Monday: 12.44pm
Daniel thinks if the boss is just outside his cubicle... He can't take the risk of getting this done slow. Lest his boss sees him with unfinished work.
Still suffering from some lingering Dream Fear, you think that perhaps the boss is watching you from afar. You get to work, and get started on the filing with something approaching a reasonable speed [3]. It will probably only take fifteen minutes to finish it off, but it’s pretty dull. You could go for lunch:
authorised lunchtimes are 12.45pm and 1.15pm.Morale Boost! Nearly lunch!
Morale Drop! Tedious filing!
Task Assigned! File all that data!
Failure Rating: 12.
Morale: -8.
Run down the hallways screaming "FIRE, FIRE-THE TERRORISTS HAVE STRUCK AGAIN!"
You run down the hallways screaming "FIRE, FIRE - THE TERRORISTS HAVE STRUCK AGAIN!” [6] and all at once, every doorway on the corridor you’re currently screaming along opens, and every member of staff tries to flee simultaneously. You’re sure you hear the distance sound of windows being broken, and the muffled cries of people landing on the ground in a crumpled heap.
Suddenly, there are over three hundred typists, sub-typists and various other assistants stampeding down the corridor; a piercing alarm starts to sound; sprinklers twinkle into action.
As smoke seems to rise all about you flee onwards, driven by the maddened crowd, trampling over the bodies of the fallen, crushing the chests of the too weak or too slow, their bleeding bodies left to desiccate in the swirling dust. A GenCorp security guard tries to stop the herd and to reinstate some order; he is flattened by the onrushing horde of under-secretaries and never seen again, his bones bleached by the desert sun and ground into powder by the march of time. Directed as if by some innate crowd sense, the hundreds of men and women stream down corridor after corridor; some bust down doors to offices on the side and commence to looting. Gunshots echo; you struggle to keep your head above the mass of people, you nearly fall to the floor struck in the face by a flatscreen TV someone carries past you as if on a tide of virulent sewage.
Up ahead someone screams, “There’s one! The terrorists! The terrorists are here! They’ve killed the security guards! Call security! Aaaaaaaahhhg the gas! They’re using nerve gas!”
A mass of hysterical screaming ensues; you feel the burst of bitter and evil sentiment rise as nearly half a thousand people embrace their bloodrage at once: the column of patriotic countrymen and women changes direction to pursue the spotted terrorist.
“He’s a terrorist! Burn him! Burn him! He’s a terrorist!”
You smell the acrid aftersmell of sick; you taste blood and cordite in the air; beneath your feet the floor is slick with a greasy mélange of bodily functions.
Morale Boost! Mass hysteria!
Morale Boost! Mass patriotism!
Fail! Should have got started typing by now!
Fail! Set another computer on fire!
Fail! Could have avoided this if you’d done that fire training I told you about!
Task Assigned! Minute a teleconference recording!
Task Assigned! Sign up for some fire training!
Failure Rating: 20.
Morale: 12.
Warning! Your Morale is so high that you are beginning to look suspiciously happy! Remember folks, we are here to work, not to have fun!Powder Woodcutter angrily trudged off to work, trying not to be more late.
Furrowed brow and clenched fist, you pick yourself up and get back on your way [3]. You get to work, kicking a plant over as you go, but as you walk up the main driveway after swiping through the first gate to the complex an armed police officer stops you. Apparently there’s some kind of terrorist-led riot going on: either you’ll have to stop around here and wait, or head to Sub-reception Grey Six 34b.
He picks up his clipboard and asks your name, and then when you reply and he reads down the left hand column he notes you have an asterisk next to your name.
“Oh, Mr Woodcutter. This isn’t exactly standard procedure, but I’ve been told you have to go and get working, there’s some weeds in Greenery Area Black Seven A1 that urgently need cutting down, terrorists or no terrorists. The boss says quote unquote to step to it boy those weeds aren’t gonna kill themselves they’re a goddamn disgrace. I’d better let you through.”
Success! Got to work!
Fail! Late!
Task Completed! Got to work!
Task Assigned! Kill those damn weeds!
Failure Rating: 11.
Morale: -2.
"Go on, off with you!" Sato yelled, flailing his arms around to clear away the pigeons so he could try to get back to the thermostat. Damn, isn't it like three point something degrees Fahrenheit is one degree Celsius? He didn't know, but he was going to take a gamble on it being the case and tried setting the thermostat to 20. After that, he was going to grab a chair and go to town on these pigeons; if he somehow lucked out in getting them gone, he would resume putting the chairs up.
Yes! Three point something equals one! That’s it! You jump to your feet in a flash and fight your way to the thermostat and set it to 20 with the speed of an eel. You grab a chair and go to town on the pigeons [6].
The next few minutes are a blur of blood, sweat and feathers as you slay pigeons in a 360 degree circle of furious frenzy! Your inherited Pigeon Fear kicks in, you smash every one out of the air as they orbit your bulging eyes and panic-ridden face: you smash them out of the air and into the walls! You even smash a pigeon through one of the windows you hadn’t opened earlier. It shatters. You swing your chair at the last pigeon left alive and stumble into the stack of chairs you’d prepared for setting out, but you miss the pigeon as it taunts you a final time.
It flies past and you leap up to pluck it from the air and wrestle it to the ground! As you force it into a headlock the boss walks in with Professor Crack and Doctor Erdleton.
ACCIDENTAL BOSSCHECK!“Sa-…”
The boss appears to have fainted.
Professor Crack and the Doctor manage to catch him as he falls and waft some smelling salts in front of his face.
He comes to, and sees Presentation Room Green Four 24 covered in pigeon blood, corpses and feathers, a knocked over column of chairs strewn across the floor. You haven’t quite finished setting it up, and appear to be kneeing a pigeon in the face.
“SATOSH-…”
He doesn’t seem to be fainting, but he does seem to be turning very red and having great difficulty breathing.
“Someone call an ambulance!” Doctor Erdleton screams.
You notice the pleasant ambient temperature in the room.
ACCIDENTAL BOSSCHECK FAILEDMorale Boost! Pigeonocide!
Morale Drop! Very sweaty!
Fail! Didn’t get the room set up in time!
Fail! Heart-attacked the boss!
Fail! Filled Presentation Room Green Four 24 with pigeon parts!
Task Failed! Didn’t get Presentation Room Green Four 24 set up in time!!
Failure Rating: 16.
Morale: 10.
Warning! Your Morale is so high that you are beginning to look suspiciously happy! Remember folks, we are here to work, not to have fun!Go fix the color! Good mood means good hard work*!
You catch the lift up to Green Three 97 and knock politely on the door. A distinguished old gentleman, quite Southern looking, opens the door.
“Hello young man. Now, I appear to have some trouble with the colour on this here television screen. All the colour has fallen into the bottom right corner.”
As a seasoned IT professional [4], you quickly notice that this is a very aged monitor, a 1991 IBM model, no less. You sit down at the old gentleman’s desk, and observe that, indeed, all the colour has fallen into the bottom right hand corner. You also observe that there is an enormous paperclip magnet to the right of the computer. Sighing to yourself, you click through some menus so fast that the eyes can’t follow, pretended to type in a few commands, and then you casually move the magnet. The monitor works correctly!
“Well my boy, you’re a miracle worker and that’s no mistake and I thank you greatly. Would you like a cigar?”
He offers you a finely crafted case of cigars, motioning for you to take one.
Success Fixed his colour!
Task Completed! Fixed his colour!
Failure Rating: 9.
Morale: 9
With a roar, Toby heads out through the fire exit and flees outside, trying to run away from any oncoming GenCorp employees or SWAT teams.
Escaping from the security guard’s grip [4], you look back behind you only to see an angry horde of hundreds of GenCorp employees heading your way, some of them waving flatscreen TVs, others brandishing pitchforks, many of them screaming and being sick.
You panic, before managing to override your fear and hurl out a manly roar and then run full pelt at the fire exit, breaking open the doors and out into the midday sunshine. You stop and turn, throwing your arms into the air and roaring again like some kind of research sub-assistant grizzly bear.
“He’s a terrorist! Burn him! Burn him! He’s a terrorist!”
The angry mob shouts after you; you run down the outside of the building in a head down sprint. You look over your shoulder; you turn a corner; down a slight slope you see a line of armoured police vans and behind it a line of armed SWAT team members taking cover. A man with a megaphone addresses you.
“FOREIGN TERRORIST. GIVE UP. YOU ARE SURROUNDED. PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND LAY FACE DOWN ON THE GROUND. I REPEAT. FOREIGN TERRORIST. GIVE UP. WE WILL NOT HESITATE TO SHOOT IF YOU DO NOT SURRENDER. YOU ARE SURROUNDED. I WILL COUNT TO FIVE BEFORE OPENING FIRE.”
You look behind you: the baying mob has stopped about 20 metres behind you. Many are taking photos on newly acquired iPhones. You stare ahead: the line of police are training their automatic weapons on you.
“FIVE…
FOUR…
THREE…”
Morale Boost! Causing extreme chaos!
Morale Drop! Covered in another man's sick!
Morale Drop! Pursued by an angry mob!
Morale Drop! Threatened by the man!
Morale Drop! Extreme failing!
Fail! Why in the lord’s name have you still got no trousers on?
Fail! Still requested in the boss’s office!
Fail! Depressed!
Task Assigned! Head to the boss’s office!
Failure Rating: 39.
Morale: -11.
Warning! You have reached MEGAFAIL! At this level of incompetence, all GenCorp staff are encouraged to beat you mercilessly and will receive tax-free cash and Morale bonuses for doing so! You will be fired as soon as you are violently immobilised and escorted from the premises!Warning! Your morale level indicates that you are close to depression. This will affect your ability to work.
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Topic: Roll to Work at GenCorp! Tuesday: The End: A New CEO. (Read 65056 times)