She was one of a terrifying clique, a new strain of humanity. Actually, “human” may be too kind a word. They were still children, but it was difficult to see them as anything other than machines. Ruthless automatons.
The financial districts were their home. Mansion House. Monument. Bank. The Land Of The Giants where they served their internships. Where the suited and groomed infested a forest of massive towers, dwarfed by metal and glass trunks, summits invisible above the clouds. But no-one looked upward in these areas anyway. An awed glance to the heavens was a sign of weakness, a way of spotting a tourist. Despite it being the only direction where focus could extend further than 100 meters, the closest they had to a view, to look upward was to acknowledge their scale, their meaninglessness. And they were far from meaningless.
They were a breed of their own, a new mutation of a very old idea. They were all young and pretty and highly intelligent. They understood, so early in their time on the planet, the secrets of achieving wealth in obscene quantities. None of them were rich, not yet. They still took the Tube. But they operated with the confidence, and credit, that only came from the certainty that easy money was an inevitable part of their future. They just had to finish their PHDs first.
They were in further education to learn only two things: 1 – how markets works, and 2 – power dressing. The former was key, but it was their precocious grasp of the latter, combined with their natural youth, that gave them their first taste of power. They didn’t use it to attract suitors. No, the desired effect was the opposite; it was to repel. They were terrifying to anyone outside of the clique. This ensured they only bred with their own type, as their parents had before them. Generation on generation they were refining the gene, a closed pool of creatures intelligently designing themselves. Perfect adaptations, poised to inherit our economy.