Rainbow Factory Quality Control

Chapter 7: Synergy

Wally sat staring at his computer monitor, one hand on the mouse, the other...

This spreadsheet had been open for the past fifteen minutes, and he was sure he had read it a few times already, but nothing was sticking. All of the numbers he would obsess over in the past were now just little lines of gibberish. In the hall he could hear the sounds of a pleasantly busy office. Light music, podcasts, the occasional mighty laughter from O'Teach further down. Even a fresh pot of coffee brewing in the break room. The little things that had inspired him to keep pushing before were now so mundane. He was disinterested. He was over this game and nothing he could think of could make him actually passionate enough to focus on these damn numbers. At night when the lines ran, he couldn't hear the screams any more. And in the day they were the only thing occupying the background of his thoughts. The numbers were pretty to look at, they made pretty colors across the spread sheet. But they no longer held any meaning.

QC was back, which meant that now the radio that had formerly been calling his name, was now referring to her. QC, we need you in the mixing room, QC, can you come to shipping, QC, we are ordering take-out, what do you want? QC come back. Mr Walden was a phrase that never graced the radio waves any more. Part of him was content for the chance to get work done, the other part felt abandoned. He worked hard to get to know everyone, their tasks, their responsibilities, and all it took was the Factory Mom waking back up to seemingly negate all of that. Eventually he knew there would be a comeuppance between him and QC. She would want to put the Stunner back, and he would be to forced to make the decision to acquiesce to her demands, or put his foot down and insist it stay gone.

And to be honest, that fight was not in him right now.

It took him over an hour to write an email this morning with one hand because he stubbornly refused to hire even a temporary assistant to help him with his work. Things kept dropping off his desk because he was unable to catch them. His left arm, what remained of it, sat in a sling covered in gauze and wrapped in cotton padding. It ached horribly, the painkillers made him lightheaded but did nothing to ease the frayed nerve endings that ceaselessly called out for the rest of a body that would never answer back. Left arm, come back, what's your 20? Wally thought bitterly.

At first Wally clung to his anger at who the idiots were that had shut the damn door on the Device. But when he reviewed the security videos he saw no one. It hurt to relive Bronson's final moments, but Wally had watched the video again and again. Had seen Bronson wave again and again, watched himself fight through the other Full-Timers, reach out to Bronson, and then the door snapped shut. Over and over again, he had dissected the video and all it did was confirm what he had already suspected.

No one had closed the door.

That big heavy bitch on the side of the Device had snapped shut at near-lightning speed on its own. The pneumatic pistons inside had disengaged. Even with Bronson inside, Wally would have normally had enough time to yank his arm back if the door had closed at its normal pace. He had personally loaded up enough Doozys into the damn thing to know how it was supposed to work. Everything pointed to what he already suspected, whatever the hell the Other was in this factory, it was centered around the Device. Anything that threatened the Device was dealt with. Wally knew he had poked the hornets nest by making his intent to replace the thing obvious through his sketch book (that had gone missing) but not only that, the damn thing made sure to take the arm that had drawn up plans for its demise. He expected retaliation, he didn't expect this.

Whatever it was, it didn't want to kill Wally, not just yet. Probably because it saw him as a useful servant that had to be put in his place now and then. QC had gotten close with her observation that maybe the Factory was gaining sentience, and had been dealt with swiftly. The servant, thus spanked, was now back in the general flow and running things as she always had, none the wiser. In light of all of this, the numbers on the spreadsheet were absolutely meaningless.