In and out with as much damage as possible.

Yowza, yowza, yowza.

So this week has been considerably more full of me working again. I knocked out a new short, I'm completely finished with the short I've been working on for class, and I finished another chapter in To Slice The Sky.

So this week's post is that chapter, I don't have much else to talk about. At least nothing exciting.

C:\>06_Idle_Hands/Active_Threats

     Trevor woke up, groomed, dressed himself and left for work in an uncharacteristic good cheer. He fired up his rain-shield, protecting himself from the pH imbalanced rain, near skipping all the way to the train station with a smile on his lips and a song in his heart.

     After clearing HQ’s transmitter scanners, he was handed a dumbpaper memo. It read he was scheduled for a chat with the Department Heads. At first Trevor thought of how this must be for his latest trait work with adaptive radiation therapy. Then reality hit his can do spirit, plummeting it through the floor like an anvil drop. No one 'chatted' about anything good.

     Trevor repeated, "Oh skag," to himself at various volumes, speeds, pitches and cadences all the way to Pharmacology. He kept himself well enough in check not to register abnormal behavior for the security cameras. Trevor stepped off the elevator into a pair of security guards, as was tradition when wanting to avoid incidents.

Breaking with tradition, a trio of sharp dressed people, holding smartpapers, spirited Trevor away to a side office. Before he was aware of it, Trevor was sat in a four-legged chair across from three people he'd never seen before. Fanned out before him with their knees together, a muffled hum emanated from the direction of the Department Heads.

     "So, mister…" The blonde woman read from her smart paper, "oh, yes, Dawson. Mr. Dawson, how do you do?"

     Trevor began but was interjected by a round sand colored toad of a female beauty transcendent, "I believe all of us in Consumables would like to congratulate you on your smooth transition and adequate performance as a member of the Roplaxive Pharmaceuticals Family." She had taken the idea of, 'Ugly is the only beautiful left,' to classical extremes. Her harelip, van dyke facial hair and crooked teeth distracted Trevor from her walleyed gaze as she spoke.

     Trevor attempted a quick 'thank you' before a birdlike man tweeted into the conversation. "How is your living situation? You requested to share quarters with contractor Decker Ames aka d3x@dr33m. You two are friends from your origin city, Hollywood," he smiled a crooked smile with perfect teeth. His angular Inuit features that looked drawn on. "Good ole' sunny Hollywood. I've never been. How is Hollywood? A little laid back there? Make your own rules? Plan your schedule to the surf, dude?"

     "Well no one really surfs–-" was all Trevor could get out before Gerald barged his way into the room. He looked like a castebreaker clone playing at neovogue rich in a mint green Marzucci-Delgado shark leather suit.

     "Hope I'm not late," a ginger-bearded grin from Gerald to Trevor. He attempted to jam a chair in between the two women, "What'd I miss?"

     The first woman spoke for everyone. "I'm sorry, but this is a senior department header coaching event. You may have the wrong room, uh," she waited for her smartpaper's scan of his credentials to complete, "Mr. O'Corkstien. We won’t be needing any Junior Assembly Team Overseers. So if you don't mind vacating so we can continue." She shot a look of ‘I’m going to fire you.’ Gerald disappeared in time for her to keep Trevor from saying anything. "Sorry for the interruption. Back to the topic of this meeting. We're here because of your roommate, Mr. Ames."

     "He seems to have an issue with his contractual obligations," the bird man chirped. "His work is excellent, when he logs in to do it, that is."

     The blonde continued, "Due to the sensitive nature of the materials he's dealing with, it's part of his contract to report for assignments, in person, on his designated day."

     "His recent lack of correspondence threatens both of your housing situation, as well as his contract." The Toad lady croaked.

     "Yes, so many people want to bask in Ocean City’s glory. Unfortunately, it draws an unsavory element to our shadow. In light of this quarter’s housing surge, Mr. Ames’ actions are in line with intent to commit real estate fraud with corporate property." The blonde finished.

     Trevor noticed that she wasn't wearing anything under her pantsuit blazer. He thought too much between a better view or continue looking her in the eyes. They closed their heads together, waiting for him to say something in their defense. "Oh--uuhm--he, geesh how do I put this? It's like…" Trevor's brow slicked with perspiration. Their three faces trained on each bead. "He's maintaining hours at the TMZSQR SBUX." That seemed like the absolute wrong thing to say.

     They all made stylus marks on their respective smartpapers. They compared notes, a consensus was reached and the trio looked at Trevor Daniel Dawson with scorn, pity, and trying to suppress an orgasm.

     "He transferred there,” Trevor said. “Uh, did you say my job was at risk as well?"

     "Well, that's all up to you, isn't it, Mr. Dawson?" The Blonde said. The three of them smiled with bared teeth.

     The bird guy broke his smile, "We'd like you to communicate to your roommate and make sure he understands the severity of his position." He looked like he was ready to fill his pants.

     "And tell him that those implants didn't pay for themselves," The Toad had frosting pink lipstick on her crooked yellow teeth and a bit around the center of her wide mouth. Some abandoned sprig of green took out ad-space between her incisors.

     "Questions, Mr. Dawson? On yours or Mr. Ames behalf, I'm sure." The blonde woman's face strained from the pressure at the corners of her mouth. She flushed red around her neck and cheeks as her eyes rolled back for a fraction of a second.

     "You're sure of–"

     "Excellent," the blonde panted, "thanks for stopping by."

     "Please remember that," The Toad's eyes went wall-eyed to crossed with a gurgling sound, "Oh my. I hope we understand this…this was a con-fi-dential.” The worst O-face Trevor had ever witnessed. “Coaching conference.” Deep breath, “Making any reference to this, oh goodness, this meeting, is grounds for–"

     "Termination," said the bird.

     "Well, looks like I won," The Bird's voice trailed behind Trevor as he left the office.

     Gerald was waiting in the doorway of the break room. He chatted with Dillon, busy with a sprinkle donut in his maw, until Trevor got within range.

     "So, what was your big meeting about?" Gerald sharply inhaled through his nose, passing a thumb across the bridge, "I miss anything good?" He pressed a palm to his nostrils and snorted like he was clearing drip.

     "Sorry to disappoint you, buddy." Trevor caught Dillon in the corner of his eye, "Oh, sup Dill? Didn't see you there. Donuts, huh? Any maple bars left in there? No? Rats.

     "Sorry to disappoint you, buddy,” Trevor slapped Gerald’s flabby bicep, “but the meeting was confidential. In fact, I'm not even sure I can tell you it's confidential." Trevor walked off, smiling like a perfect Roplaxive employee.

     After missing Decker’s head for the nth time, Trevor called the house phone. It was probably on mute since only work called that line. Trevor compiled another 'unzip-test' waiting for Decker to answer the phone.

***

     Next fragging Monday. Decker took the train into HQ station to get the 'special orders' waiting for him. It took: Trip and his jobs being threatened, a slew of encrypted emails that implied more threats than a cooperative relationship needs, and a promise to meet Fixer and Breaker after work; to get Decker out of bed and into the heart of Foundation Island.

     '…then she comes in and is all, "Who's gonna clean this up?"…'

     “Why are you walking around your favorite cosmopolitan district like a chump when there's Hoverchair™?”

     '…I've called this office four times already. I'm a very important part in this…'

     “Have you tried Constitution™? It's perfect for increasing stamina and…”

     '…Shawarma?! Anyone want some fraggin' shawarma?!…'

     Decker pushed his way through TMZSQR, assaulted by adverts, illegal buskers, and street food vendors. He stood before the ever-revolving doors of Roplaxive HQ, giving a hard swallow before heading in.

     At a desk, Decker pressed his thumb to a pad and had his mouth swabbed, clearing him for Roplaxive's visitor's list. And all completed while rolling his eyes and muttering about how stupid the whole thing was. He was handed a blue plastic case the shape of an envelope with his work-handle written in the corner. "Well, that was anticlimactic." He said as he hoisted his outer layer up and headed towards the door. The secretary looked unimpressed by his out of context comment. "It's not like email hasn't existed for, like, a hundred years or something," he tucked the case into a pocket inside his new shell jacket.

     "Email is not considered as secure as the chosen method of delivery." The secretary droned, "Roplaxive Pharmaceuticals Synthetic Division hopes you understand this necessary precaution when dealing with sensitive material. Have a nice day."

     "Oh, no, You have a nice day." Decker said with his best barista grin. “Fraggin’ cunt tries to out customer service me?” He grumbled on the way to the elevator. He shot a text to Breaker on the clonephone and dialed up Trip's mobile with his mind, already switched onto lunch mode.

***

     Trevor slumped over, stuffed with Pan-Asian-fusion cuisine, "I think I like EATA food better than singular ethnic cuisine. You eat less fetus that way. I hate hitting that much cartilage."

     "What?" Decker scoffed, "you've eaten SGV323 Chinese food and you're saying this is better?"

     "I'm not saying this is better, I'm saying on the whole, I prefer Asian fusion to weird delicacies." Trevor belched and picked his teeth.

     "Thanks for bringing me, guys," Fixer and Breaker said in unison then looked to each other, "stop copying me, prick." They laughed a good hearty laugh, drunk on Tsingtao and Sochu cocktails.

     "The Spam sushi was interesting. Where's Hawaii?" Breaker said, poking at the holographic dragon on the bottle.

     "Somewhere in the Pacific." Trevor offered.

     "Gained independence in 2026, moved themselves further inland and evacuated some islands, repelled foreigners in 2030." Decker's eyebrow raised, "Huh, neat. Number one export is geothermal energy."

     Trevor stared hard at him, "Looking up stuff doesn't make you smarter, it just makes you appear faux-interesting."

     Decker said, "The topic came up and I thought we'd like to know. Some folk enjoy a little flavor text here and there."

     "I found it informative," Breaker nodded.

     "Though unnecessary," Fixer said.

     "That’s never stopped him before," Trip pushed around in a pile of egg noodles under the guise of Mugu gai Meekrob with a bamboo fork.

     Three phones buzzed at the table, the clones checked their screens.

     "We need to go," The twins said. "Bud, really, stop copying me. Fragging clone."

     "We gotta roll, buddy." Breaker said.

     “Duty calls,” Fixer added. They tapped their creds to the menu screen and left.

     Trevor and Decker sat in silence, sipping water with cucumber.

     "I should probably get back to the cube." Trevor sighed and pushed his tableware away from himself, "Work to do and stuff.”   "Yeah, me too I guess." Decker looked to Trevor, his face and tone laced with genuine concern, “You okay, dude?”.

     "No, but thanks for asking." Trevor paid for the both of them and left.

     Allan and Dillon puzzled at Trevor's sagged demeanor as he passed the cubicle threshold.

     "Rough lunch, Trevasaurus?" Allan swiveled back and forth in his chair.

     "Lunch was fine," Trevor slid into his desk space and tapped his ID onto the reader. "Well, I had lunch with Decker."

     "I'm guessing even at lunch he's a prick?" Allan's laugh flattened.

     Trevor shook his head, "It's not even him. Well, it is, but it's not. I was, I don't know, do you guys even want to hear me complain?"

     "You're much less fun when you complain," Alan said, shooing Dillon from his seat. "What're we talking about anyway?”

     "The Trevster's having some ills with his roommate, or maybe not." Allan said.

     Trevor turned back to his work, "You know what buds?” He sighed, “It's not even that big of a deal. I'll just deal with it on my own, it's cool."

     "Bud, you sure? You don't want us to ask you about what's making you a sand caked prostate? Yes, no," Alan dipped his thumb back and forth, ready to execute Trevor's venting phase.

     Trevor waved it off, "No bud, really, I'm fine."

     "Then gentlemen, and I use that term loosely. We’ve been slumming it at The Cathedral, are we ready for a most triumphant return to The Piiiiiiit?!" Alan made squeaking noises with the straw and lid.

     The buds were beyond with this plan. Tension throbbed in Trevor’s temples. The entire world felt pressed hard against the insides of his eye sockets. He couldn't escape all the poisonous company from the outside, beating against the hollow walls of the nothing he felt inside. The guys resumed conversation about something asinine. Trevor’s projected screen danced with images he was supposed to care about, but nothing close to attachment stirred within his head. He got up and left the cubicle as the guys called after him, heading towards the restroom.

     Trevor flung the restroom door open with excessive force that no one but the security vid room attendant was around to witness. He slunk into a stall, paid the credit for a privacy shield, and broke down.

     Trevor left the restroom after a long series of starts and stops of tears. He washed and dried his face, cleared out all his snot and popped a Xodine to relax himself ten minutes in the future.

     "Hey, man." It was Dillon, waiting outside the restroom. "It's clear that you're unhappy. I know the other guys don't care, as long as you're not bumming ‘em out, but," his face told his struggle for the right words, "if something makes you that unhappy, why is it still in your life?"

     Trevor mulled it over, "I think everything makes me unhappy."

     "That's all on you, man," Dillon patted Trevor on the back and left him to his thoughts.