Conversations The Illuminati Have...Bets and Wagers

"This year, the award will be determined on he following criteria. Whomever manages to effect the greatest change with the smallest object will win an additional 25% prize. Any member who does not submit their buy-in in one hour will forfeit the opportunity to compete." The message, handed to me on a piece of what seemed to be paper, by a nondescript man with large sunglasses, abruptly went blank.

The shimmering Rio de Janeiro sun and blasting heat reminded me that I needed to return to my estate in the countryside, I had an idea for this year's prize.

After my success a few years ago, I thought that maybe I could use a similar creation to win again. That time, the topic was "use a piece of history to destabilize as large a part of the world as possible." Ebola had echoed through the annals of history and the rest of the club had gladly paid up.

My laboratory was quiet and sterile. I immediately opened one of the doors and had one of the prisoners brought forward. A child, race indeterminate.

"What's your name?" I asked him. "Z-Zika. They call me that because its where they found me." I smiled at the terrified boy. "Well, Zika, we're about to win a wager. Let's give some of your blood to the mosquitoes, shall we?

Adam Weishaupt reclined lazily in the overstuffed leather love seat, his polished brogues crossed one over the other on the mahogany coffee table. Mumbling past his chestnut pipe, his words slid past his lips, as languid as the Thames on a summer day, "...and half of my assets in Bavaria if you're able to bring those squabbling colonists together into something resembling a country. To be frank, the Georgia territory is little less than Britannia's open prison, and those preposterous Quakers in Pennsylvania couldn't be more inward-focused if their eyes were crossed."
The prospect tumbled about in my mind, a new nation...but of whom? German communities set just east of the Appalachians, Italians on the coast of New York...Irish farmers and English merchants, all together as a single country? "I must agree Mr. Weishaupt; it hardly seems fathomable. It would require the intricate delicacy of a statesman and determination of a general, and it would hardly be inexpensive." The sardonic eyes held my gaze, measuring me, boring into the deepest recesses of my mind and pulling at something I thought I'd long since buried. "I'll make you king," he offered finally. "Not right from the beginning of course, but within a decade...if you can manage it." My pulse quickened, a steady throb of intense beats, like the drums of an infantry, booming in my ears and building to a crescendo as the thought marched to the fore of my mind. "You have a deal," I managed with the breath that remained in my chest after that surge of revelation, "but I will need an ally." "Fair enough," Weishaupt gestured offhandedly. "Take the French; they hate the Brits almost as much as the colonists do."
Nodding, I turned on one heel to leave, striding briskly to the door of the luxurious Bavarian villa. "I'll have it finished in three months." "Two!" Called Weishaupt behind me, "and don't forget your hat, Jefferson. You'll need it in Virginia."

Mark looked at me. A long, cold stare.

"Are you up for it?", he enquired.

"You're asking me to steal candy from a baby", I replied.

"Not just any baby. That rotten kid is Finkle's son. Finkle removed the carpet from under my feet by single-handedly bringing down Lehman Brothers, back in '08. I worked month, MONTHS, to try and bring them down. I can NOT afford to lose this time."

"But Mark, you literally spread Ebola in the Americas", I bargained.

"Yeah, and what happened? I get two months' attention, and the world has decided to move on. Morgan's Zika", he said, contemptuously.

I sighed.

"Alright, what do you want me to do?"

"Kid's probably going to be taken on a joyride across town, next week, because it's his birthday. Needs to be taken out, preferably with a bang."

I was dressed in blue. Watching Finkle's son hungrily wolf down his bright red, cyanide-laced popsicle. I really had a thing for old-fashioned poisons and toxins. The kid made his way to the enclosure in the zoo. He collapsed, right in the middle of a teeming crowd, his mother plopping herself on the ground beside him, his nanny clearing out space to let him breathe, knocking over a young couple, with a small child in their arms, who were standing the edge of the wall, peering in, to see the giant apes.

"I never thought you'd end up creating the biggest, most enduring distraction in the world, Matthew", said Mark. "Welcome to the club."

Cheesecakegentleman 1 point 7 hours ago
Mr. Beta walked down a long hallway, thinking of his bet. He was quite sure he would stump the man this time. He opened a door that led into a parlor, lit only by the soft glow of a dying fire in the fireplace. There were only two chairs in the room,with a table nestled between them,directly infront of the fireplace. Mr. Beta took a seat and stared intently into the fire. "Mr. Omega, I think I might have something that not even you can accomplish," said Mr. Beta. "Amuse me," said Mr. Omega. "You know our cause,you know our beliefs. So I want you to fufill them," said Mr. Beta. A crinkle of ice filled the room as Mr. Oega took a drink from his whiskey. "I want you to rid America of the christian God." said Mr. Beta, staring into the fireplace coals. Mr. Omega was staring into the coals of the fireplace as well. "Do you know the ramifications of your bet?" asked Mr. Omega. "I would love to see them," said Mr. Beta. "Consider it done'" said Mr. Omega. "Muslims are currently being attacked by the media everyday. Since we own the news outlets,new attacks will be orchestrated. We will fund fledgling terrorist sects to begin bombings in the U.S. The media will report on this, telling the masses that islam is radical and create fear and hatred. With support for the destructions of muslims coming, we will then slowly start using suicidal bombers to proclaim they are christian before attacks. The media will tell the public that both share the same God,so both religions are the same. With enough exposure,people will begin to think with fear, instead of reason. That is when we will orchestrate an attack that has never been seen before. Possibly a nuke being set off in a popular city. No one will claim responsibility, but our newscasters will point to circumstantial evidence that it was the christians. The people of America will carry out the rest of the work to make the bet a reality." finished Mr. Omega. Mr. Beta was startled at the quick answer to his bet that he was given. "Impressive plan, but you still need to implement it," said Mr. Beta. "Give me two years," said Mr. Omega. "Done," replied Mr. Beta.

Two years later, Mr. Beta walked looked out the window of his office. There was a church a few blocks down, with a crowd of people standing infront of it. Mr. Beta casually walked down the street to see the commotion. The people had tied a rope to the cross on top of the church, and were starting to pull it down. He chuckled at the sight,and walked inside to see what other sort of damge they had done. Inside was disaster, a memory long gone. He walked through the main hall and to the doors of the auditorium when he noticed a stench. Curious, he rounded the doors to see the bodies of people lying dead on the floor. Some shot,some beaten to death. He walked to the front stage,trying to keep himself from throwing up. He staggered onto the front stair of the stage,when he noticed a red drip coming down from above. He looked up and saw a woman nailed to the cross. He remembered then that his niece, who he hadn't seen in years, went to this church. As he began to hyperventilate,he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He fumbled to get it out,and dropped his phone when he read the text. "Did I win?" asked Mr. Omega

I apologize in advance for the formatting but this is on mobile and I want to get it in before it's too late to be seen.

"But Fred, surely you must be joking. Not only is it ridiculous, what if news gets out? We gamble with men's lives every day but... this?"

Fred leaned back in his arm chair, sipping a tall glass of lemonade. "Well, that's why it's called a dare, Paul. Dare you take that risk? Feel the thrill of escaping justice?"

Paul sat forward, clearly uneasy at the proposition. "What could you possibly have to offer me that would be worth such a thing?"

"My retirement. I quit. Nobody will ever see my face again. I've got plenty of money, so I can afford it. And you, Paul... you'll be the only one left. You'll hold the crown."

The light returned to Paul's eyes and the color to his face almost as quickly as it had left. Him, King. The only one they would adore. He would have all the fame and glory.

Fred smirked. He always knew how to egg poor Paul on. "So? Do we have a deal?"

Paul thought just a moment more, then stuck out his hand to shake that of his rival. "You're on, Fred. I'll do it tomorrow afternoon."

About a week later the story was in all the papers. Fred set aside his copy of The Post, drank from his lemonade, and straightened his zippered cardigan. He was now the only voice the children would listen to. "A pleasure doing business with you, neighbor."