12-01-2009, 01:41 PM
Chapter 2: Coffee Breaks and Card Keys
Okay, deep breath. No need to panic now, It's just my first day as a trainee at G-SIDE; which is perfectly ordinary and safe. Hell, my grandmother was one.
The queue leading up to the registration desk was a long one. There's always a large number of registrants during March, looking for work over the summer. Anywhere else in the world they'd be looking for jobs in cafés, or washing cars; working for chump change, but it's chump change you'd earned off your own blood, sweat and tears. We have jobs like that in San Sarai, sure, but with how high the population is, the odds of being able to serve bad coffee to grumpy strangers is sadly slim. But G-SIDE is always hiring, never completely filling up their work rota. How on earth could they pay us all?
The reception lobby was immaculate. Everything was coloured a smooth, shiny white, reminiscent of how most trendy gadgets were made in a shiny white finish back in the day; the kind that attracted dust and fingerprints like a magnet. These days, it's more fashionable to have a choice of colour scheme, thank god. Even a group of sofas and armchairs in the far corner looked uncomfortably rigid and plastic. It definitely reflected the 'modern for the sake of modern' ethos this city holds in such high regard, but it just felt cold and soulless to me. I hope the rest of the Tower isn't furnished in the same way; I'd have to invest in a pair of sunglasses to reduce the glare.
The person behind me in the queue tapped on my shoulder. It felt... squidgy. I paused the music application on my Console, removed the headphones and turned around.
“What's up?” I said. It was a man, quite a bit younger than me, probably in his early 20s. Or at least I think so – his features were rather doughy and indistinct, and he was wearing a bulky padded jacket, completely disregarding today's forecast of sunny weather. Though he was trying to get my attention, he seemed to shrink away when I replied, like a tortoise.
“Oh, uh, hi. I just wanted to ask if...” He hesitated; it seemed the pressure of casual conversation was getting to him. “If you know what we have to do for the initiation to G-SIDE? If it's something too exerting, I...”
He trailed off and looked down at his shoes. The suspense of queuing was killing him inside, just like all of us, I suppose. Queues are orderly, but never kind. Sure, there are worse ones (queues for injections or registering as a sex offender come to mind) but there's only so long you can stand still patiently until the nerves kick in. I thought it best to put him out of his misery.
“I have to be honest with you, I have no idea what we're gonna end up doing once we register here-” The chubby man suddenly looked even more crestfallen; I'm clearly not very good at consoling people. I quickly caught myself “-but! But, the people who work here are in all kinds of positions. I doubt the researchers were put through army drills, if you get what I mean.” He looked up and nodded slowly, still with a worried expression, but a bit calmer than before. He did understand what I meant.
There was a heavy pause between us as he fidgeted; obviously wanting to say something, but not knowing the right words. I stifled a chuckle, I wasn't much better when I was his age.
“So, what's your name?” I offered him my hand. “I'm Jenny, it's a pleasure to meet ya.”
“Thom. It's, um, nice to meet you too.”
Satisfied with my moment of sociable charity, I turned back round. The queue in front wasn't too long, but it felt like it would stretch for eternity.
Half an hour later, it was finally my turn at the front desk. The receptionist clearly lived in the Fashion Quarter – the 60's look is the 'in' thing this week, and she'd jumped on the bandwagon with great gusto; from the beehive haircut to the thick-rimmed glasses, to the way she noisily chewed bubblegum with her mouth open.
“Welcome new recruit to G-SIDE Tower, we're grateful for you interest in working for us,” Still chewing, the receptionist leapt into a well-rehearsed routine in a bored drawl of a voice before I could even say hello.
“As part of your registration process, we'd like to ask you a few personal questions to be recorded on file, is this okay?”
“Of course, uh,” I glanced at her name tag. “Of course, Shirley.”
“The name's Samantha.”
“But your name tag says -”
“First question. Can you tell me your full name?”
“Jennifer Ida Magdalene.”
“Age?”
“32”
“Favourite colour?”
I blinked in surprise. “Er, green?”
“On what day do you do you do your weekly shopping?”
“What? I don't understa-”
“Would you say that chivalry is dead?”
“I wouldn't say so, but what does this have to do with-”
“What, above all things makes you happiest in life?”
Ah, this was a question I had prepared for.
“Nothing makes me happier than helping others, and making them happy, ma'am.”
“What a naïve answer. Helping people is an arduous and thankless task. I tend to avoid it.
“At any rate, those are all the questions I need to ask you for now. If you would kindly step this way into the waiting room, we will soon issue you with an ID Card, an upgrade for your Console, and give you further instructions. Thank you for co-operating with G-SIDE.”
She waved a bracelet strewn and well-manicured hand nonchalantly to a door to the left. As with everything else in the ground floor reception, it was a thing of immaculate whiteness, set so perfectly into its frame that at a glance it looked like nothing more than a handle bolted to an empty wall.
The door slid effortlessly to the side as I pulled the handle, and I peered through to the room beyond. More white, but this room had the common sense to avoid plastic furnishings, the chairs in here were covered in what looked like leather, but the round, puffy shape of them made them look like giant marshmallows. A coffee machine was placed inconspicuously in a corner, along with a large potted plant which looked like an overgrown lettuce. As the only green object in the room (aside from us new recruits, anyway), it stuck out like a sore thumb. Someone walked over to the coffee machine, and on the way, decided to pull off a small scrap of leaf from the potted plant. To my surprise, he took a bite.
“Mmm, Iceberg.”
His curiosity – and mine – satisfied, he punched a command into the machine, was served, and sat back down. Not wanting to linger in the doorway, I found somewhere out of the way to sit down, put on my headphones, and got lost in the Neo-Thrash Jazz on my Console.
A few minutes later, Thom walked through also. I'm not sure if he looked more or less perturbed than before. He idled by the entrance looking awkward until he saw where I was sitting, and sidled over.
“Hi again Jenny. That was a whole lot less difficult than I thought but those questions were...”
“Weird? I hear you. I'm not quite sure where my favourite colour would factor in to all of this.”
“Favourite colour? She asked me if I knew how to salsa dance. She didn't ask very nicely, either.” He was right. Shirley did seem rather surly. “If you ask me, I think she was just making up the questions. So what do we do now?”
Having a conversation partner was nice, but after dealing with the mildly hostile secretary, I didn't need any more questions, especially ones that I don't know the answer to. Suddenly, the lights dimmed; gradually, like a stage performance was going to start. All the chairs and sofas were facing the back wall; just as white and clinically featureless as all the others. And then, before our eyes a hairline crack appeared in its surface, rapidly lengthening from ceiling to floor, and then widening to form a large, dark doorway. With tension filling the air, a figure stepped out from the gloom and into the room, a well-placed spotlight in the ceiling cast a vivid glow around the individual, who turned out to be a rather short and staunch man in a grey pinstripe suit. By the polite murmuring across the room, I could tell that I wasn't the only one who was mildly unimpressed.
“Welcome ladies and gentlemen,” The diminutive businessman stretched his arms out and puffed up his chest as he addressed us all. “Thank you for participating in the G-SIDE Tower Recruitment Programme! It's so thrilling to be entertaining such a wonderful audience such as yourselves tonight.” As well rehearsed as this speech was, he seemed to forget that it was three in the afternoon.
“I am your host, your charismatic boss, and CEO of the G-SIDE business sectors, Tristan Sullivan!” He paused to let the moment sink in, clearly expecting a round of rousing applause for his stylish and dramatic entrance. Nothing happened for a few seconds, until some of the politer recruits picked up on the cue, proffering him a brief smattering of applause.
“Thank you, thank you. But enough about me, the real stars of the show are you new wonderful recruits; all so willing to give your time and your bodies over to G-SIDE for the good of San Sarai. What a noble bunch you guys are. Give yourself a round of applause!” More hesitant clapping. “And now, my first port of call, the breakdown of just exactly what we do at the Government Society of Investigators. We offer a wide range of services to the people of San Sarai, from preventing terrorist attacks to helping little old ladies cross the street. When we're not extending the long arm of the law, our state-of-the-art scientists are developing new technology to benefit mankind. We're truly a technological and socio-political messiah, and if we starred in a book or a movie, we'd undeniably be the team of strong-willed protagonists.
“But that kind of multitasking mastery isn't achieved by the individual – in addition to all of us existing G-SIDE staff, fresh faces just like you oil the well-worn gears of our Society. For the next year you will be put through the extreme and frankly ridiculous rigmarole of lectures, test missions, and fiendish multiple-choice exams to prepare you for the day-to-day life as a G-SIDEr.”
With a click of his fingers, he gestured to his left and a stoic uniformed man wearing dark shades and an earpiece moved out of the shady doorway to his side. He'd be the classic example of a henchman if he wasn't carrying several plastic bags filled with cardboard boxes, along with a large rucksack, possibly filled with even more.
“Neville here is carrying your Introductory G-SIDE Kits. Inside you'll find an ID Card, some literature detailing the company policy and morals that you probably won't read, and a special gift from me, selected to fit the role in the company that we think will suit you to a 't'.”
Pulling a Console from his pocket, Mr. Sullivan pushed a few buttons and began to read off the names of the new recruits. One by one we made our way to the spotlight to receive our Welcome pack, at first a little reluctantly, and then getting into the swing of things. Thom, whose surname I then found out was Acropolis, gained his package very early on. He seemed far more relaxed and excited now the hard questioning was out of the way, and the prospect of free gifts was offered; but we had been told by Neville the henchman that the boxes were not to be opened until after the introductory talk had finished. Soon enough I had gone up to be given my introductory kit – as I took the box from Neville and shook Mr. Sullivan's hand, he gave a little “Ta-daaa” noise, as though he was less of a CEO and more of a Pleasure District stage magician. Maybe he was one before he got the job here?
Eventually all the boxes were handed out, and with a flourish from Tristan and a more enthusiastic wave of applause, the CEO left the room, kicked the lights back up and left us to open our boxes.
The boxes were just as clean and white as everything else; I didn't know you could get cardboard that shiny. Opening mine, I found items you'd expect in a welcome pack. A letter addressed to me, but with generic text given to everyone; a badge and blazer with the G-SIDE company logo on it, and your run-of-the-mill ID Card.
Compatible with any ATM, any locked door, any railway checkpoint in the city. The things have so much data on board that it might as well be a digital representation of you imprinted to plastic and shoved in your wallet. Consequently, they're also the kind of things you don't want to lose. Granted they're so tailor-made, that using someone else's card is very easy to pick up on; but if you don't like the idea of others knowing intimate details about you, you learn to be vigilant on the matter. You usually only ever need a single ID card in your lifetime unless you happen to lose it or drop it into a vat of boiling acid (it happens); So being issued a new one, instead of just having the info on my existing card updated rings a little strange.
Also thrown in was a software disc for my Console, a set of cheap and easy to break pens and pencils (also with the G-SIDE logos), a voucher for a free drink at the Party Mansion's liquor fountain, and...
“Wait, why on earth would they give me this?”
I pulled out what looked disturbingly like a handgun. Although there was something not quite right about it – for all of its sleek dangerous finish, it felt... artificial; like a toy gun or a movie prop. It came with a holster and a few clips of ammo, too. Realising I was just holding it in my hand and staring incredulously at it, I shoved the gun back into the box before anyone – least of all me – started freaking out. Inside of the holster was a note.
Ms. Magdalene,
Judging by the answers you gave during the questionnaire and an in-depth look into your background history (please give my regards to your stepmother and your ex-boyfriend, they were very helpful and informative), we have decided to give you a position with the street-level police force, should you be capable enough to complete the Training Course. The handgun we have provided will assist you in your endeavours. Just don't go and shoot anyone innocent. Who said problems couldn't be solved with violence?
Yours,
Samantha Shirlsdon
For all the questions that letter answered, I felt just as confused and out of my depth as I did to begin with. To my right, Thom let out an annoyed-sounding groan.
“This is not funny. It's like, harassment or something. Insensitive bastards.”
“What's wrong?”
He looked up, and proffered me the contents of his Welcome pack. Inside was his 'special gift'.
A box of doughnuts. To their credit, they were some damn fine looking doughnuts; perfectly glazed and sprinkled, all soft without looking greasy. Makes sense G-SIDE would have contacts in the Culinary Quarter. Along with it was a note, similar to mine.
Mr. Acropolis,
Judging by the answers you gave during the questionnaire and an in-depth look into your background history (your dietician and acquaintances from your high school were very eager to supply us with information), we have decided to give you a position as a police chief for the station in the Architects Quarter, should you be capable enough to complete the Training Course. The doughnuts we have provided will assist you in your gorging as you sit at a desk all day. Just remember to go to the gym once in a while. We who do desk jobs are the true elite.
Yours,
Samantha Shirlsdon
I tried my hardest to stifle a gasp of surprise, and utterly failed.
“I know right? It's completely rude of her.”
“Rude? You're going to be a police chief! Technically, you're gonna be my boss!”
“I... I think you're missing my point...”
The hidden door/wall opened again, but this time without the stage lights and melodramatic entrance. It was Neville.
“Thank you for your patience with our CEO. He's... a different kind of individual, but he's a hard worker, and cares a great deal about his new recruits. Now, if you're ready; kindly follow me to the Elevator Corridor, and we'll be on our way to the Residential floors. There'll be one last thing you'll need to do before that, but we'll get to that bridge when we come to it.”
And with that, we were away. Turns out the sterile white finish is just for public show; upon passing through the door into the building proper, we were welcomed with elegant wallpaper in a pleasant, relaxing green, and a short yet springy carpet. It looked more like the halls of an expensive hotel, rather than the city's most important business building. Indeed, upon reaching what was dubbed by Neville as the 'Elevator Corridor', there was a concierge waiting at a desk in the middle of the room.
“Good afternoon ladies; gentlemen. Neville. Going up?”
The room was expansive and circular, in what felt like it should be in the centre of the tower; we had walked for a good 5 minutes to get to it. Aside from the door we came through, the walls were lined with lifts, all varying in width and height. Some were obviously private use only, or service lifts. Neville wandered over to the concierge, muttered something to him quickly, and gestured over to one of the wider elevator doors.
“Well, only because the boss says so...”
“Don't be difficult, you do this every time. Don't make my job harder than it has to be.”
“Hard? All you have to do is wear sunglasses all day!”
“And all you ever do is push lift buttons and give me backtalk. Now can I lead these new recruits onwards or not?”
And with no more said, we were ushered to the imposing metal doors; the concierge swiped his ID card across its control panel, and hit the 'Up' button.
“Lift number three heading to 3rd floor, Residential; taking a midway stop on 2nd floor for your first taste of corporate and law-enforcement hell. Please mind the doors and enter in an orderly fashion.
“Enjoy your day!”
Okay, deep breath. No need to panic now, It's just my first day as a trainee at G-SIDE; which is perfectly ordinary and safe. Hell, my grandmother was one.
The queue leading up to the registration desk was a long one. There's always a large number of registrants during March, looking for work over the summer. Anywhere else in the world they'd be looking for jobs in cafés, or washing cars; working for chump change, but it's chump change you'd earned off your own blood, sweat and tears. We have jobs like that in San Sarai, sure, but with how high the population is, the odds of being able to serve bad coffee to grumpy strangers is sadly slim. But G-SIDE is always hiring, never completely filling up their work rota. How on earth could they pay us all?
The reception lobby was immaculate. Everything was coloured a smooth, shiny white, reminiscent of how most trendy gadgets were made in a shiny white finish back in the day; the kind that attracted dust and fingerprints like a magnet. These days, it's more fashionable to have a choice of colour scheme, thank god. Even a group of sofas and armchairs in the far corner looked uncomfortably rigid and plastic. It definitely reflected the 'modern for the sake of modern' ethos this city holds in such high regard, but it just felt cold and soulless to me. I hope the rest of the Tower isn't furnished in the same way; I'd have to invest in a pair of sunglasses to reduce the glare.
The person behind me in the queue tapped on my shoulder. It felt... squidgy. I paused the music application on my Console, removed the headphones and turned around.
“What's up?” I said. It was a man, quite a bit younger than me, probably in his early 20s. Or at least I think so – his features were rather doughy and indistinct, and he was wearing a bulky padded jacket, completely disregarding today's forecast of sunny weather. Though he was trying to get my attention, he seemed to shrink away when I replied, like a tortoise.
“Oh, uh, hi. I just wanted to ask if...” He hesitated; it seemed the pressure of casual conversation was getting to him. “If you know what we have to do for the initiation to G-SIDE? If it's something too exerting, I...”
He trailed off and looked down at his shoes. The suspense of queuing was killing him inside, just like all of us, I suppose. Queues are orderly, but never kind. Sure, there are worse ones (queues for injections or registering as a sex offender come to mind) but there's only so long you can stand still patiently until the nerves kick in. I thought it best to put him out of his misery.
“I have to be honest with you, I have no idea what we're gonna end up doing once we register here-” The chubby man suddenly looked even more crestfallen; I'm clearly not very good at consoling people. I quickly caught myself “-but! But, the people who work here are in all kinds of positions. I doubt the researchers were put through army drills, if you get what I mean.” He looked up and nodded slowly, still with a worried expression, but a bit calmer than before. He did understand what I meant.
There was a heavy pause between us as he fidgeted; obviously wanting to say something, but not knowing the right words. I stifled a chuckle, I wasn't much better when I was his age.
“So, what's your name?” I offered him my hand. “I'm Jenny, it's a pleasure to meet ya.”
“Thom. It's, um, nice to meet you too.”
Satisfied with my moment of sociable charity, I turned back round. The queue in front wasn't too long, but it felt like it would stretch for eternity.
Half an hour later, it was finally my turn at the front desk. The receptionist clearly lived in the Fashion Quarter – the 60's look is the 'in' thing this week, and she'd jumped on the bandwagon with great gusto; from the beehive haircut to the thick-rimmed glasses, to the way she noisily chewed bubblegum with her mouth open.
“Welcome new recruit to G-SIDE Tower, we're grateful for you interest in working for us,” Still chewing, the receptionist leapt into a well-rehearsed routine in a bored drawl of a voice before I could even say hello.
“As part of your registration process, we'd like to ask you a few personal questions to be recorded on file, is this okay?”
“Of course, uh,” I glanced at her name tag. “Of course, Shirley.”
“The name's Samantha.”
“But your name tag says -”
“First question. Can you tell me your full name?”
“Jennifer Ida Magdalene.”
“Age?”
“32”
“Favourite colour?”
I blinked in surprise. “Er, green?”
“On what day do you do you do your weekly shopping?”
“What? I don't understa-”
“Would you say that chivalry is dead?”
“I wouldn't say so, but what does this have to do with-”
“What, above all things makes you happiest in life?”
Ah, this was a question I had prepared for.
“Nothing makes me happier than helping others, and making them happy, ma'am.”
“What a naïve answer. Helping people is an arduous and thankless task. I tend to avoid it.
“At any rate, those are all the questions I need to ask you for now. If you would kindly step this way into the waiting room, we will soon issue you with an ID Card, an upgrade for your Console, and give you further instructions. Thank you for co-operating with G-SIDE.”
She waved a bracelet strewn and well-manicured hand nonchalantly to a door to the left. As with everything else in the ground floor reception, it was a thing of immaculate whiteness, set so perfectly into its frame that at a glance it looked like nothing more than a handle bolted to an empty wall.
The door slid effortlessly to the side as I pulled the handle, and I peered through to the room beyond. More white, but this room had the common sense to avoid plastic furnishings, the chairs in here were covered in what looked like leather, but the round, puffy shape of them made them look like giant marshmallows. A coffee machine was placed inconspicuously in a corner, along with a large potted plant which looked like an overgrown lettuce. As the only green object in the room (aside from us new recruits, anyway), it stuck out like a sore thumb. Someone walked over to the coffee machine, and on the way, decided to pull off a small scrap of leaf from the potted plant. To my surprise, he took a bite.
“Mmm, Iceberg.”
His curiosity – and mine – satisfied, he punched a command into the machine, was served, and sat back down. Not wanting to linger in the doorway, I found somewhere out of the way to sit down, put on my headphones, and got lost in the Neo-Thrash Jazz on my Console.
A few minutes later, Thom walked through also. I'm not sure if he looked more or less perturbed than before. He idled by the entrance looking awkward until he saw where I was sitting, and sidled over.
“Hi again Jenny. That was a whole lot less difficult than I thought but those questions were...”
“Weird? I hear you. I'm not quite sure where my favourite colour would factor in to all of this.”
“Favourite colour? She asked me if I knew how to salsa dance. She didn't ask very nicely, either.” He was right. Shirley did seem rather surly. “If you ask me, I think she was just making up the questions. So what do we do now?”
Having a conversation partner was nice, but after dealing with the mildly hostile secretary, I didn't need any more questions, especially ones that I don't know the answer to. Suddenly, the lights dimmed; gradually, like a stage performance was going to start. All the chairs and sofas were facing the back wall; just as white and clinically featureless as all the others. And then, before our eyes a hairline crack appeared in its surface, rapidly lengthening from ceiling to floor, and then widening to form a large, dark doorway. With tension filling the air, a figure stepped out from the gloom and into the room, a well-placed spotlight in the ceiling cast a vivid glow around the individual, who turned out to be a rather short and staunch man in a grey pinstripe suit. By the polite murmuring across the room, I could tell that I wasn't the only one who was mildly unimpressed.
“Welcome ladies and gentlemen,” The diminutive businessman stretched his arms out and puffed up his chest as he addressed us all. “Thank you for participating in the G-SIDE Tower Recruitment Programme! It's so thrilling to be entertaining such a wonderful audience such as yourselves tonight.” As well rehearsed as this speech was, he seemed to forget that it was three in the afternoon.
“I am your host, your charismatic boss, and CEO of the G-SIDE business sectors, Tristan Sullivan!” He paused to let the moment sink in, clearly expecting a round of rousing applause for his stylish and dramatic entrance. Nothing happened for a few seconds, until some of the politer recruits picked up on the cue, proffering him a brief smattering of applause.
“Thank you, thank you. But enough about me, the real stars of the show are you new wonderful recruits; all so willing to give your time and your bodies over to G-SIDE for the good of San Sarai. What a noble bunch you guys are. Give yourself a round of applause!” More hesitant clapping. “And now, my first port of call, the breakdown of just exactly what we do at the Government Society of Investigators. We offer a wide range of services to the people of San Sarai, from preventing terrorist attacks to helping little old ladies cross the street. When we're not extending the long arm of the law, our state-of-the-art scientists are developing new technology to benefit mankind. We're truly a technological and socio-political messiah, and if we starred in a book or a movie, we'd undeniably be the team of strong-willed protagonists.
“But that kind of multitasking mastery isn't achieved by the individual – in addition to all of us existing G-SIDE staff, fresh faces just like you oil the well-worn gears of our Society. For the next year you will be put through the extreme and frankly ridiculous rigmarole of lectures, test missions, and fiendish multiple-choice exams to prepare you for the day-to-day life as a G-SIDEr.”
With a click of his fingers, he gestured to his left and a stoic uniformed man wearing dark shades and an earpiece moved out of the shady doorway to his side. He'd be the classic example of a henchman if he wasn't carrying several plastic bags filled with cardboard boxes, along with a large rucksack, possibly filled with even more.
“Neville here is carrying your Introductory G-SIDE Kits. Inside you'll find an ID Card, some literature detailing the company policy and morals that you probably won't read, and a special gift from me, selected to fit the role in the company that we think will suit you to a 't'.”
Pulling a Console from his pocket, Mr. Sullivan pushed a few buttons and began to read off the names of the new recruits. One by one we made our way to the spotlight to receive our Welcome pack, at first a little reluctantly, and then getting into the swing of things. Thom, whose surname I then found out was Acropolis, gained his package very early on. He seemed far more relaxed and excited now the hard questioning was out of the way, and the prospect of free gifts was offered; but we had been told by Neville the henchman that the boxes were not to be opened until after the introductory talk had finished. Soon enough I had gone up to be given my introductory kit – as I took the box from Neville and shook Mr. Sullivan's hand, he gave a little “Ta-daaa” noise, as though he was less of a CEO and more of a Pleasure District stage magician. Maybe he was one before he got the job here?
Eventually all the boxes were handed out, and with a flourish from Tristan and a more enthusiastic wave of applause, the CEO left the room, kicked the lights back up and left us to open our boxes.
The boxes were just as clean and white as everything else; I didn't know you could get cardboard that shiny. Opening mine, I found items you'd expect in a welcome pack. A letter addressed to me, but with generic text given to everyone; a badge and blazer with the G-SIDE company logo on it, and your run-of-the-mill ID Card.
Compatible with any ATM, any locked door, any railway checkpoint in the city. The things have so much data on board that it might as well be a digital representation of you imprinted to plastic and shoved in your wallet. Consequently, they're also the kind of things you don't want to lose. Granted they're so tailor-made, that using someone else's card is very easy to pick up on; but if you don't like the idea of others knowing intimate details about you, you learn to be vigilant on the matter. You usually only ever need a single ID card in your lifetime unless you happen to lose it or drop it into a vat of boiling acid (it happens); So being issued a new one, instead of just having the info on my existing card updated rings a little strange.
Also thrown in was a software disc for my Console, a set of cheap and easy to break pens and pencils (also with the G-SIDE logos), a voucher for a free drink at the Party Mansion's liquor fountain, and...
“Wait, why on earth would they give me this?”
I pulled out what looked disturbingly like a handgun. Although there was something not quite right about it – for all of its sleek dangerous finish, it felt... artificial; like a toy gun or a movie prop. It came with a holster and a few clips of ammo, too. Realising I was just holding it in my hand and staring incredulously at it, I shoved the gun back into the box before anyone – least of all me – started freaking out. Inside of the holster was a note.
Ms. Magdalene,
Judging by the answers you gave during the questionnaire and an in-depth look into your background history (please give my regards to your stepmother and your ex-boyfriend, they were very helpful and informative), we have decided to give you a position with the street-level police force, should you be capable enough to complete the Training Course. The handgun we have provided will assist you in your endeavours. Just don't go and shoot anyone innocent. Who said problems couldn't be solved with violence?
Yours,
Samantha Shirlsdon
For all the questions that letter answered, I felt just as confused and out of my depth as I did to begin with. To my right, Thom let out an annoyed-sounding groan.
“This is not funny. It's like, harassment or something. Insensitive bastards.”
“What's wrong?”
He looked up, and proffered me the contents of his Welcome pack. Inside was his 'special gift'.
A box of doughnuts. To their credit, they were some damn fine looking doughnuts; perfectly glazed and sprinkled, all soft without looking greasy. Makes sense G-SIDE would have contacts in the Culinary Quarter. Along with it was a note, similar to mine.
Mr. Acropolis,
Judging by the answers you gave during the questionnaire and an in-depth look into your background history (your dietician and acquaintances from your high school were very eager to supply us with information), we have decided to give you a position as a police chief for the station in the Architects Quarter, should you be capable enough to complete the Training Course. The doughnuts we have provided will assist you in your gorging as you sit at a desk all day. Just remember to go to the gym once in a while. We who do desk jobs are the true elite.
Yours,
Samantha Shirlsdon
I tried my hardest to stifle a gasp of surprise, and utterly failed.
“I know right? It's completely rude of her.”
“Rude? You're going to be a police chief! Technically, you're gonna be my boss!”
“I... I think you're missing my point...”
The hidden door/wall opened again, but this time without the stage lights and melodramatic entrance. It was Neville.
“Thank you for your patience with our CEO. He's... a different kind of individual, but he's a hard worker, and cares a great deal about his new recruits. Now, if you're ready; kindly follow me to the Elevator Corridor, and we'll be on our way to the Residential floors. There'll be one last thing you'll need to do before that, but we'll get to that bridge when we come to it.”
And with that, we were away. Turns out the sterile white finish is just for public show; upon passing through the door into the building proper, we were welcomed with elegant wallpaper in a pleasant, relaxing green, and a short yet springy carpet. It looked more like the halls of an expensive hotel, rather than the city's most important business building. Indeed, upon reaching what was dubbed by Neville as the 'Elevator Corridor', there was a concierge waiting at a desk in the middle of the room.
“Good afternoon ladies; gentlemen. Neville. Going up?”
The room was expansive and circular, in what felt like it should be in the centre of the tower; we had walked for a good 5 minutes to get to it. Aside from the door we came through, the walls were lined with lifts, all varying in width and height. Some were obviously private use only, or service lifts. Neville wandered over to the concierge, muttered something to him quickly, and gestured over to one of the wider elevator doors.
“Well, only because the boss says so...”
“Don't be difficult, you do this every time. Don't make my job harder than it has to be.”
“Hard? All you have to do is wear sunglasses all day!”
“And all you ever do is push lift buttons and give me backtalk. Now can I lead these new recruits onwards or not?”
And with no more said, we were ushered to the imposing metal doors; the concierge swiped his ID card across its control panel, and hit the 'Up' button.
“Lift number three heading to 3rd floor, Residential; taking a midway stop on 2nd floor for your first taste of corporate and law-enforcement hell. Please mind the doors and enter in an orderly fashion.
“Enjoy your day!”
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