“Should you choose to accept it, your mission - which you are required to accept or you’re fired - is…”
Working as a faceless minion in MegaGlobocorp was never fun. It was a dangerous lottery before one even made it to the labyrinthine spread of the offices. As unskilled labor, Dar had the marvellous advantage of having twenty bosses to tell her when she messed up. And a random number generator assigned her at random, to one of the fifty Higher Executives.
None of which communicated with her immediate superiors.
Dar joined the endless line of fellow minions trudging towards the open maw into a day’s worth of misery and working through lunch break. She couldn’t remember the last time she had actually had free time at lunch. Nobody did.
The bosses didn’t like their minions to have free time on the company dime.
As she drew closer to the scanner, Dar began the same prayer shared by hundreds in her position. Not Withers. Not Withers. Anyone but Withers. Please, merciful powers above, not Withers.
Dar inserted her arm into the machine and heard the gatekeeper intone, “Dar Mackelvoy. Withers.”
Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit…
Dar resolutely donned her cardboard safety gear and reported to the dispenser of doom.
Withers. God, no.
She ran her company tattoo under the scanner and received an ordinary-looking box. She had to open it. No time for delays. She got docked treble time for delays.
Fucking Withers. Ugh.
“Good morning. EMPLOYEE. THREE. SEVEN. TWO. NINE. ZERO. ZERO. FOUR. ALPHA. PHI. Your mission, should you choose to accept it - and by ‘choose’, we mean 'you have no choice’,” Dar rolled her eyes at the pre-recorded chuckle, “is to proceed to the. RED. SECTOR. and DELIVER. NUTRIENT. PACKETS. to the. LABORATORY. EXPERIMENTS. ZERO. THROUGH. TWO. THOUSAND. If you fail in this mission, you fail at life. This message will self-destruct in five seconds. Maybe! Hahahahahahahaa!”
Of all the executives in all the byzantine halls of this benighted company, she had to draw the one who thought he had a sense of humour.