The Chrysalid Matrix

Max Forward's true legacy was a reversal of fortune. Increasing security violations left mega-corporations in constant, sometimes irreparable disarray. Many runners were so successful in their endeavors that they simply had too many resources available not to "sell out" (or "diversify," as Habeas Punter so coyly puts it). Either they were hired as security consultants (a futile response), or they established businesses of their own.

But every silver lining has its own dark cloud. In spite of the gradual recession brought on by thwarted revenues (a recession aggravated by the lack of global governmental controls, controls against which Big Business had all too successfully striven), some industries can profit from the fortunes of any war.

In the case of this war, any entity able to rebuild security controls, able to protect its own data, would thrive. And any entity willing to share its secrets with others, in return for, not money, but control, in return for shares, in return for long-term contracts, in return for permanent controls, would be cast so broad as to be a veritable empire.

And any man able to build that empire, to control it, a man able to forget who he was and think only of what he might become, why, that man would be Midas himself.

Midas, indeed.

Midas, the Catalyst. Midas, the Transmuter. Midas, the Philosophers' Stone. Midas, the Agent of Your Change. You can (must!) run from him. Or you can be conformed (subverted! co-opted! sold off!) by him. But you cannot be indifferent. You cannot stand your ground. You cannot appeal.

For, contrary to the old stories, there is nothing, there is no one, there is absolutely nothing Midas loves.

Not any more.