“I’m sorry, Ms. Yates. But I’m going to have to take these patents away from you. You have a fairly successful business here, but it’s at the cost of about forty nonprofits attempting to do some good. Perhaps when I am done, we’ll work on reconsidering your business practices for something legitimate.” Darkwitt mused.
The vapid expression on her face never made the silhouetted canine question if his words were wasted or not, he was doubtlessly talking to himself. He waked casually over to her computer and plugged in a USB cable from his wrist computer. Code made short work of her security. Patent trolls ironically had fairly outdated computers.
“You’ve only brought this upon yourself. You make hundreds of thousands of dollars preventing people from doing anything. It’s a detestable profession.”
The computer flashed to life, filling the screen with folders. She didn’t even bother to keep a hard copy. Hack.
“You’re lucky I came along before some outraged engineering major came in to express his grievance from the business end of a shotgun. I’d certainly be put out if someone was trying to legally mug-…hm?”
Darkwitt blinked to find there was only a single file in the patents folder. A Text document. He clicked on the file, and an image flashed on the screen.
Darkwitt couldn’t help but fold his arms and smirk.
“Well. Seems like someone did my job for me.”
Darkwitt's first move is something the other facilitators might have issue with:
Recruiting another Facilitator.
This is the second chapter of the Facilitator story. I held off on writing this story for about five years thinking few people actually were interested in hearing more about Darkwitt's story.
Comments are greatly appreciated.
Artwork by Kiaun
Chapter One: False Start