You must have been a terrible boss. You're wearing silly clothing, arriving late, and losing your memory. Your workers must hate you. They are going to rise up and destroy you. They will end your life. You have to make sure they don't...
What if I do something wrong, thinks Steve. What if everyone hates me? OH GOD, SOMEONE'S GOING TO TRY AND KILL ME!
Steve looks into the backseat to find something to defend himself.
A baseball bat?
The
emergency baseball bat! How did that get in here?
Steve grabs it and clutches it to his chest. He tries to calm himself with some deep breathing and gradually brings himself under control.
What to do? What to do?..
Paul's PRIDE dictates that he must pretend he knows exactly what is going on. Enter the office building and act cool, like nothing is wrong today.
Suddenly a man swaggers through the office doors. That guy looks like he knows exactly what he's doing.
Not wanting to be outdone, Steve exits the car, giving his emergency bat a backwards glance, and swagger through the doors. As you pass the receptionist you give her a friendly nod and she smiles back. So you've got the personality down at least.
So you're the CEO already? Sweet. Sorry about calling you failure earlier, my bad. Alright, now swagger into that building and find your office. If you can locate that, you can find out more about yourself and what you do here, then you can really start moving forward. No more dealing with this impeding "lost identity" bullshit.
Now get to your office. AT ALL COSTS.
You enter the elevator and see a small square where the button for the top floor should be. It takes you a minute to work out that it's a fingerprint scanner. You scan your finger and the elevator takes an express trip to the top floor and you step out to see the attractive woman from the photos sitting at the desk. She briefly stops typing and says, "Good morning Mr. Peacea." You give her the same nod you gave the receptionist in the lobby and she raises an amused eyebrow. No nameplate, damn.
You enter your expensively furnished office.
Your impulse starts to surge. You feel like doing what would make you HAPPY.
My that's a soft looking chair, thinks Steve. He runs over and jumps into it sending it rolling backwards into the wall. He then proceeds to spin around in the chair for a minute or two.
Wow that was fun. Now to work.
Happiness for everyone! Declare Casual EVERYDAY and order pizza for the entire building! NO WAIT, Ice cream! WAIT, WAIT, WAIT... Pizza AND Ice Cream! Hooray!
You press the button on the intercom: "Ah, hello. Could you order some pizza and... um, ice cream for the... uh, whole building."
The voice of the secretary responds, "Mr. Peacea. Are you feeling alright?"
Anxiety is the best emotion.
Holy shit. What the hell are you doing man, you smashed plates and now are completely chill? You sure you arent drunk? Maybe the bacon had gone bad. Oh shit, you have to find a doctor, AND FAST! YOU ARE GONNA FUCKING DIE FROM SPOILED BACON!
Oh, maybe a doctor could help if she could tell. Was it the Bacon that caused this? Was I drugged? Oh no. Ohhh No.
"Ah yes, send up a doctor too."
"Is that all?"
Yes happy workers! but if they don't eat all their food then they can find a job somewhere else!
"Tell, um, whoever's in charge of the different, uh, parts of the building that they should take note of anyone who doesn't eat their food."
If anyone's plotting against me they'll be nervous. Nervous people don't eat much, right? Those plotters will be fired.
After a brief, charged silence your secretary confirms your orders and you settle down into your chair. You notice a glint of metal beneath your desk. You bend over to get a better look.
A GODDAMNED SHOTGUN! Who the bloody hell am I?
There's a knock on the door.
Edit: Premature post.
Author
Topic: Chemical Imbalance (Read 6371 times)