Rivercrest 2073: VISCERAFEST

Chapter 04: Reality Hath Knocked

Once on the elevator, the gravitas of the situation struck me like two three-hundred pound quarterbacks as it made its descent back to the workfloor. Two hours have come and gone since I had the meeting with Lucien and Vesper, and I wish I could back out, but I've already put my fat-ass foot in my mouth. I can only press forward now, but again, I'm having a hard time convincing myself I can pull this off. Lucien set me up for failure initially, and I seemingly cemented that by trying to make a pretty tall order into something easy.

Driving this old Honda Jazz of mine onto the battlefield is no different than riding a Shetland pony into the fray. To put things in perspective: this vehicle is entirely too compact and lacks the proper armor. So, even with such an addition, I wouldn't be protected much. Secondly, it's entirely too slow to match or outclass the speed of my competitors, which means that adding the miniguns would make it overencumbered. Lastly, it doesn't have a VisceraPerk, which is what makes winning the competition an (almost) sure thing. The more brutal your special attack, the quicker you can clear the field.

In other news, some of my co-workers have given me the strangest looks since I arrived back on the floor. I can feel the anger pulsing from their eyes, for it burns like the sweltering heat of mid-August. It's like I've become a pariah, or something of that sort, since the news hit of my (forced) entry into the competition. However, I doubt it's because of being a contestant, but more because I made the claim that I will win the whole thing, meaning that the Vermouths have to leave and never ever return. The thought of that happening makes me both nervous and excited to the point of queasiness, a feeling that sadly isn't echoed by those around me. It's apparent that they like being subjugated and living in this capitalistic dystopia. I'm very far removed from enjoying existence as it is though, so I've just been romancing the possibility of victory, so much so that I've become engaged to it. From there, a wedding will follow, after which comes coitus and a new set of kids.

(I'm gonna be a dad again! Ahem, metaphorically, that is.)

This is what happens when one's confidence outweighs their logic. Reason escaped me simply because I'm anxious for the Vermouths to be done with and clipped from our lives.

***

I can't focus on my work, so I've just been sitting with my head on my desk, buried under my arms. This will lead to Lucien being mad at me for the umpteenth time, but since I'm a contestant now, his anger will play out on the battleground. I've been here long enough to know the outcomes of his aggression, meaning that I could adequately prepare for them, but no amount of preparation will help me this time. All I can do is pray, and if there is a God up there, maybe He'll finally intercede. Divine intervention is the best I can hope for at this time.

"Hey, um......Fleetwood?" inquires an unfamiliar female voice. I thought I may have been imagining things, so I didn't reply. I was doing fine ignoring the repeated calling of my name until I felt something traveling, carefully, along my forearm like a spider.

"Oh god!" I scream, jumping from my desk in alarm, an action that sent the papers on it flying about. I also knocked my glasses off, which meant I couldn't see who exactly had been trying to get my attention. While I couldn't get a clear visual of anything or anybody, I could hear the murmurs and giggling of my co-workers, with two voices being more discernible than others.

Mandelbaum and Charlesworth, I say to myself as I drop to the floor, frantically searching for my glasses. Those two never pass up an opportunity to laugh at my blunders and ridicule me. Actually, now that I think about it, they were the only ones who didn't glare at me disapprovingly. I ignore the teasing from them though and keep searching. Seems my luck was in today as I didn't have to search for long, since the individual who spooked me had caught them, handing them back with no delay.