Chapter Text
“What does Tizzy want from us again?”
“We’re following the pre-audit clean up checklist.”
“Why doesn’t she just do this herself.”
“Because she is not letting the door to the secured area out of her sight until the Game is gone.”
“But they’re not here, yet.”
“It doesn’t matter. She’s in full Djinn mode. Do the job that’s assigned to you and stop whining.”
“Fine. First item.”
“Lock down the inventory database.”
“Check.”
“Shut down the workstation and remove the database HASP.”
“Check.”
“Place the database HASP in Supply Drawer Alpha.”
“Check.”
“Do a sweep of the supply room for signs of incriminating documentation left out in the open. Place any found documents in File Cabinet XVII for further review post-audit.”
Sigh. “Check.”
“Double lock all cabinets and drawers.”
“I don’t see why we’re even going through these lengths. Nothing excessively confidential ever gets stored here. And check.”
“Do not give them a chance to look into any facility details we’re not showing them. That includes facility-owned supplies. Forget Tizzy; the Inspector will flay us alive if we’re the reason there’s a security breach.”
“What about that? Ah!”
“Oh, that? Just a personal project of the Punisher’s she’s kept going for the last decade or so. Let the Gamesters take a good long look at that if they insist. It’s always fun! For someone!”
“Here’s some tapes. Personal or facility property?”
“…”
“Let’s test them out.”
If there are no red wires, then cut the second wire. Otherwise, if the last wire is white, cut the last wire. Otherwise—
“No. Next.”
Hello. My name is Mariah, and this is my audition tape for the Demolux Hardstyle Tech-Synth Mosh-Pit Orchestra. For my audition today I’ll be playing the Cesium Can Can in B-flat—
“Please. No. Next.”
The connection to ground can best be made by providing a secure electrical contact to the water pop. For best operation—
“Next.”
Hello exercise engineers! It’s time to engage your core muscles with Nestor’s Nuclear Core Workout Volume 1: Fission! To warm up, we’ll get started with some Atom Splitters—
“Oof. Definitely personal property.”
“Should we lock them up?”
“Don’t bother.”
—
“Have we had an opportunity to interview everyone, yet?”
“We’ve interviewed everyone on the staff list given to us, except for Mariah, a Habbalite. Says here she’s part-time staff, split evenly between this facility and the corporeal plane. Normally uses this room while in residence.”
“Which, she’s clearly not in this room. So what’s her status according to your file?”
“Surely, you were given the same file as I was.”
“Of course I have the same file! It’s still important confirm that the information present in our files matches. Mismatched information would imply inaccuracies in the facility’s records. And inaccuracies are subject to what?”
“A penalty for the facility?”
“Exactly.”
“Her most recent status shows her out on a corporeal assignment and authorized to be there for at least three more months.”
“Interesting. Out on assignment, and not expected to be back until significantly after the audit ending period. According to our records, that was her situation last time as well. And the time before at that. Doesn’t that seem suspicious to you?”
“That appears to be a rules violation of some type.”
“If it is not currently a rules violation, it should become a rules violation.”
“Facility personnel not attending the minimum number of Game interviews within a three year period without proper exemption paperwork filed. She is currently authorized to work on the corporeal. She is not exempted from any audits that might take place during that time.”
“That’s certainly worth some kind of penalty.”
“Jot it down with the rest of them. What are we up to so far, twenty? Twenty-five violations so far?”
“Twenty-five. That we’ve caught them on.”
“Good point. Add a twenty-sixth to cover potential failure of documentation.”
—
“I swear, these Game Auditors ask for more and more concessions every year. For their little ‘penalties’. How many will-shackles were they asking for this time?”
“Five sets. Plus a half-case of the Schedule A Sedatives.”
“Only half a case?”
“The request as written was for a whole one, but Tizzy only signed off on the half. The rest were earmarked for ‘confidential purposes’.”
“And they allowed that?”
“Provided additional paperwork and a cash bribe, they did.”
“Are we sure they’re actually the from the Game and not just Greed servitors disguising themselves as Game agents?”
“Reasonably sure. Or else the Inspector wouldn’t be nearly so accommodating. The last time someone caught one of those trying to get past the first floor, she ended up as part of the subject pool.”
“Huh. So, do we even have five spare sets of the will-shackles?”
“We will once we count the sets near the paper shredder that haven’t been properly refurbished yet.”
“Oh, right. And since that Punisher is currently out, there’s won’t be a repair tech available to actually do said refurbishments.”
“Exactly.”
“I like the way you think.”
—
“Have we managed to get anyone through to the secured area?”
“Not yet.”
“Do we have an official way in? A regulation? Any lack of appropriate documentation?”
“Everything is documented right here. Confidential research with explicit written orders from their Prince to keep it that way. Signed, sealed, and filed in triplicate. Authorization is renewed promptly on a yearly basis. Our Dread Lord has not yet sought to pursue the issue through official channels.”
“That doesn’t rule out unofficial ones though. We may, in fact, be unofficially instructed to find a way in.”
“Any chance finding us a mole? Either voluntarily or through blackmail. The Djinn who watches the door perhaps?”
“Not that Djinn. Remember what happened to Balthazar when it tried that four years ago? Too risky.”
“What about our absent Habbalite, then? The part-timer? She’s a possibility.”
“Assuming she has the access we need.”
“She’s listed as the Djinn’s assistant.”
“Doesn’t guarantee anything.”
“No, but it could be an angle worth pursuing. If she doesn’t already have it, we can make the lack of access her problem.”
“Hey, what do you think this is? Ahh!”
“A recording device? There’s a microphone and a place for a magnetic tape reel. Not very well-made though.”
“Do you expect better from Vapulan engineering?”
“Don’t play me for a fool. Is it recording us?”
“There’s nothing inside right now. Ow!”
“See, we can barely touch the thing before it tries to electrocute us! That has to be a rules violation.”
“Stop playing around. Records indicate that thing has been here for at least a decade, and unfortunately, shitty engineering on a device meant for personal use is not a rules violation. Come on, let’s do a search on this place. We can fake blackmail if we need too, but it’ll be better if we can back-up that play with actual evidence.”
“What if someone in this facility is protecting her? With all the conveniently timed absences, we can’t discount that possibility.”
“Then we’ll have to determine how far that protection will go before it breaks.”
—
“So what I’m hearing is that you’re volunteering to be Mariah’s replacement the next time there’s a quota to meet?”
“Hell. No. I have important research to do. What I am saying is that Tizzy should just let the Game agents have her the next time they ask. I doubt she’s even attuned anymore.”
“What about the replacement?”
“Tizzy can go herself. Ease up on the rest of us.”
“And then you’ll be the person suggesting she go do some actual work. How do you think that’s going to work out for you? Here’s a hint. Not well.”
“Maybe one of these days, I can get assigned to an actual lab and not this shithole. I swear, if I have to show up to one more Taco Tuesday event, I’m going to—Look, I’m just saying. Any servitor who fucked up badly enough to land in that position is disposable, and if the Game agents are starting to express interest in that Punisher specifically, Tizzy should maybe take that as a sign to get another assistant.”
“And I’m not disagreeing. But if you say that to Tizzy without an appropriate replacement lined up and ready to go, she’s going to assume that you’re the one volunteering for the position. Are you?”
“Again. Hell. No.”
“Well, I’m not either. I like having an actual lifespan.”
“I’m sure you d—Wait. Aren’t you the one working on that thing with the mechanical sharks and the synthetic blood?”
“And it’s been mostly non-lethal so far!”
“So, what happened to your arm?”
“It’ll grow back eventually.”
—
“I swear to Lucifer, those fucking agents get worse every year. I’m sure there’s very good reasons for their Rules, but they have to understand that Science must take priority.”
“No respect for Science at all.”
“No respect for our Genius Archangel.”
“At least they’re gone now, and everyone can get back to their actual work.”
—
CONTAINMENT BREACH DETECTED. LOCKDOWN PROTOCOLS ARE IN EFFECT. FIELD BARRIERS ENGAGED. AUTOMATIC LOCKS ENGAGED. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO ASCEND TO THE CORPOREAL.
“Anything in here?”
“Nothing.”
“Check the stairwell. Do not let the specimen get to an unsecured floor.”
CONTAINMENT BREACH DETECTED. LOCKDOWN PROTOCOLS ARE IN EFFECT. FIELD BARRIERS ENGAGED. AUTOMATIC LOCKS ENGAGED. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO ASCEND TO THE CORPOREAL.
CONTAINMENT BREACH DETECTED. LOCKDOWN PROTOCOLS ARE IN EFFECT. FIELD BARRIERS ENGAGED. AUTOMATIC LOCKS ENGAGED. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO ASCEND TO THE CORPOREAL.
“In here! It doubled back around.”
“We’ll corner it in here! Barricade the door from the outside.”
“Copy!”
“Now, we can do this the easy way, or the fun way.”
“Fuck you! I am not going back in there! I am not! I am—”
“There’s a reason you were advised not to try and escape to the corporeal. Get the shackles on it!”
“God. Damn. You.”
“No, I did that to myself. Best choice I ever made.”
“Why don’t you just kill me?”
“What, and waste such a rare resource? Get it back to the holding pen before it can make another attempt.”
“Yes, ma’am. What should I put on the incident report?”
“What incident report?”
CONTAINMENT HAS BEEN REACHED. LOCKDOWN PROTOCOLS ARE IN NO LONGER IN EFFECT. FIELD BARRIERS HAVE BEEN DISENGAGED. IT IS NOW SAFE TO ASCEND TO THE CORPOREAL.
—
Bee-beep.
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“That little beep.”
“What beep?”
“Just a beep. Or more like a bee-beep. Two syllable beep!”
“Maybe it’s the computer? My master says it makes those kinds of noises sometimes. Usually before it turns off all of a sudden.”
“No, it was coming from here…Ow!”
“Why would that thing go bee-beep?”
“Who knows. Maybe it just goes bee-beep just before it goes shock-shock.”
“Owww! No fair! It didn’t go bee-beep that time.”
“Forget about that! Get over here and help me get this drawer open.”
—
“Kira, I’m back!”
Mariah doesn’t need to announce her return. Our attention snapped back to her as soon as we identified her footsteps coming through the door. No one else here has that humanoid Djinn shuffle.
“You’re back,” It’s a pro-forma response, and it itches at us that we haven’t yet found a more creative but still truthful greeting. We still can’t make ourself glad to see her, even if it means we’re able to interact somewhat safely with something in our environment again.
(That one echolocation attempt was a dumb idea. Especially with the demonlings nearby. Way to almost get ourself caught.)
Not that our lackluster greeting seems to matter to Mariah. Her mind is elsewhere. We hear the sounds of a cabinet being tried and found locked. A key clicks with the lock disengaging. Damp fabric hits the floor with a saturated thud, and we can hear the fabric rustle of fresh—or at least drier—clothing as Mariah pulls it on.
We remember our first few moments Hell, when we accompanied Mariah on the commute of shame from her Heart to this room. Her Heart probably is still in that liquid. We wonder if she’s not allowed to move it out, if her Prince keeps shuffling it back, or if Mariah just don’t bother moving it in the fear of jumping down to something worse.
Mariah starts talking again before we can ask her about that. “That’s the one good thing about the Game audits. People spend less time scavenging, and most things end up where I left them.” There’s the click of a belt buckling into place. She must be done getting changed.
From our observation, the extra time spent plotting more than makes up for the lack of scavenging. If Mariah knew what we knew, she would probably be a lot more worried. Or should be, if she had a lick of common sense. (Yes, we know, it’s a stretch. But people say the same things about Creationers too.) Does she know? If there was an actual concrete plot against her being conspired in this very room, would she be able to figure that out without us?
If not, that places us in an interesting position, doesn’t it? A few minds take over that line of thought and start sketching out our next steps. We need to figure out what we want to voluntarily reveal to Mariah, what’s better left unsaid until she actually asks, and what we need to find Helltongue-appropriate evasions for.
(The best evasion to any inconvenient question is probably to steer her away from asking it in the first place.)
(Mother has told us a few times that we’d have made a good Seraph had we wanted to become one, and now we get to try out the Choir Dissonance condition.)
“There was still plenty of that. From the Game as well as Tech.” From the outside point of view, there’s no detectable pause between Mariah’s words and ours, no reason for Mariah to suspect what our other minds think about while the foremost one manages the conversation.
Mariah sighs and takes her seat near us. Her claws tap idly on the table.
“They get worse every year. The Game, I mean. They’ll take any excuse they can to requisition equipment, supplies, an extra quantity of damned souls...it’s extortion. That’s what it is!”
“How many of these Game audits are just an excuse for procuring bribes?”
“Most of them. Sure, they’ll make a cursory check to make sure no one is planning on going renegade or secretly harboring heavenly sympathies, but they’ve never bother to dig too deeply once certain resources are handed over. Most of the workers here don’t even bother having vessels.”
There’s nothing particularly fraught about this conversation right now, not from Mariah’s point of view. That’s informative in its own right, considering other conversations we’ve overheard. Our Habbie either doesn’t know about the whispers going on behind her back, or her position really is so undesirable that she doesn’t need to worry about Game agents, no matter what blackmail they may find (or make) on her.
“They did a search here.” That’s about as much information we want to volunteer at this stage until we figure out how much we want to tell her. Or if to tell her.
(On one hand, it might be satisfying to hear Mariah suffer for our lack of warning. Just a tiny bit of revenge for the literal Hell she’s spent a year or more inflicting on us. (And will continue to inflict on us.) On another hand, hearing what gets said and done in this room when Mariah is out is one of the very few useful functions we have, and because we’re dissonance-bound to tell the Truth, our words may be the most reliable source of information she can get in Hell. On a third hand, do we even want to offer her that function? If we somehow become useful, she might keep us around even after she gets bored of us as a pet. Is that good, or bad, or some combination of two? On a fourth hand, our main problem isn’t Mariah; it’s Hell. And so on. We’re not running out of hands.)
Outside conversation continues at a normal pace. “Did they get anything?”
“Some of your tapes, maybe. Are you worried?”
Mariah scoffs. “About that? It’s just some media crap I threw together, so I didn’t have to explain why I had a tape recorder but no tapes. They’ll have a lot of fun trying to get anything useful out of that. I’ll have to make more, though. Any suggestions?”
“What was that Orchestra you made that audition tape for? Hardstyle Techsynth? It got cut off before I could hear it. Or…I don’t know. I always did like music I could dance to. Whatever Hell has for disco-type music.”
“Kira, are you sure you didn’t go Shedite while I was gone?” She sounds amused, but also a little worried.
We give a little snort. “Positive.”