Monday: 3.34pm Time to go mcgyver on this door!
As your hands begin to get numb and your teeth begin to chatter, you grab the fallen metal bar and wedge it into the tiniest of gaps by the lock. You take a canister of some kind of frozen liquid as a point of leverage and climb up the storage rack nearest the door so that you can use the power of your legs to push. With a deep breath and a muttered prayer, you push as hard as your frightened body can manage [5]. The door bursts open! You're not going to die!
Just as you fall out of the fridge door, the boss walks in.
BOSSCHECK! “Mein Gott Daniel, what the hell have you done to the fridge? You know how much these sons of bitches cost? That’s going to come right out of your damn wages son, and you’re gonna spend the next week cleaning the goddamn toil-“
The boss comes to a sudden halt when you punch him in the mouth.
“With all respect sir but I WAS REALLY GOD DAMNED COLD SIR,” you shout at his shocked face, “The door was bloody faulty anyway, I should sue your ass till it bleeds. Not GenCorp, you. GRRRRRGRHG!”
All but frothing with rage, you pick up an enormous bucket of dry ice and storm out of stores, leaving the boss to ponder his upcoming bankruptcy.
BOSSCHECK PASSED! “Ah, thanks cutiepie,” says Jan, when you bring the dry ice back to your lab leader, “Why don’t you get back to your research, here, I’ve dug out this old journal which might be pretty useful,” she says, handing you a copy of
The International Journal of the Proceedings of Cute Catologists. “Anyway, it’ll be time to clock off soon, it’s nearly 4. So what do you say to coming back to my place to check out my kittens?”
Morale Boost! You're free!
Morale Boost! You told him what for!
Fail! Punched the boss in the mouth!
Morale Boost! Punched the boss in the mouth!
Success! Collected some dry ice!
Task Completed! Collected dry ice from stores!
Task Assigned! Continue your research!
Failure Rating: 12.
Morale: -2.
THIS IS IT! STORM INTO THE ELVEN RETREAT AND SHOW THE ELVES THAT DWARVES ARE THE SUPERIOR SPECIES!
Still dual-wielding your chainsaw in a berserker fury, you storm after the fleeing GenCorp Elfployees, determined to demonstrate your dwarven superiority. Your short stubby legs catch up with the fleeing mob! You chainsaw whirs, your arms and body a mass of confused and violent motion all about you. You see nothing but the swishing braids of dwarven hair dance in front of your face and spatters of blood as you cut into the heathen horde! You chainsaw tastes blood! It feels bone! It chews flesh! One fleeing Elven mob destroyed, you rush through the firedoors and into another corridor. A band of Elven warriors stands before you, armed with clubs and dressed all in black.
“Securit-Elves!” they shout, “Stop, in the name of Halford!”
You stand your ground, silent except for the sound of frenzied anger. They charge. You charge.
You sweep you chainsaw before you as you run headlong at the bleeding merchants with their ridiculous reed clothing and their stupid pets and in one doom-mongering motion devastate all before you. The warriors and their chained beasts flee! The few miserable survivors call between them for something your dwarven mind does not know. What, you briefly wonder, is a SWAT? Ignoring the fleeing fools you leave the smoke filled corridor, and kick down the door of an office. There is a tree! You cut it down and grind it into a filthy paste, and the walls around come tumbling about you. But for the distant screams of panicked and feeble and weeping Elvenfolk, you stand alone in the burning rubble of what was once an Accounts department [6].
BOSSCHECK! “POWDER WOODCUTTER.”
You turn.
“This must end here.”
The boss appears, in full plate armour and wielding a mighty axe, in the doorway behind you. Roaring in defiance, you rush towards him, chainsword over your shoulder. Raising his axe, he does the same.
When you are still fully twenty metres apart, the boss changes his grip; in full sprint he unleashes his battleaxe, and throws it towards your face! You bat the axe aside with your chainsword, only to see the boss reach behind his back and take aim with an M16 at your poor dwarven head. He unloads an entire magazine! He misses! You rush past him taking one clean swoop with your trusty blade, sprinting so fast you don’t even manage to stop running as your dash headlong into the wall.
As the building tumbles to the ground around your unconscious form, the boss’s body slides into two neatly and diagonally sliced halves.
Morale Boost! Powder Woodcutter: Chain-katana!!
Fail! Multislaying your colleagues!
Fail! Destroying Wing Grey Six 12 (GenCorp property!)
Morale Drop! Damages will be deducted from your salary!
Fail! Slaying the boss!
Morale Boost! Victorious in single combat!
Failure Rating: 39.
Morale: 11.
Powder Woodcutter has gone berserk. Warning! Your Morale is so high that you are beginning to look suspiciously happy! Or would if you were not unconscious and filled with burning rage! Happy rage, that is! Remember folks, absurd as it seems, we are here to work, not to have fun! WARNING! You have reached MEGAFAIL! You are NOT IMPORTANT enough to be fired by BRUCE HALFORD HIMSELF although he MAY perform a citizen’s arrest if he gets the chance and can’t fight back. He’s not stupid! He has flamethrowers and everything! Your Morale is NEGATIVELY affected by your impending unemployment. "Like what?! Keep away from me, you crazy bitch! Aaah!"
Danny will roll out of the way of the computer monitor, kick his insane co-worker's legs out from under her and then leg it back to the secretary (Wherever she was), bleeding, clutching his various injuries and groaning in pain as he tries to battle his amnesia to work out exactly why he took this job in the first place.
"Should've stayed unemployed... Who needs money!"
[Initiative roll 6v6. You win!] You kick the crazy bitch’s legs from under her – except you don’t! You slip [1]! It must have been because of all the blood on the floor and the desk and the walls and the ceiling and your face. You slip and fall to your knees, slightly stunned and at the mercy of the fiend before you. Tracy raises the computer monitor above your head.
"Should've stayed unemployed... Who needs money…” you mutter, defeatedly.
Morale Drop! Knees hurt a bit!
Morale Drop! Face hurts a bit too!
Fail! Should have got started by now!
Morale Drop! Merciless foe!
Failure Rating: 20.
Morale: -16.
Task Assigned! Can't remember!
Warning! Your morale level indicates that you are close to depression. This will affect your ability to work. Tracy stands up, spitting out any loose teeth. Images of trailer parks and sad, saggy old ladies come unbidden to her mind. "I will not end up like that!" she screamed at the pathetic man in front of her. With inhuman strength she grabs the smashed computer monitor and smashes Danny's head in.
[Initiative roll 6v6. You win!] As you raise the smashed computer monitor above your enraged head, your pathetic victim throws himself at you in bizarre fashion, falling to his knees as if offering his ridiculous self as a sacrifice to your skinny awesomeness. You accept [4], smashing the monitor into his forehead as he [2] stays motionless before you.
The monitor bounces off [1] his superhumanly strong features! It comes loose from your shaking hands, bouncing up and striking you in the chin! You crash backwards, falling to the ground!
Morale Drop! Unnatural opponent!
Fail! Fighting on GenCorp premises!
Fail! Destruction of GenCorp equipment!
Fail! Haven’t got that report typed up yet!
Fail! Left reception unmanned!
Task Assigned! Type up the report!
Task Assigned! Assist reception!
Failure Rating: 48.
Morale: -10.
Warning! Your morale level indicates that you are close to depression. This will affect your ability to work. Warning! Warning! You have reached ULTRAFAIL! At this level of incompetence, all GenCorp staff are encouraged to slay you mercilessly and will receive tax-free cash and Morale bonuses for doing so! You will not be fired! Fix the mouse before the guy controlling me throws up and has to sleep for 4 days straight again.
Wondering what the hell's going on with the yelling boss and the IT tasks and now the vaguely worrying muffled exploding noises all around, you get over to Green Forty 93 Department A and find the idiot who couldn't fix their own mouse. Glaring so hard they don't say a word back, which kind of suits you in the mood you're in, you fix the damn mouse [5] and then head back down on your way to reception, figuring you may as well do a bit of guarding: it's what you're best at.
Success! Fixed that damn mouse!
Morale Boost! Done some good glaring!
Task Completed! Fixed that damn mouse!
Task Assigned! Guard reception a bit!
Failure Rating: 9.
Morale: -1.
Noodlerex
Disgusted at getting all wet up to the armpit in the wrong toilet, you wander out to find a proper damn hygiene maintenance operative to unblock the blocked toilet and, why not, give the whole restroom a good shine. Just a few metres round the corner you find someone suitable in his blue overalls and tell him the boss sent you to find him specially to get the toilet block done before Bruce Halford comes down to check it himself. He's totally persuaded [6]! He gets to work, and you go take a coffee in the canteen, safe in the knowledge that even if you aren't an expert janitor yet, you're sure a god damned fine janitor delegator. You didn't even have to touch any crap yourself. Sweet.
Perhaps you should go do some HR-y stuff.
Morale Boost! Arm not in a toilet!
Success! Got the toilet cleaned professionally!
Morale Boost! Nice coffee and a sit down!
Task Completed Unblocked the overflowing toilet in Toilet Block H90!
Task Assigned Attend licensed janitor accreditation morning tomorrow!
Failure Rating: 6.
Morale: -6.
