“If the atmosphere becomes unstable enough, we could have some severe thunderstorms tonight,” the weatherman chirped on the screen.
“Good, very good,” said the dark figure in the corner, arms crossed in front of him on the desk. “Your mission today is to destabilize the atmosphere.”
“Piece of cake, boss,” said the unctuous tall man standing obediently before him. “We have everything ripe for that anyway.”
Outside the window the many minions mingled along the street, ripe for disorder and unaware of the manipulation afoot.
“Thunder and lightning and storms,” murmured the man at the desk, “Oh, my.”
And all day long the words shouted in fear and anger and condescension, so when the first thunder cracked that night, no one was surprised.
The storm was upon them before they fully realized.
The atmosphere had become unstable enough — just enough for the storm. Was that maniacal laughing in the dark between lightning strikes?
