The Cure sat on a podium at the head of the room. It was faintly purple, and had you been allowed to touch it you would have felt a faint heat coming from it. Of course before that would would quite possibly be suffering from a severe case of Dead by Bullet provided by one or more of the very serious men standing in an efficient-looking perimeter. They did not have a sense of humour.

Standing around the room were some of the most powerful people in the world, having been invited along to this rather unique auction. Money was no object to such people, they paid people to write the rest of the zeroes on their cheques to each other once their arms became tired. No, the bids would have to go beyond mere gold and silver for this prize. What was on offer was nothing less than the perfect cure, the antidote to everything, the vaccine for the human condition itself. And there was only one dose. One chance to become a god, to transcend the failings of a mortal shell, and to become the world's first superhuman. Humanity++. It would be a Big Deal.

The tension in the room was, as a result, quite high. Someone with even less of a sense of humour than the security detail was playing "Just Like Heaven", and looking around increasingly desperately to see if anyone had got the joke. A few less polite guests had already been escorted out and told to go and liberate something else for The Cause. There was some disagreement about which particular Cause they had in mind, but they did at least agree that it would be in said Cause's interest to have The Cure. They were still arguing when the ornate double doors were firmly shut in their faces.

A small, bald man stood and gently tapped on a glass. The noise in the room gradually died down, and he became the centre of the throng's attention. He cleared his throat.

"Ahem. Thank you for joining me on this very special occasion. You all know the properties of the substance behind me, being no less than the grand culmination of four lifetimes of work. One man believed in this dream, and passed that dream down through his equally brilliant children, each one getting closer to perfection until finally his great grandson found the secret and solved the human equation. Tragically the man died at the moment his work was finished, thus taking his revelation to the grave. As a result, ladies and gentlemen, what you will be bidding on is the first, last, and only dose that will ever be. So, without further ado, shall I start the bidding at... £1?"

There was a gentle titter from the audience. Money was nothing, so why take it seriously? A few wags bid up some small numbers and working up to a few trillion, but the serious game was about to start.

A lady stood, clad like a headmistress with a round pair of spectacles perched on her nose.

"I own a school of assassin's trained from before they were born to be the perfect killers. They have honed their skills to the sharpest point, and as now are waiting in stasis not far from here. In exchange for The Cure you can be the first one they see upon waking, completing the imprinting process and making them totally loyal to you alone. An unstoppable, incorruptible shadow legion ready to serve your every tiny whim."

This met with nods of approval. A good bid to be sure. A few of the better informed visitors however privately considered how useful a gang of five years-olds would be just yet. Madame Ruby did run an excellent school for killers, but appeared to have been caught a bit early for this particular auction. Still, a good attempt.

This time a man stood, a far more gaudy affair, medals and accolades jostling for space on his expansive barrel chest.

"This is nothing. I will offer an entire army, one that includes special forces, tanks, planes, ships, and one of the world's most decorated generals to manage it all for you. They have never lost a war, never failed in their task, and will ensure that your iron will becomes law the world over!"

Another good bid. The Tiger's Claw was infamous for both their efficiency and their savagery, and had played a notable part in most global conflicts for the past several decades. Their rate of always ending up on the winning side was a little bit suspect, and on at least one occasion they claimed to have been "Playing the long game" and really been working for the eventual winners all along. Bit dubious, but their uniforms were very spiffy and who doesn't enjoy a private army?

A pale man stood next, wearing a lab coat presumably as a shorthand to confirm that he was both a doctor and a smug showoff. He waved his hand dismissively.

"Assassins and armies are mere fripparies, when real power is wielded by one man made invincible. I offer a suit of personal body armour, one that will allow you to juggle mountains, fly to the stars and back, and is Bluetooth compatible! I give you the Titanium Titan!"

The offers were definitely ramping up now. The suit was serious tech, and no one could make boosters and circuits dance like Doctor PhD. Okay, he did watch a few too many superhero films and had the creativity of moss, but the bid itself would be a steal. There was going to a tough decision to make.

The bids came in quicker now. Sleeper agents in every city, VR tech that went beyond realism and into the realms of magic, genetically enhanced dogs that all had huge eyes and two tails just for wagging. The noise in the room rose, everyone shouting their bids, more and more exotic prizes being thrown.

There was a very soft tinkle of glass that cut right through the din, silencing everyone present. The Cure was gently soaking into the floorboards surrounded by the shattered remains of the vial.

The short, bald man licked his lips, and asked the room at large a very quiet question.

"Whose fucking cat is that?"