Part 04 – Public Relations

…nothing happened. I wasn’t ambushed, attacked or trapped under a stack of discarded crates left around for advertising purposes!

Before I even realized my status still resided as ‘living’, I possessed the photocopy of the [mission critical documents]! Wasting no time, I returned to the lobby where my Quality -19 friend waited. I smiled, half wishing to give him a piece of my mind by telling him that I didn’t have time for his stupid mission… but a combination of polite sense and my own desire not to starve to death as a bum won over.

“I finished the job.” I stated simply. He shrugged, tossing me a wad of cash and an 8-pack of batteries into my chest. I fumbled and caught it.

“Good. Come back to me later, and I’ll have something else for you to do.”

Alright, that sounded reasonable. This all left me feeling happy. I made money. I had a place to get work. I had… a pack of batteries?

I waited a few seconds when ‘later’ came and then I asked for a new job. More of this kind of cakewalk paper-copying and I’d be set to move somewhere nice, like Southside Gallente Hills, where thrills abound and life is cheap. I’d drown my sorrows with Quafe Spritzers and enjoy afternoons with those French ladies and their transparent clothing.

I felt so good in fact for my newfound $5.15 and the priceless batteries, that I even paid attention to his request this time through. I smiled and hummed nostalgic oldies tunes as he spoke…

Mission:

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”Minmatar protesters have been picketing our building for days because we apparently exploit minorities. This has been bugging me somewhat, so I want you to go outside and eliminate them.”

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My Quality: -19 Pal said this in the calmest manner in the world. I stared at him incredulously. Did a guy working for a bookstore just ask me to kill people? What the hell kind of place was this?

He continued, completely oblivious to my look of alarm and confusion.

Mission:

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”The reward for this mission is fifteen dollars. If you complete it within twenty one minutes, and four seconds, you will be awarded an additional bonus of fifteen bags of garbage.”

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I was going to kill people… for the wondrous bounty that was corporate garbage and fifteen dollars? I gaped and almost told him to shove it… but then again, money was money.

I took the job hesitantly, leaving the building with great anxiety washing over me. Would these people be reasonable and leave without me having to fight them? Or would they tell me off, and stick to their principles to continue the protest? As I pondered such issues, I saw the trio of protesters I was sent to ‘eliminate’ on behalf of the Barnes and Noble Corporation.

They looked tough and strong and menacing. Each carried a picket sign, made from rusted corrugated iron nailed sloppily on a bent brass pole, rusted through and through with words lazily written on them. I guess the poor Mataris didn’t even have access to proper cardboard these days.

A CONCORD police officer walked along only a few yards away, so I decided to play it cool and be a sensible negotiator with the protesters, using all of my cunning, charisma, and the soul of a kind, decent human being.

I had no idea that it was going to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done to that point…

(To be continued)