Part 03 - Things get economically viable

“What do you want? I hate beggars.” Came a voice, spat out in the rudest tone I’ve ever heard.

I stood plainly, mouth agape at the man sitting at the desk. He was middle aged, wearing an odd type of clothing I had never before seen, with sunken cheeks and clearly lacked even basic skills in personal hygiene. It soon became apparent once my eyes set upon his nametag.

Nametag:

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‘Duogh Birik. Level 1 Advisory. Quality: -19.’

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Not exactly a flattering job title. I certainly wouldn’t want the words ‘Quality: -19’ following me wherever I went, no matter how accurately it described the man before me. I supposed he had good reason to be surly… Either way, I coughed awkwardly. Obeying some strange desire within me, I responded in the only way the voices in my head let me.

“I want work. Do you have any?”

He glared down upon me, and immediately began to list details. Before I could space out to blissful daydreaming, his annoying voice took my attention and I waited impatiently with a sigh, mentally undressing the Achuranese Secretary typing to one side. I’d talk to her if I could, but Level IV’s like her just don’t bother with little people like me… my little thought bubble broke back to the mission briefing.

Quality -19 Mission Agent:

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…Since I am so very busy at all times of day, you’ll need to get a few things done for us. As we’re very security-conscious, we need trusted hands to transport paperwork to the copy machine, then to deliver copies back. This is precisely why we’re offering the job to you, complete stranger.

Now, take this [mission critical document] to the copy machine on the fourth floor. When you’ve made copies, return to me. The payment for this will be $5.15, your hourly wage. If you can complete this task within six minutes and twenty five seconds, you will receive a bonus of eight 9-volt batteries I keep in my desk.

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As he spoke, my own mind wandered to various thoughts. Not the least of which was the question of how this kind of a business model could ever prosper. Why was this man offering me batteries as a reward for swift service? I decided to boldly shrug. He did offer some money after all…

“I accept your mission.” I said, all officially. He seemed satisfied, and told me to get the hell out of here, tossing the ‘important papers’ onto an empty section of his desk. I took them without further fuss, to venture for the fabled fourth floor copy machine. I double-timed it to the elevator, pressing the ‘call’ button. That pleasant feminine voice from earlier returned soon after tormenting me again with her polite rejection…

Elevator Traffic Control:

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You are now 6th in queue to enter the Elevator. Please wait.

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Impatience set in. I tapped a foot and growled. Why the hell does everything have this godawful wait?

Once the elevator opened, I scrambled in and began to mash the ‘4’ button. Thankfully no further delays occurred, and I stepped out, making my way down a well marked path to the photocopier.

At once, I found myself sweating.

Why was this so easy? Where was the suicide bomber standing in the doorway, taunting me to come closer? Where were the inexplicable post-it note messages or long delays?

Nothing would have prepared me for what happened inside the copy room...

(To be continued...)