(And our first post begins! To those who didn't make it, don't worry, you'll be on the waitlist. Also, there was some amazing first rolls on this update. I think it bodes well.
By the by, the corporate schedule goes as the users are ordered: Mcclay, Ghazkull, Hector13, Nunzillor, Gamedragon. I think the work may be delayed, considering mcclay's current situation.)
mcclayI.T. Department, Level +4"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?" you yell at the screen. Your coworkers stare at you. "Everyone knows Grobok is shit, SO WHY DID YOU PICK HIM?"
The sobs of the thirteen year old you're yelling at are slightly warped by his awful microphone. You grind your teeth.
"Stop crying you pussy," you scream into your headset. "This is Defense of the League, bitch. You're in my world now, there's no escape! I will hunt you down and murder your entire family for what you did to me. You will run, no doubt, but there is no hiding from me. The only escape from my unending torment is the sweet release of death, MOTHERFUCKER!"
Did he... He left. Now the whole team's quitting! GODDAMMIT! NO!
[111: No Eyes] Oh shit, your eyes just fell out. You try shoving them back in a (literally) blind panic, but where your sockets once where is simply slightly yielding flesh.
And the computer just made a 'email received' sound. You're going to need to think fast.
Job: IT
Talent: Fixing computers
Failing: Not being an arrogant jackass.
Quote: "My god, just reroute the system to the 9th quartile and reanalyze the RAM, idiot."
Mutations: No Eyes
You idly wonder what the person who painted 'save me' on the wall with their own blood was trying to accomplish. By the time any help would have gotten here, they would be long dead. So, perhaps it was an incomplete message, like they meant to write 'save me a crisp'. Even then, that doesn't make much sense.
You dip your mop in the bucket again, as the soapy water turns to red. You're almost done with this department. You go towards the elevator, then slip on a bit you already did and kick over the bucket, spreading gore on the pristine floors. GAH.
[524: Directional Sense] Suddenly, you gain a whole new sense. Objects gain a heaviness to them, and even with your eyes closed you know exactly where everything is. In your bones you know that you are facing northwest, the overturned bucket at southeast, and that camera is pointing exactly west.
Well, at least this is kind of useful unlike that third arm you had to chop off in the bathroom.
Job: Viscera Cleanup Detail
Talent: Surviving
Failing: Respect towards Superiors
Quote: Good Heavens are these Human Cadavers?
Mutations: Direction Sense
"Okay, can you please explain what's going on down there?" you say vaguely while playing with the executive toy that your aunt got you for Christmas. You're not sure what it does, but it is making a pinging sound when you press the button. "In layperson's terms?"
"Well, basically," the technician over the phone proceeds to fall into technobabble and nonsense. Oh Jesus, why can't people explain things clearly? You're so good at communicating but people just don't want to listen. "And that's the issue."
"Okay, that sounds great," you say. "So you can just pass it onto that IT guy, what's his face, Johnny? Jacob? It sounds like a computer problem to me."
"Well, if the containment field doesn't hold, it could have--"
"Bye bye now!" you hang up. You press the other button on the executive toy, and end up getting speared with a sharp part of it when the whole thing collapses in on itself. Goddamn Chinese trinkets. You lick your bleeding thumb.
[872: Mercreature] Your legs clamp together automatically, like a vice. It's too late when the fusing starts. After fifteen seconds in pain, you are now in possession of a merperson's tail, scales and all. This would have been great if you were eight and still living by the coast, not now where the nearest body of water caused several kids to melt when they paddled in it.
Looks like you're going to have to do a lot of deskwork from here on out.
Job: Middle-Management
Talent: Office Politics
Failing: Actually Managing People
Quote: "I want a report on my desk about [insert ridiculously-underthought-and-ambitious-corporate-planning-idea] on my desk in 20 minutes!"
Mutations: Merperson
"So, who can tell me what their favorite quality of the product is?" you ask.
"Please let me go, I have a family," says the potential customer (Or PotCust, to use the cool abbreviated term, or AbbreTerm) tied up in the chair. She looks desperately around but can find no escape from the cell.
"I say that the vitiligo really brings out the color in your eyes," you say, writing that into your clipboard. "So, I think this is possibly the opening this company needs for their break into cosmetic products. Now, what is your least favorite quality of the product? Take your time, I know you'll need to think hard."
"I hope you die in a fire," says the PotCust.
"Look, if you want to play hardball," you say diplomatically. "We can do that. I'm down with this."
The PotCust reels back and your ears ring from the cacophony of machine gun fire. Now the woman has more holes in her then a swiss cheese. You glare at the guard, who's about as embarrassed as a nightmarish gasmasked deathtrooper can be.
"I thought you said you were done with this, and that was the signal, so," he says. After a few moments, he steps out of the room. "I'll just... Go..."
You hold your head in your hands and groan. Yet another useless termination! This whole 'kidnap and interrogate' method of focus testing almost seems like a bad idea now. It makes you so angry it... No, not angry, frustrated, no, not frustrated, minimally happy--
[472: Phobia (Enclosed Spaces)] Oh God. You're in a concrete cell with a dead body. You stand up and you can't even extend your arms all the way. Gotta get out. Oh God, gotta get out of here!
Job: Focus-group testing
Talent: Sugar coating awful realities
Failing: Being truthful
Quote: "The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and you all have the opportunity to take a pill that will increase your attractiveness by 300%. What an amazing day!"
Mutations: Phobia (Enclosed Spaces)
"Listen, my mother took anti-combustion pills specifically to avoid being a victim of spontaneous combustion," says the busybody. "So when I come to her nursing home and find out she burst into flame specifically
because of the anti-combustion pills, I want reparation!"
"Oh yes, sir," you say while keeping one finger on the 'dispatch corporate assassin' button on the phone. "How about I send you onto our very dedicated automated public assistance entity, which will--"
"That's just an answering machine that makes me push numbers for no reason!" she yells into the phone. "What are you trying to pull on me?"
Shit. She figured it out. Oh shit, what do you DO!?
[794: Electrical Travel] Suddenly, your world goes crazy. You fly along inside a long black tube, and see a light in the end. Did you just die? Is that what going to heaven's like? If it is, God is a middle-aged twerp in a cardigan holding a phone, looking at you strange. You're on the floor of a kitchen, recently occupied by children judging by all the jam smeared on the walls. She looks down on you and says "Well, alright, that's actually quite convenient. What a bloody good helpline!"
This is going to be tough to explain to the manager.
Job: Public Relations Guy
Talent: Running Away
Failing: Being Brave
Quote: "Oh God, not again."
Mutations: Electrical Travel
Author
Topic: Grotesquerie (Office Roleplay) (Read 4261 times)