All is Fair in Corporate Politics + War
Pilot: Series Premier
- Snack Time -
[Scene I: Midnight Munchies]
Its 3:14am on a Monday night, well technically Tuesday morning, but you won’t be concerned with Tuesday until at least 11, and that’s several hours away. Unfortunately for you, your stomach doesn’t care what time or day it is, all it knows is that the sad excuse for ramen you had around 4pm isn’t going to last any longer. You would get something from your pad, but you already know that there is nothing available; at least not anything that your hunger has motivated you to consider eating. That’s right, its Stuffer Shack time.
You could drop by Mr. Chun’s Famous House of Ramen, but you just had ramen that afternoon, and it isn’t sounding too appealing now. There’s also delivery, but the amount they charge these days, come on! And that last guy that came was a real wack-job, kept calling himself the Deliverator and referring to himself in the third person. Yep, it is definitely Stuffer Shack time. There is only one problem with going to the Stuffer Shack, and that is you don’t want to go alone. I mean, only a loser goes out at 3am to the Stuffer Shack and doesn’t have a companion to tag along, for support, and for protection. You contemplate this dilemma for a few minutes, as this is a serious setback in your food gathering plans…
You run through the options…
Well, there’s always Mr. Fang, he could probably go for some ramen or something. But, he may be just as much of a wack-job as the Deliverator. He is your fixer at least, which means in theory he wants you alive, and he would act as company if nothing else; so you guess you’d better give him a call. One tone, two tones … twelve tones “Damn, wachu dowin cawing me at dis houwah? Dis is not coow man, not coow! I shouwd kick yow ass next time I see youw, man! Whatchu want aweady!” Great, Mr. Fang is in a mood… “Uh, well, hi Fang, yeah… So… Would you wanna grab a bite at the Shack in 5? It’s not that late yet, after all…” A loud and disgruntled retort meets you, against your ill-thought hopes of a possible arrangement between you two, “What da fack! I don wanna go to no stupid stuffa shack wit youw! I was twying to get my game on wit some sexy bitches on dis sim I picked up, why da hew wud I wanna go to dumb stuffa shack wit youw when I got dese hot babes, cmon! Geeze, facking up my shit man!” Then before you can say more, as if that weren’t an image you’d have a hard time purging as you try to pass out later, “Get a wife, and leabe me da fack awone!” A long piercing tone follows. He hung up on you. Dammit.
Ok, so what other options do you have? Oh, of course, why not call those runners from last week on that small job. It wasn’t that big of a deal, but its somebody, and the two of them seemed decent enough, better than the other jerk-offs you can think of. You just hope the next calls go smoother than the one with Mr. Fang, and that no more traumatizing images scar you tonight.
[Scene II: The Shack]
Luckily, the evening seems to have turned around as you arrive at the Stuffer Shack with your two new acquaintances and just in time too. You feel like you might implode due to the black hole forming in your stomach cavity and you hope a Fizzy-Goo will help you fight the war against stomach pains. As the ding chimes, and you step into the 22 aisle convenience shop, a temple of all you can eat junk food and all your brain can handle entertainment of the particularly low grade variety, you can tell after a brief scan across the aisles the Shack and its patrons sure don’t seem to know its 3am. Its bustling as usual, and that is to say it has about five people in it, but that’s about all there ever are in a Stuffer Shack at one time anyway. Ah, there’s a Fizzy-Goo machine in the corner, along with bags of Pop-Munchers and CrackerSmack bags. You make a bee line there, too preoccupied with your hunger to give notice to the bimbo behind the plate glass register cell or the others in the shop.
After filling up a Fizzy-Goo 4 liter pitcher, the medium size of course, you aren’t some 10 liter pig, you take stock of the shack. This one is a few blocks for your usual gig, but one of your compatriots insisted on this one, and you aren’t one to strike a bad chord with a new acquaintance. It’s pretty much the same deal as any other. Down the aisles are various foods and other items, some simchips on isle 13, general cooking stuff (like anyone ever buys that) on isle 17, and just about every beverage and snack food ever invented on isles 1-12, and 14-15, and 19-20. Isle 16 is organic fruits, vegetables and other foods, but even less people go down that isle than the cooking one.
There is a female elf working the register, with a poster of a large vintage sports vehicle of some kind behind her, oddly enough, but it looks like that is about all she is capable of. She is smacking gum, smoking an e-cig, and staring off into space, pausing every few moments to try and remember why she is here, giving up a few moments later to commence chewing and puffing once more. There’s a fat kid by the arcade in the corner to your left, but you’re pretty sure he’s only there because his mom is looking at the simchips and hasn’t paid notice to him in the last five minutes. As well there is a troll gang in the back by the beer, but they don’t look too tough and you are sure you could take them and win. The last is a tall bald elven man in a black robe-coat of sorts. You can’t tell if it is supposed to be a cloak, a nuevo coat, or a wrapped up bedspread, but whatever the hell it is, it sure looks hot. If that weren’t enough, you think you can make out some sort of Kevlar padding underneath the folds of cloth. He’s just leaned against the wall by the Fizzy-Goo machine, staring at the ground. Out of everyone in the joint he looks the most suspicious and worrisome.
You cross your fingers and hope he isn’t going to cause you trouble on this simple food errand…