Ray Sullivan SciFi Zone: Project: Evil

Project: Evil Chapter Three – Induction part 4

After lunch there was a team-building exercise outside designed to get some fresh air in the inductees' lungs, some oxygenated blood flowing through their brains. Once they'd solved the usual logic puzzles using cryptic messages, pine poles and Semtex explosive all but three filed back into the lecture theatre for the demonstration on dress code.

The Head of Clothing Supply stood facing the group, his pyjama jacket buttons undone to the waist.

'What's wrong with my dress?' he asked, rhetorically he assumed.

'Your cock's hanging out,' shouted a wag from the floor.' He tried to ignore the heckler.

'Am I dressed correctly?' he asked, putting a hand on his hip.

'For a gay magazine,' shouted the heckler, followed by a single shot and a dull thud as the man hit the ground minus his frontal lobe. The Head of Clothing Supply holstered his weapon and zipped himself up smartly.

'I like to start my afternoon session off with a reference to my favourite firearm,' he stated, patting his holster, 'Heckler and Cock sub-machine pistol.' It was the thirteenth induction he'd cracked that gag at and still no-one had the balls to groan, apart from the guy in the ninth induction who'd taken three minutes to die, but that probably didn't count as the Head of Clothing Supply had shot them off too. He did the buttons on the pyjama jacket up carefully before continuing.

'Corporate Wear is to be worn at all times when at work except for those personnel in public-facing activities and in bed,' he said, holding up an identical set of pyjamas to the pair he was wearing. 'You will be issued with nightwear for use in theatre and it is not to be mixed with daily Corporate Wear. It can be distinguished by the teddy bear logo on the pocket,' he said, pointing to the colourful emblem showing a teddy bear with a machete. Apart from the logo it was identical to the shit coloured PJs all staff wore. One of the trainee henchmen held his hand up.

'Wouldn't it be easier to have a totally different design of clothing for nightwear?' he asked, a suspiciously thoughtful question for a person who's job description revolved around absorbing enemy bullets and stumbling over low railings at the first indication of an intruder.

'Yes, it would,' replied the Head of Clothing Supply, 'and we did toy with the idea of providing a three piece suit for nightwear, with matching bed socks, but we recognised that there are times when it's better to be on duty improperly dressed rather than be correctly dressed but late for the self destruction of the facility. It is totally permissible to be shot to ribbons by an enemy agent while wearing nightwear however the wearing of nightwear for non-emergency periods on duty is not permitted, naturally,' he said. The question clearly had provided the Head of Clothing Supply with an opportunity to vent his favourite subject.

'Corporate Wear is a critical part of our identity – it's often the only way we can distinguish our people from enemy agents attacking alone, often weapon-less and statistically out-numbered. If we allow our people to wear any clothing they feel like we'd be slower spotting lone intruders wearing dry suits and snorkels or safari suits. Lord knows we have enough difficulty as it is when we are all wearing Corporate Wear, but to be fair the enemy agents do tend to leverage the natural camouflage provided by our monorail and golf trolley systems,' he added. Another hand shot up.

'What's with the bars on your lapel?' asked the public sector guy, predictably concerned about status. He had the natural public sector obsession with meaningless stratification of purpose, whereas the private sector is generally obsessed only with financial rewards, a subject that affects less than one percent of public sector people meaningfully. Rank, however, obviously was something O'Feld personnel gave a flying shit about, judging by the Head of Clothing Supply's response.

'No bars means you're a worthless, good-for-nothing cannon fodder moron. One bar means you're assumed to be capable of pushing a no-bar moron in front of you when the bullets start to fly. Two bars means you're assumed to be capable of persuading a one bar moron that he doesn't have a bar if the no-bar he wants to push in front of him has a more important business purpose such as absorbing bullets the two bar might have to absorb otherwise. Three bars means he has paperwork to fill in when the shit hits the fan, leaving the two bars to do whatever they have to do to ensure the paperwork is complete and unstained with three bar blood.

‘After that we have three bars and a number. The higher the number, the higher the status and generally the lower the degree of common sense and/or accountability. Research has shown that common sense has no place in management and accountabilty is inversely proportional to rank. It's a tried and trusted method developed by the British military. All you have to do is remember that if you don't have a number you're probably right but will be over-ruled; if you do have a number then it depends on the number assigned to the person you're working with whether you'll be taken notice of.' He looked around to see if anyone had managed to follow any of the explanation, discounting the henchmen automatically. Seeing that no-one looked like they had a clue he clapped his hands together and declared the induction to be complete. Brian, public sector guy and the other three survivors filed out of the room.

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The characters, companies and places referred to in Project: Evil are fictitious and any resemblance to people, companies, businesses or places is entirely coincidental

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