues under the rug, replacing it with lavish parties, all the booze you could drink, and uncountable wealth. 

Victor felt a sneer tug at the edge of his lips, but managed to replace it with yet another convincing smile. How he hated this place, these people, this [i]government[/i]. Even the people in Zone Beta were their own form of depravity: using violence and vulgarity as a way to send a message to Zone Alpha, a tactic that the poorer citizens failed to recognize did not work. 

Victor sat through all the formalities and presentations following the speech, and took part in the luncheon that came after; but his impatience grew and he had grown tired of all the same old foolishness that seemed to come every few months to help keep the morale of the people lifted with hollow promises and false statements. 

He left as soon as he could; which even then was longer than he had either anticipated or liked. Straightening his tie and shaking a few more hands, he headed out; followed by his single bodyguard, Davenport. 

Davenport had proven to be useful enough, and, (like many others), was unaware of his identity as Jericho. Victor had managed to keep him out of the loop for some time now, but he wasn't sure how much longer it would last. [i]'Bodyguards are notorious for their paranoia'[/i] Victor thought to himself with a grimace. 

Davenport was quiet as he drove Victor back to his home, a penthouse apartment suite at the top of one of District 1's *larger* skyscrapers, (though every building was unbelievably tall as it was). 

Victor unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped inside, sighing with relief at the ever-yearned-for silence that came with solitary living. No more ass-kissing politicians to shake hands with, or reporters to shoo away. He was alone here and perfectly at peace. 

He removed his blazer, laying it gently on the back of one of his chairs, his tie lying atop it. He sat down on his couch slowly, letting out a deep groan of relief as he could finally let his knees rest a bit. Though far from a nursing home, Victor was an older man; and had lately been feeling his age more often than not. 

He scratched his chin with his hand absentmindedly. There was so much Jericho business he would have to catch up on: files to store away and download, traces to cover up; transactions to make. But he couldn't leave right now...he was too vulnerable, too...watched. So he settled down to watching tv instead, flipping the holovision onto a news report channel; just in time to catch up on an article about Henry Jamison, the 'number one candidate for New Ancora presidency'. 

Victor scoffed condescendingly to himself as he heard the report. He had all the dirt he could want on Jamison: the affair, the bastard son, the assassination droid, everything. So far no one had come to him with anything either to hurt or help Jamison in the election...but Victor made the assumption such information would come fairly soon. 

He reached into his shirt pocket, procuring a cigarette. He put it into his mouth, reaching for a lighter that resided in his pants pocket. So many these days were trying out these 'electric' cigarettes that were supposed to feed the craving while not harming your body. 

[i]'The market's attempts at making a buck by leveraging on the fears of the populace. An efficient, if not apathetic plan.'[/i] Victor thought to himself as he took a drag of the cigarette. No matter what the market came up with, you could never beat the taste or smell that came with the natural, the untouched by the cold, dead hands of industry.