That Nelson, I don't think he looked into my eyes even once during our conversation. Am I intimidating or is it something else? No I'm too perfect, must be a him issue then.
Seeing the couch I approach softly, not wanting to disturb the untamed beast in its habitat with my presence. I tenderly pat at the sun-tanned cream colouring of the paper, lifting it into my careful embrace and sitting it down on the shiny floor.
I'm sorry but this is my spot.
I loafed on the couch and for the next couple of hours reading the reports numbered 1150F-1190F. Only interrupted by the hourly chime of the church-bell. This is mostly just to get an understanding of the town's current situation. I should do that at least, as the esteemed vice-leader. I never liked incompetent leadership. Even though it's mostly inventory reports, census statistics and transport of various supplies.
After finishing I crawl off the couch and sink into my chair at the table, beginning to go through the haunting pile of dredge and refuse.
[Low priority]
'Increase in reported sightings of prowlers by the southern exit.' Prepared by —
Isn't that the direction I came from?
Well, I can't help but feel partially responsible for this one.
Too bad.
I put my quill to the paper and write:
"After further investigation into the causes, it has been determined that their unexpected presence in the camp's proximity was the result of a change in migration patterns. This volatile and unexpected shift in ecology was found to be a direct result of various mana-related complications. Further travel in these lands should be cautioned against."
There, that covers my ass if anyone is too stupid to die.
Reconciled. I stamp in yellow ink.
Next report.
[Low priority]
A suspicious person's report, oh please tell me more.
"Various residents have reported a suspicious man who recently entered the settlement and is spreading anti-orthodoxy sentiments. Various scathing reports were filed claiming the perpetrator was inciting violence in the townspeople; eyewitness testimonials even claimed the aggressor initiated physical combat with a local child, a boy named Timothy Wood."
Who is the man attacking my boy? I'll find them.
Squeezing the paperweight in my hand, I lean forward to continue.
"The newcomer and offender, identified as Desmond (no surname given), was heard citing various religious concerns he had with the victim's beliefs as his primary justification for the engagement."
"Various religious concerns he had with the victim's beliefs—" Who wrote this bullshit?
Denied. Denied. Denied.
I slam the red stamp over the written words and toss it to the side.
I swear, you annoy one old guy and everyone starts interfering with your life. How utterly shameless. Me inciting violence! Never. This whole camp is a conspiracy to take my life, I swear. Whoever reported this was out to frame and then kill me. Jiord was right, I can't trust anyone.
I slam down the glass paperweight next to the top report on my desk, rubbing my forehead for a second before proceeding. — Next file:
"[Medium priority] Inquiry into the Salt Mines Operations." I skim the document until I stumble upon this:
"Potential causes for diminishing output:
Personnel shortage,
Increase in missing persons (see tracking report of residents document 1174F),Casualties of failing equipment (see inventory listings of salt mines 1152F).
Suggested changes: Invest in more durable equipment,
Increase the active population,Deregulate the frequent workplace hazard Inquiries,Upskill labour of the orphaned children,Increase the annual budget contribution."
Child labour, damn, this sounds too interesting to leave as is. Let's read a lil further.
"By pairing orphans with a practicing miner, the children would learn discipline and practical skills, reducing the burden on the town's education budget (see orphanage literacy and numeracy tracking 1164F)."
Hmm. I see the children aren't childrening hard enough for you.
Who wrote this?
Searching the head of the report, I read:
"Prepared by Giana Heart-Rhine." Sounds like yet another instance of an old cow trying to eat the young and healthy grass. Why not go after all the children, not just the orphans? Too afraid of pushback from their parents?
Child labour and exploitation — let me keep your name in my mind. If this gets referred to Jiord and he actually implements this, I would feel it would be terribly inefficient.
Thump.
I'm Sorry but the stamp says Denied!
"Reason: Official proposals have to be filed under the high priority classification."
I grab a new paper out of the stack and begin to fill it out.
New report draft:
[High Priority]
Name:
What's a killer last name I could use that just oozes my superiority?
Name: Desmond Darker.
Yeah… that's hot!
Job: Vice-head to the administration office.
But this… it's not enough for me. I dip my quill into the cartridge and fish up a big juicy splotch of that oily goodness.
Name: Desmond Darker.
Job: Vice-head to the administration office.
Title: Counter-proposal to the 'Salt Mines Operational Report Proposed Suggestion 3 (ref. Inquiry into the Salt Mines Operations. 1196F).
Never underestimate the power of bold or Italicised phrases. Thank you, Bill Microsoft.
Now, how do I phrase this for maximum damage?
I begin pacing back and forth in my office, considering what to write, when sudden inspiration strikes.
"Content: Whilst it is evident in the report that the children are not reaching current educational goals needed to fulfill their potential, the data doesn't seem to support that direction of proposed action. This approach is limited in scope, as it would not align with our current operational objectives."
I bold the sentence for further emphasis and continue nibbling the quill.
"Education remains one of our scarcest resources and is projected to become more necessary with increased demands of reporting requirements from the oversight bodies (see domestic output subsection C, file 1176F). Rather than divert the children to mining, I recommend a relationship-based upskilling program. Partner them with junior administrative officers: inventory keeping, messaging, town finance. Such roles will teach transferable skills and reduce the long-term burden on the town."
But is this a little too harsh? No! the orphans — we have to look out for them. Reinvigorated in self-justification, my pen scratches at the paper as my font only becomes more and more aggressive.
"Furthermore, expecting a child's physical output to match an adult's risks stunting their development and imposing further psychological strain on the most vulnerable. I applaud the aforementioned idea proposed by resident Giana; however, a more measured approach, taking into account the various long-term considerations of the holistic picture, will be of greater effect. It is evident that my proposition of mentorship under the junior employees mitigates workload, stress, delinquency, and cultivates communication and leadership skills among staff — a net benefit to our community."
Yeah, you're gonna take that slander like a lil good bitch, moo for me. I chuckle to myself.
There, I think I make my point pretty clear here. Please read between my lines and leave the children alone— if you even can do that much.
I sign, stamp the page dull green, and add it to the pile.
Accepted.
Stupidly satisfying — inking up my own report like this. Why hasn't anyone else done this before?
My hands rub together before adding the proposal to the growing monster.
I reach for the next file:
"A proposal of changes resulting from the inquiry into the missing-body investigation of deceased resident Jimson Plank. Pending investigation."
Finally — something useful.
I turn the page.
"[Medium priority] Inquiry: Missing-body investigation — contents: summary; [Low priority] witness reports; [Low priority] investigation progress (pending); [Low priority] suspected parties (pending); review and proposal of new security measures (pending)."
Too shame, they don't even understand the hazards of bundling all the low-priority reports under the label of a higher classification proposal — this has disaster written all over it. Only one step away from crashing the office filing standards.
I open the progress log (measured in the BCT Standard Time).
BCT? I refer to the docket.
It reads as follows: "BTC meaning: Before Theological Consideration, or Bell Chime Time, as standardized by the church integrated in various local communities. It denotes the passage of time as follows: 24 chimes in a day, 30 days in a month, 12 months in a year."
Great this is convenient, a time metric that is the same as the one from my old world. Not suspicious at all, one point to simulation theory.
I clear my throat and refocus.
"8th: Conducted search operation for the item of interest.
9th: Checked Zeke's log of entrants/leavers — none since Desmond and Timothy arrived; no clear motives of these two residents either.
11th: Reviewed all witness statements — no new leads.
12th: Interviewed patrons at the east-wing rock gambling yurt — inebriated and heavily uncooperative.
13th: Widened interview scope; several new leads emerged.
14th: Conducted warehouse searches — nothing actionable.
16th: All leads exhausted; assumption: body remains within settlement. Will maintain correspondence."
Wow, this Ileane person is a more competent drunkard than I thought.
And she's right too; most of these are… unproductive, to say the least.
I continue to flicker through the arrangement of bland and clinical witness reports. Then a form of crooked handwriting catches my eye. The only one in the pile different from the others both squiggly and unrefined in penmanship.
Todd, it is — your handwriting almost gave me a stroke reading this, but out of respect for your time and effort, I will try to be respectful of your contribution.
I squint my eyes to decipher the text.
"I had a dream that I was in bed with the town widow Ilene. Out of nowhere, our covers turned to black soil. A masked bandit of seductive, feminine proportions distracting me with the soft, swaying grace of her bosom; Enchanting— almost like an aerial chirp in evocative motion naturally swagging in animalistic allure.
No! Even remembering my dream, you can't distract me with your wiles, wench. You cannot take her! Then another appeared—built in dangerous masculinity, imposing, dragging my property away. I gathered my courage, the insults of my nonexistent family and friends burning behind my eyes. I scratch and slap them, invoking my heavenly name—Todd Looser—terrifying them both. I would never let another take what's mine. It was then I carried away my princess and we—" I skip that paragraph and continue.
'I grasp at her humongous ### ###### ##...' Nope.
'My teeth nibble on succulent ##### ####...' Skip.
'She puts a rope around my neck and I beg for permission to bark ####### ### ### …'
What is wrong with this deviant? I get being horny, dude, but why did you have to explain it to me in such detail? And why does that part read like a limerick? You have such a wasted talent here, Todd, don't be like that. I fear this kind of thinking will affect how you treat others in the future. I can see you have potential to refine your creative vision. Just don't waste it on my reporting space. To think I respected your input over the virginity of my gaze.
I shake my head.
Do I have to pretend reading this is helpful in finding the body of my friend? I crumple the paper and throw it into the furnace.
This is filth. Burn it.
I scratch at my chin, putting away the report in my drawer and proceed to ponder further.
This… is getting me nowhere.
Time for real action.
My chair legs scrape at the floor's glossy finish. I stand up, bones clicking as I stretch: shoulders, arms, and hips. Ligaments unravel in soothing tension.
Placing the paperweight on top of the mound, stacks of stamped reports glint back at me like dull attention-starved paperwork pals.
Wait for me, my babies. I'll be back to feed you.
I begin to walk across the room.
The filing room is where I have to go now, to solve this mystery myself.
But where to start looking?!
Perhaps…
Perhaps those missing persons reports will be a good place to look.
I step out.
The door closes hard behind me.