The Role Players — Corporate Wellness Initiative
Jo Marshall
((Cargo Bay, Deck Six, USS Gorkon))
Twenty-two hundred hours was a peculiar time of night, where the small section of the cargo bay took on a gloomy feel to it. Shadows stretched upwards along the bulkheads, like claws reaching for the next victim. For the next throat to wrap those icy fingers around and take hold. A retro disco fever tablecloth lay across several crates arranged in a tidy square on the floor. Around it sat three players in, for once, complete silence. The hologram covering them had slowly built the world over the past hour, draping them in neon smeared corridors, rain-sliicked streets, and a skyline that looked suspiciously like someone had built a city out of optimism and bad financial decisions, possibly even bankruptcy.
Sen had set his drink down. Rob had stopped chewing through whatever was in the bowl around the twenty-six minute mark and had yet to pick it back up. Even Vorin had placed his snack bag to one side and hunched his posture, which by Vulcan standards was the equivalent of gripping the edge of his seat.
Chris hadn't looked at his PADD in a while.
C. Sienelis: Floor fifty-eight. Greedmore's office. We finally made it. ::He looked around at his players, pride in his eyes.:: You've fought bravely through sixteen floors of robotic mercenaries, rabid day traders, feral project managers, a receptionist who took you all by surprise, and Gerald, the copy boy, who had a knife in each shoe and confused Sen with how shoelaces work.
His voice took on a low timbre as he leaned forward.
C. Sienelis: You're tired now though. You can feel it in your bones. You need rest. Synthwave's keytar has a crack running down the casing. T'Logical Fistmaster is at peak focus. Cyberblade—
The Russian paused and looked at Rob, then looked back to the table, an awkward look somewhere between sympathy and concern deep in his brows.
C. Sienelis: Cyberblade has carried with him something else. Something in his heart.
Rob startled, his hand flying to the centre of his chest as he drew a quiet, quick breath.
C. Sienelis: He grew up here, in these streets, soaking in this rain. ::The sound effects rumbled in rain and thunder.:: He was a kid in this city who thought the world would be extraordinary. Now he's standing in a urine soaked concrete stairwell on floor fifty-eight. So close to the man who took everything from you. From here, you can hear the traffic far down below. Music drones from a bar somewhere.
Sen's expression had departed long ago as he felt around in front of him for the character sheet, prodding at the display until it brought up his notes. Meanwhile, Vorin appeared to be looking at a fixed point in the middle distance with great conviction, which was as close as Chris had seen him get to being moved.
C. Sienelis: The three of you shake hands. No one says anything. The final staircase is plated in gold and opens out into the glass penthouse. Through the glass, you can see the entire city. Every light, every window, every impossible mile of 1986 laid out below you. The penthouse is elaborate. Gold everywhere. A car attached upright to the wall like a hunter would mount a trophy. A golden piano plays itself in the corner. Golden circular discs line the wall, each with someone else' s name underneath.
He paused there. Let it breathe. The holographic illumination on the makeshift table changed, revealing the new map in front of them.
C. Sienelis: Greedmore's office is at the far end and the door, for once, is open. It's doubtless now. He's been expecting you.
Collectively, the players looked around at one another with silent smiles of confidence. They had this in the bag. They'd levelled up, clocked in their grind like it was a vocation, mastered their weapons class and pumped stats into their special abilities. Sen reached for his dice roller, Rob the control for his character sheet, Vorin for his…
C. Sienelis: Rob, I need you to roll Dexterity.
Nothing moved in the cargo bay.
Peek: S-Sorry?
C. Sienelis: Dexterity roll, bystryy.
Rob reached for his holographic dice with delicious uncertainty, emotional presence radiating on his face. Clacking theatrically in his hand, the dice quivered and shimmered as he rolled them across the table. The four leaned in.
The dice settled on a three.
C. Sienelis: As Cyberblade strides down the corridor towards his destiny, he doesn't see the novelty promotional item Greedmore's team installed last quarter as a corporate wellness initiative. The thousand-kilogram commemorative DeLorean, in gold, mounted vertically on the wall as inspiring art. Is it up to code? No. Has it been shifting incrementally for two months due to inadequate wall bolts? Yes. Does it choose this precise moment, as Jax serenely passes beneath it, to finally succumb to gravity?
It was so quiet Chris could hear his heartbeat in his ears.
C. Sienelis: Jax Cyberblade is hit by a golden DeLorean. You take forty-seven crushing damage and you're pinned to the floor.
Sen looked at him aghast while Rob soaked in the horror of the moment to perfection. Vorin, on the other hand, placed his PADD down.
Vorin: I assess the terrain for items which can be of assistance.
C. Sienelis: There's a foam fire extinguisher and a DMC-12 golden DeLorean parked upside down on the floor. ::He looked at Rob and raised a dark eyebrow.:: Does Jax have any thoughts on this?
Peek: Mostly about the kid in the city below, destined for a life not of his choosing, shortly to be ripped away from all he holds dear by Professor Mork to join his army of the Temporal Odyssey. For what is a life if not spent in service to something greater than oneself. To find meaning in the labours. To find hope in the dawning of a new day. ::Said with such emotion, it was quite beautiful.:: And also about the car crushing his pelvis.
A long, perfect silence followed. Chris pursed his lips as he considered their next move, while Vorin adjusted his position on the crate seat, undoubtedly wishing he'd opted for something more cushioned.
Vorin: This outcome could have been avoided with adequate situational awareness.
Baiden: Oh come on, is Jax alright? Talk to us, Jax!
C. Sienelis: He's got three hit points left and considerable damage to his dignity. But he's alive.
Rob stared at the ceiling high above them, tears in the corners of his eyes, a sniffle beginning.
Peek: He came all this way.
C. Sienelis: He did.
Peek: He thought about the kid.
C. Sienelis: He did.
Peek: And the DeLorean.
Chris reached across to Rob and patted his friend on the shoulder. Low hit points didn't mean down and out. There was still a third chunk of the campaign they hadn't touched yet, and even more the players had managed to completely skip by asking inane but insanely accurate questions of the non-player characters.
Now they were ready.
The Russian leaned toward the table and pressed his controls. Fierce, cinematic, instrumental, ambient synth started, echoing in their small corner of the cargo bay. Drama cascaded over the board.
C. Sienelis: You hear the voice of a capitalist, the words coming out slow and self-satisfied, like he's stretching each syllable to give you the time to be impressed. His vowels are flat and nasally, "At least—and everybody knows this, okay?—we can all agree the corporate wellness initiative, somebody said the best they've ever seen, is working."
Lights dimmed through the projection, becoming flashing pinpricks of stars from a golden disco ball descending over the crates. The door at the end of the corridor creaked open.
C. Sienelis: So, what's your next move?
–
PO First-Class Christopher Johns, Ops Officer
Ensign Sen Baidan, Comms Specialist
PO Third-Class Robert Peek, Engineering Yeoman
simmed by
Commander Jo Marshall
Chief of Operations
USS Gorkon, NCC-82293
G239304JM0