(Last update of the week. Expect an update on Wednesday and Friday.)
Employees!mcclayI.T. Department, Level +4Jacob resists the instinct to roll his now nonexistent eyes and ignores Karen.
"Yeah, though I swear to god it usually ends up on my desk along the way. Hey, gotta go, Karen is freaking out about some dumb techinal problem."
He hangs up and spins to glare at Karen and glares at her as best he can.
"Tell fucking anyone about this and the next time you do a presentation it'll be chock full of gay porn. The really fucked up kind too. Just tell me what the fuck the your major malfunction is and I'll fix. it.
[3] She finishes retching. “Well… Then maybe when you do that, I’ll email this to fucking DEREK!”
Karen shoves a piece of paper in your face. You suspect this would be a dramatic way of showing some cunning checkmate, but since you don’t have eyes you have to ask what it says. Her voice is slightly less confident but definitely more annoyed.
“It’s your stupid email!” she says. “‘I’d like to drag my dick across your cheek, how does Tuesday sound?’ What the hell is
wrong with you?”
Oh dear, that was your pickup script at work. It emails someone from a list of attractive female coworkers with randomly generated flirts. Being honest, you haven’t had much luck with it. In fact, you haven’t had any luck. Fingers crossed, though!
“Ah,” you say. You decide to focus on constructive criticism. “So what didn’t you like about the email?”
“Well, it’s stupid as hell for one thing,” she says. “Another thing is that you know I’m gay, because that’s what I told you the last time this happened, you asshole.”
Oh, it’s that Karen; Lesbian Karen. You’re pretty sure you could bargain her down to Bisexual Karen, but you’ve had no luck so far. Again, fingers crossed!
Well, what now?
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
"Ah for fucks sake, i just cleaned that department! You fucking piece of..." Hank decides that kicking the dead man only leads to more unpleasantness. He grabs the mans security pass and runs quickly towards the doors and elevators to the lower levels.
Make sure to seal off Level -3 from the lower levels so that those asshats don't come up. If i don't have clearance call in the deathtroopers to do that. Then bring in the deathtroopers, clean up AGAIN and then go up to level -1 to clean up THAT mess.
[2] You key in the lockdown codes for Level -3, but to be honest you took that course six years ago. You might have keyed in your PIN number instead because the alarms keep ringing and the lockdown doors stay up. A message flashes on the screen: “DELAYED SWITCH ACTIVATED”. [5] You call in the deathtroopers instead, who rush in wrapped in black SWAT gear and many, many guns. They’re wearing memorial poppies, which somewhat diminishes their image. But hey, it’s policy. On the stairwell to the floor below, you hear an ominous thumping sound. What is it now? Zombies? Supersoldiers? Zombie supersoldiers? The deathtroopers keep their guns trained on the stairwell door. The sound resolves into the sound of a bare foot smacking against concrete. The door is blasted off it’s hinges.
Behind it, a clone of the Bruce Lee stands in a fighting pose. He coldly glares at the soldiers, then goes ‘HI-YAAA!”
Then, he is shredded apart by a whole mine’s worth of lead flying through the air at very high speeds. Surprisingly, you feel queasy. You’ve cleaned up more blood and guts then you can count, but you’ve never seen something die right in front of you like that.
Oh well! You begin mopping the giblets all over the floor. That’s when you hear more noises down below. More smacking of feet, more ‘hi-yaws’.
And of course, that’s when the lockdown kicks in five minutes after it was needed, leaving you trapped on the wrong side of the wall that separates the corporate deathtroopers from what sounds like an army of Bruce Lee clones.
You expect a bonus for this, if you survive.
Job: Viscera Cleanup Detail
Talent: Surviving
Failing: Respect towards Superiors
Quote: Good Heavens are these Human Cadavers?
Mutations: Direction Sense, Psychic Empathy (Activated by Touch)
Diana racks her brain for an excuse. Wasn't that technician saying something about a containment field..? She shakes her head and points at her computer and phone.
"No can do, big guy. Some arse down in research let the containment field drop, and I have to "coordinate the re-procurement of loose assets", as though I have nothing better to do!" She says in a whiney voice, making quotation marks with her fingers in the air. She continues, rolling her eyes: "I can't leave the desk in case someone needs me to hold their hand."
[4] He nods sadly. “What a shame, what a shame,” he says. “Why does everyone lay it all on the feet of the managers? I mean, we can’t do everything around here! It’s like the entire company is on our shoulders and we just have to keep on trucking—“
His phone rings and he picks it up. “Derek Shmater, vice-manager to the regional office. Well, Vladan, losing your legs to a karate chop sure sounds like
your problem, doesn’t it?” He points to the phone and apologetically shrugs before throwing a smile at you then leaving without closing the door.
You sigh at your lack of legs. This is the classic Derek move, he’s going to hang around for a few minutes to see if you’re doing anything he doesn’t approve of. You’d go over to close it, but… Well, that’s the issue. You better figure out some way around this.
The phone rings and you pick it up. “What now?” you ask.
“Yeah, this is uh, Greg? The technician?” says that asshole technician’s assistant. “Yeah, we managed to get that containment field kinda sorted, but there’s a lot of clones around so we’re kinda in danger. Like, Virgil, the other technician dude, he just got his head chopped off by a dude.”
“So just set up evacuation protocols,” you say.
“Yeah, uh, not that simple,” he says. “Old Stan’s in charge of that and he’s not budging. He thinks we’re just like panicking over nothing or something. Can you talk to him?”
You rub your forehead. Old Stan is the security guard on the lower levels, older then sin and stubborn as a mule. Let’s just say that you don’t think Greg is lying about him stubbornly refusing to get his sweaty arse out of his chair. You have no idea why he hasn’t been fired or murdered or quietly filed away somewhere. What are you going to do about him?
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
"Thanks Gemma. It's not that bad. I'm sure these vents were designed for these sorts of evacuation procedures. And I've heard that some people can completely block out horrifyingly traumatic experiences. Do you think that's true, Gem? Well? Do you?" Zach asked, sounding a little hysterical.
Don't think, just move. Get through the vent and get to freedom. There'll be plenty of time for repressmem later.
“Jen,” she says as you unscrew the vent cover with a penny.
“Yeah, what’s wrong, Gemma?” you say. “Is there another way out of here that doesn’t involve going through a CramTighVent filled with spiders and cobwebs and I’m in my happy place, happy place, happy place…”
“My name’s Jen,” she says, angrily fingering her sub-machine gun.
“Sure it is, Gemma!” you say, shoving the vent cover away. “Well, see you then, godspeed Gemma!”
You’re sure she yelled something after you, but you were too busy trying to pretend you weren’t about to shove yourself into a really tight space. It’s an evacuation procedure, it’s big enough, it’s big enough, it’s big enough to—
[3] Yep, it’s big enough, and you can’t even remember the last few minutes of crawling through horribly dark and confined tunnels like you’re descending into the bowels of the earth itself to be digested and forgotten. The thing is, the vent now goes straight up without a ladder. The only other way is straight down to another level. You might be able to find an elevator from there, but the problem seems to be downstairs; most containment breaches come from there.
Either you’re going to need to climb up or take a roundabout way. What to do…
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)
Joe keeps running. But this time he thinks as he runs. Perhaps heading towards work isn't the best idea right now, perhaps water would be a better bet.
Run towards water!
[5] WATER WATER WATER YES SWEET REFRESHING NOT-BURNING WATER.
You lay in the paddling pool (Oh, that’s where the water is coming from) for a while, feeling utterly calm. You don’t even feel bad about your body being covered in third-degree burns, it doesn’t even hurt! The weird thing is, humans usually die after 1/3 of their body is burned badly. It simply can’t take that much. You’ve read a lot about people burning to death because you seem to like torturing yourself.
Incongruously, a child is weeping. You look up and see that you’ve interrupted someone’s eighth birthday. The kids are staring, some crying, and the adults are trying to phone the authorities.
This is going to be tough to explain.
Job: Public Relations Guy
Talent: Running Away
Failing: Being Brave
Quote: "Oh God, not again."
Mutations: Electrical Travel, Charred Body
roll with the situation, claiming an appliance was smoking and that we are here to repair/replace it, but it seems to have already ignited. Go in and "help" the people, before killing them quietly. If anyone asks, we overdid the sunscreen, and the damn stuff won't come off. NO WITNESSES!
[4] You smile and explain it all to the neighbour, who goes off mumbling about seared eyes. You go in, get the people to give a full account of what happened, then snap their necks one after the other. You stack their bodies in the kitchen, turn on the hob, put some eggs on the cooker, then walk out. You toss a match into a window, which makes the whole house go up in a beautiful plume of flame.
They made some food, left the gas on, and then someone lit a cigarette. Some people just don’t know how to take care around inflammable gases.
Job:Private Security/Corporate Assasin
Talent:Hand-to-hand Combat.
Failing:Attention span, especially on paperwork.
Quote: "Wanna see a magic trick? Presto, you're dead!"
Mutations: Reflective Skin
When in doubt, blame Greg. Check the incident log, anyway, to see if the moron, or the other moron, actually solved it, through some sheer fluke. If they even entered it. Give thanks for ergonomic keyboards and mice. Make a mental note to not crack your fingers. When did you even start doing that?
Wait, you're not Noname Guy, just Jeff, the Guy On The Autodumping Incident Management List.
Whose department was this email from?
This is from that department that apparently does nothing but cause containment breaches and come up with inefficient ideas for supersoldiers. You think they’re a legacy from the Umbrella merger.
[2] When you try to access the incident log, some really nasty gay porn comes up. The subtitle to the gay porn is “STOP QUESTIONG (sic) MY COMPETENCE DICKFACE”. Oh, motherfucking Jacob must have sabotaged key functions for the sake of his ego, again. You thought that urge ended with the Wounded Knee incident. You could try doing a workaround, or kick his ass. That might be hard, because even with ergonomic keyboards you feel like a wrestler’s been tap-dancing on your fingers.
Job:3rd-level support tech (the guy you call after you've allegedly tried rebooting and the troubleshooters.)
Talent:Extremely good technical skills.
Failure:Extremely introverted. Rarely seen anywhere. Appears to communicate solely by email and text. Even when you're in the same room, sometimes.
Quote:"...Uh...Hi...Uh...Hello...Hi...Uh...You...Uh...Wanted to...Uh...Talk to me...Uh...Right?"
Mutations: Structural Weakness
Name: Carl
Job: Mixing random stuff together Developing new products
Talent: Adapting
Failing: Way too optimistic (is this too close to that focus group guy's flaw?)
Quote: "Don't worry, there is no way this improvement to the containment field could possibly compromise it!"
Observe the rampaging mutants through the security cameras. Have they received any new powers?
(I’ll rule it that Zach has trouble being honest while Carl has a problem foreseeing that things will go terribly wrong)
You steeple your fingers and observe these idiots as they fall apart trying to cope with the side-effects of Xorixideobroziumamalyde. Your notes mainly consist of how everyone in this company is a complete moron, with a little bit noting how this product is completely unsuitable for mass production. You lean back in your chair in your office in Research & Development as alarms ring and screech and scientists run back and forth before getting the heads kicked in. It sounds as dull as birdsong to you when you’ve been here this long.
You take a sip of tea, pondering how many people would need to be fired by the end of this debacle and how much you’ll be promoted. You jerk back in horror at the ghastly taste of the tea, and that’s when you realise you just drank liquid Xorixideobroziumamalyde in a test tube thinking it was tea.
[60-6: Fangs, Ratlike Incisors] You get a terrible pain in your front teeth as they extend out of your mouth, turning your expression into a constant sneer. You look at the reflection in your computer screen and feel like puking.
Well, maybe they’ll understand if it’s you! Besides, who’s a better test subject then you?
Job: Mixing random stuff together Developing new products
Talent: Adapting
Failing: Way too optimistic (is this too close to that focus group guy's flaw?)
Quote: "Don't worry, there is no way this improvement to the containment field could possibly compromise it!”
Name: John Smith
Job: Server Maintenance
Talent: Navigation, whether through a computer network or in reality.
Failure: Easily induces inexplicable, extremely difficult to diagnose computer problems.
Quote: "How the hell did that happen?"
Do a systems check of the company servers.
You casually contemplate suicide for the sixth time today while doing yet another check of the company servers. [6] Surprise surprise, it is unchanged: it remains an utter mess of spaghetti code and kludges. You gaze into the monitor, feeling nothing. You’ve been doing this for five years. That’s longer then any love you’ve managed to scrape up. You’ve spent time with this stupid and broken pile of machinery then you have with anyone you’d say you loved. It seems that existential crisis was the cherry on the pile of shit that was about to hit you square in the face.
[656: Mental Blast (6m radius of range)] [533: Dyslexia] The words on the screen collapse into utter gibberish. No longer English, it’s just a meaningless pile of linguistic noise. That asshole
Steve walks into your office and grins at you.
“So, you know that Lucy chick?” he says. “Let’s just say she won’t be walking right for a month—“
You are so, so grateful when he falls over and gibbers, twisting on the ground. It takes you a while to realise that you did that, and it looks pretty bad having one of your coworkers (Even if it is
Steve) reduced to insanity just by walking into your office. What do you do?
Job: Server Maintenance
Talent: Navigation, whether through a computer network or in reality.
Failure: Easily induces inexplicable, extremely difficult to diagnose computer problems.
Quote: "How the hell did that happen?”
Author
Topic: Grotesquerie (Office Roleplay) (Read 4270 times)