Rasputin’s Death
The story of an influencer's end
It dawned on Rasputin that this midnight meeting served no real purpose. He looked across the massive redwood table at Prince Yusu and began to eat the sweet cakes he’d initially refused. His digitally advanced nano-gut-biome broke down the cyanide-laced pastries and turned them into sugars that gave him a pleasant energy rush.
“Do you have any wine?”
The nervous Prince jumped from his chair, walked to the bar, and fumbled with the decanter.
“Dimitri should be along soon.”
“So you keep saying. These are sickeningly sweet.”
Yusu poured and watched in amazement as the old mystic ingested poison. He glanced at his armband which told him the Duke was less than a kilometer away. Rasputin gulped down his third glass of toxic wine and stood.
“I’m going. Tell the Duke all is well on the front. We will defeat the Makina and their robotic secrets will be mine.”
Yusu rushed to block him at the foot of the stairs. Rasputin’s deep-set eyes reflected confidence and certainty. His disheveled long black hair and beard, rumpled clothes, and ratty hide boots were a strange disguise for an advisor who bent the ear of the galactic emperor.
