A/N: This was written for english, I admit, but it was great fun. Translating a story into the modern day can be a great creative exercise. Steve Bally and Christopher Little are fictional characters, but if you look at the Microsoft staff listings, I'm sure that you could find who they're based off of. The characters are in no way meant to portray the actual people in any other way than what jobs they hold in the company. Thanks to Will Shakespeare for the ideas. The characters are COMPLETELY fictional, the setting my own, the basics belong to Shakespeare.

The sky looked menacing, with huge storm clouds hovering on the horizon, showering heavy raindrops down onto the streets below. The raindrops traced beautiful patterns on the large, clear, glass windows of the tall glass and chrome building, as Steve Bally and Christopher Little waited for the elevator.

“Those clouds look disgusting,” said Steve, looking at the black shapes that covered the sun and shaded a usually beautiful view of D.C.. “Although the rain‘s pretty enough, in it’s own way.”

“What’s taking so long with the elevator? We’ll be late for the press conference. And you know that Mr. Gates doesn’t like that.” Christopher gripped his papers and glanced nervously at his watch. “Five more minutes, and I’m taking the stairs.”

“What, are you crazy? The elevator’ll come. And Mr. Gates will wait.”

Just then, the elevator opened silently, and the two men stepped in. As the door slid shut, Steve pressed the button for the twenty-ninth floor, and the elevator began to move up.

The door opened onto the twenty-ninth floor much the same way that it had on the eighteenth floor to let the men in. They left the elevator, their shoes slapping the gray carpeted hallway with Windows logos every four feet in brilliant color. The walls were plain gray, and the doors of all the offices were blue. The cubicles were blue as well, and here and there, some brave employee had dared to tack up a wrinkled cartoon or a photo on the outside wall. The rain continued to splatter onto the glass windows on the right side of the hallway and trace water paths down to the sill.

The hallway travelled in sharp, straight lines, with precise corners. The men heard a faint mutter as they walked, and a scratching of pencils which grew into a murmuring sound as they travelled down the hallway. Then, they came around a sudden corner, and the two men nearly ran into a trio of journalists. The first wore a hat with “Press” written all around the crown, the second carried a large yellow legal pad and a yellow pencil, and the third held out a small sound recorder.

"What are they doing here?" whispered Christopher to Steve, nervously clutching his papers to his chest.

" You men are supposed to be in the conference room," stated Steve, looking at the journalists and frowning as they began to speak.

“All Hail, Mr. Bally, President of Microsoft sales,” said the first journalist, with a blank face.

“All Hail, Mr. Bally, CEO of Microsoft,” said the second journalist, raising its eyebrows toward the ceiling.

“All Hail, Mr. Bally, that shalt be Chairman of the board of directors hereafter,” said the third journalist, with a wry smile on its lips.

Steve just stared, his jaw dropping lower with each statement, and his eyes growing quite large.

“Chairman!” said Christopher, the startled, incredulous, and faintly jealous exclamation involuntarily escaping his lips. "What about me?"

“Lesser than Mr. Bally, yet greater,” said the first journalist.

“Not as happy, yet much happier,” said the second.

“Thy sons shall be Chairmen, though you be not Chairman yourself. So All Hail, Mr. Bally, Mr. Little!” The third finished triumphantly with a flourish of the hand that held the microphone. The journalist’s mouth smiled, but its eyes did not.

“Mr. Bally, Mr. Little: All Hail!” said the first journalist, narrowing its eyes to slits.

“ What’s with the Shakespearean ‘hail’ stuff?” whispered Steve to Christopher, finally regaining some of his wits and staring hard at the journalists.

“Now, sirs, please wait until the conference has begun to talk to Mr. Bally; into the room," said Christopher, nervously fending off the prophetic trio and herding them towards the door. But even as he did so, they seemed to have melted through into the conference room.

“Well, I’ll be,” whispered Steve, stroking his nearly bald head. “I’ll be.”

“We’ll all be if we don’t hurry up- Mr. Gates doesn’t like waiting,” Christopher replied, glancing around apprehensively. And for once, Steve didn’t protest as Christopher hurried him into the room to face the media.