Grey Suit and Red Suit

“You need not argue nor protest. This is an order,” the man in a grey suit says and stands up. They were only two in the high-security room. The man in the grey suit walked towards the man in a red suit. “This is the only solution,” he insists and the red-suit man nods, almost reluctantly. “Just go ahead and cut down your civil service. It’s the right thing to do. Forget conscience. Its money matters here. It’s your economy at stake here.” The grey-suit man continues and places a leather case on the table. The letters IMF are monogrammed on its sleek side. He snaps the case open, plugs out a capsule and hands it to the red-suit man. “Swallow this,” he says. His lips curl with a sly, mirthless smile. “This will give you courage and insensitivity – so you can carry on with your mission.” The red-suit man snatches the pill and throws it in his mouth. His eyes roll as he swallows the bitter bill. The canopy of his hair seems to stretch bigger from the effects of the pill – like a pitch-black cauliflower.  The grey-suit man nods in satisfaction. “Good boy,” he says. “Remember, the guys at Wall Street are watching you. You don’t want to wind up like that stubborn old nimrod across the fence, do you?” Red suit shakes his head. “Do the right thing and your country will remain in our good files. Find reasons to cut them down. Anything. When they strike, cut them down further. Accuse them of 'financial embarrassment' and cut them down. Just find any reason, logical or not. We want them reduced.” 
The red-suit man nods, firmly this time. “Can I have another pill?” he asks.

“Sure! Why not?” Grey suit says and pats red suit on the shoulder. “Swallow as many as you can and slash them. It's our New World Order.”