Bob's your uncle
Inside the X-press Elevators turbo-lift, travelling straight up at almost the speed of sound, Direktor Milo was muttering a string of obscenities to himself. Milo hated turbo-lifts. In fact, Milo hated a lot of things; he hated a lot of people too. In particular, though, he had a severe loathing for the Kontroller. He had a general dislike for her, as he did for most people, but the icing on Milo’s hate-cake was that as Kontroller, Maudlyn Sol was his direct superior, and the two-I-C at Weberstadt.
He hated how over-confident she was, never afraid to go over the heads of the senior staff, and always smiling, not with a cheerful smile, but some super smarmy grin, a pseudo-sycophantic smirk, as if she knows something about you, that you don’t, or she shouldn’t. Not many Weberstadt executives smiled at all. Milo didn’t know why that was. He did know, however, that when that smile wasn’t firmly planted on her face, the Kontroller was not a woman to fuck with.
Oh yeah, and she always, always calls me Bob. The only time anyone would ever call him Bob, would be because they knew how much he hated that fucking name. But she was his superior. He had to call her Kontroller, a bad taste forming in his mouth every time he had to use the word. He hated all that, but what really pissed him off about her was; that no matter how much he loathed her and abhorred her very existence, he found her so annoyingly attractive.
Being about twenty or so years younger than Milo, the Kontroller; Maudlyn, was tall; at least as tall as Milo, slim and vaguely athletic in appearance. Milo often thought about how he’d like to punch her unnaturally beautiful face, blackening her soft, milky-white skin, breaking her perfectly formed nose, and smashing the glasses, which added immensely, he thought, to her sensuality. Milo sighed; he knew he would have a rough night if he didn’t keep his libido in check.
“Y-y-you getting of D-d-direktor, you getting off?”
“Huh?” spewed Milo. Momentarily, he was worried he had been found out. Then he realised it was just Ralph, wanting to use the elevator. “Oh, uh, Ralph, yeah, yeah.”
“Fine, fine, I’m just g-going down to stores, just going down to st-stores.” Ralph said rapidly, shoving his face far closer to Milo’s than was comfortable. Waggling his fingers in a childish wave, he left via the turbo-lift with a WHOOSH!
“Bastard.” Said Milo to the turbo-lift doors. Milo hated Ralph. There was something very wrong with him. He seemed to live in his own realm of fantasy. On many occasions Milo had caught him blabbering away to himself, to apparently invisible people, and sometimes even to dead historical figures. Communicating with him could often be a real problem, and Milo had no patience for it. Most people thought that it was the pressure of work that had done it too him; Ralph was renowned for never leaving the building; everyone would always say that he should get out more. He vaguely recalled that Ralph’s file had said he was autistic or something but Milo had always put his behaviour down to the fact that he was a Natural Born, a ‘faith birth’ and there’s normally something wrong with them, isn’t there?
Normal Births weren’t normally allowed to work beyond low-level maintenance, but Ralph was a little different. He had at his disposal a special ability which the company called ‘intuitive mathematics’. The WISE promotion board had been aware of Ralph’s obvious social ‘detachments’, but they observed their employees with vigour, primarily as a security measure, and soon realised that he had invaluable talents, as well as his problems. It was because of the speed at which his mind operated that he was the ideal choice as Operations Technician; the only individual to work directly on Kontrol, the city’s central computer, and like a protective parent her was constantly maintaining the motherboard, inputting and validating data, and eliminating all possible corruption. And now Uncle Bobby was here to baby-sit!
He hated how over-confident she was, never afraid to go over the heads of the senior staff, and always smiling, not with a cheerful smile, but some super smarmy grin, a pseudo-sycophantic smirk, as if she knows something about you, that you don’t, or she shouldn’t. Not many Weberstadt executives smiled at all. Milo didn’t know why that was. He did know, however, that when that smile wasn’t firmly planted on her face, the Kontroller was not a woman to fuck with.
Oh yeah, and she always, always calls me Bob. The only time anyone would ever call him Bob, would be because they knew how much he hated that fucking name. But she was his superior. He had to call her Kontroller, a bad taste forming in his mouth every time he had to use the word. He hated all that, but what really pissed him off about her was; that no matter how much he loathed her and abhorred her very existence, he found her so annoyingly attractive.
Being about twenty or so years younger than Milo, the Kontroller; Maudlyn, was tall; at least as tall as Milo, slim and vaguely athletic in appearance. Milo often thought about how he’d like to punch her unnaturally beautiful face, blackening her soft, milky-white skin, breaking her perfectly formed nose, and smashing the glasses, which added immensely, he thought, to her sensuality. Milo sighed; he knew he would have a rough night if he didn’t keep his libido in check.
“Y-y-you getting of D-d-direktor, you getting off?”
“Huh?” spewed Milo. Momentarily, he was worried he had been found out. Then he realised it was just Ralph, wanting to use the elevator. “Oh, uh, Ralph, yeah, yeah.”
“Fine, fine, I’m just g-going down to stores, just going down to st-stores.” Ralph said rapidly, shoving his face far closer to Milo’s than was comfortable. Waggling his fingers in a childish wave, he left via the turbo-lift with a WHOOSH!
“Bastard.” Said Milo to the turbo-lift doors. Milo hated Ralph. There was something very wrong with him. He seemed to live in his own realm of fantasy. On many occasions Milo had caught him blabbering away to himself, to apparently invisible people, and sometimes even to dead historical figures. Communicating with him could often be a real problem, and Milo had no patience for it. Most people thought that it was the pressure of work that had done it too him; Ralph was renowned for never leaving the building; everyone would always say that he should get out more. He vaguely recalled that Ralph’s file had said he was autistic or something but Milo had always put his behaviour down to the fact that he was a Natural Born, a ‘faith birth’ and there’s normally something wrong with them, isn’t there?
Normal Births weren’t normally allowed to work beyond low-level maintenance, but Ralph was a little different. He had at his disposal a special ability which the company called ‘intuitive mathematics’. The WISE promotion board had been aware of Ralph’s obvious social ‘detachments’, but they observed their employees with vigour, primarily as a security measure, and soon realised that he had invaluable talents, as well as his problems. It was because of the speed at which his mind operated that he was the ideal choice as Operations Technician; the only individual to work directly on Kontrol, the city’s central computer, and like a protective parent her was constantly maintaining the motherboard, inputting and validating data, and eliminating all possible corruption. And now Uncle Bobby was here to baby-sit!
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