Getter tried to keep his face neutral as he delivered the first few pink slips, but lost his composure when the expression of the person he was firing struck him as entirely too damn funny. It began as a low chuckle and worked its way out as an ugly, full-bellied laugh that sounded positively evil in comparison to the holiday music filtering over the intercom. The ex-employee's watery eyes peered up at him and he only barely managed to hold back a "ho-ho-ho, merry SLA-mas dumbass" as he patted him on the shoulder and forced a stoic tone into his voice. With the Santa Claws hat on, he imagined that he looked like a funny parody of the seasonal icon.
"We no longer have need of your services, Mr. Connor. Pack your things and be on the next shuttle out."
The next three went about the same, with the same dropped mouths and shocked looks but his approach on the first attractive female went rather badly. Getter was thankful that he had the two beefy security goons with him because this one didn't take it so well and he really hated to make a scene. Besides, their blue coveralls were designed to sop up blood and grime unlike the suit he fancied.
"I can keep my job if I do WHAT to you?" she asked.
"You're a married woman, Jenny. I'd have thought that you'd be rather proficient in-"
"YOU BAST-" she squeaked, folding her cute little admin assistant hands into fists and cocking one back.
Getter stepped behind his two-man escort before she got a chance to use it and winced regretfully. She had a quite a lot of fire for such a demure woman and now he'd never find out how well that would translate in the sack. It was a crying shame, just a crying shame.
"Well Mrs. Kramer, I'm sorry that you feel that way. In that case, we no longer have need of your services and you obviously no longer have need of a paycheck. Be on the next shuttle out."
As he moved along his route, he thought about how the best part of the job was definitely the firing, even over the fun of extorting sex and drugs. Maybe it was the feeling of absolute power along with a healthy touch of sadism that gave him reason for staying on and he found himself humming another chorus as he made his way towards development Lab B3. This was one delivery that he had waited nearly eight months for and he found himself grinning broadly. Nobody messes with the Big Bad Dog and gets away with it for long. He intended to savor every moment of this, but something tweaked the hairs at the back of his neck and he paused at the door. The two security men watched him nervously, probably feeling the same thing and he sneered at them in disgust. The man working behind the lab's heavy fire door was weird, but nothing that two deck apes like these guys should be afraid of. Either one of them would have what -a good hundred pounds on this guy? Cowards, overpaid cowards.
"What are you waiting for?" he barked. "Open the door!"
The two men waffled as to which one would comply and Getter ended opening it up himself and going in without them. The two ingrates stayed outside and peered in through the small window, looking like children as opposed to the so-called professional security guards they were paid to be. He angrily made a mental note to add two more pink slips to his list and steeled himself to keep control of his temper. There was no way that he would let anything interfere with his fun and the freebie firing of those two would go a long way to keeping the momentum going.
The door closed behind him with a hiss and click, cutting the holiday music off suddenly and making the relative silence brisk and cold. The ventilation duct rattled distantly from the corner and something tapped and rattled from the far side. Obscured by workbenches and the angular stacks of XP parts, he couldn't see where it was coming from and stepped forward carefully. Taking mental notes, he made sure to notice that someone had disabled the company speakers in the area. That was a safety violation and in itself, could be enough to negate any severance pay. He giggled and shook his head as he saw the array of slasher horror posters tacked to the walls over the safety schematics. That would be enough to erase any chance of a referral, which drew another mental "tsk, tsk" and a broad grin.
"Bradley?" he called out, surprised at how small and weak his voice sounded in the lab. "Bradley, are you in here?"
Getter was suddenly aware that he was sweating and shuddered absently as he started moving. The workshop's sole purpose was to maintain and service the XP5 units - automated exploring and mining units that worked in those areas where humans couldn't and the room's environment was suited to things that didn't need comfort. The air was crisp and overly cool, there were no chairs in sight, and the floor was covered in heavy gauge plastic. A row of tanks and spare mechanical appendages decorated one wall like an accident scene, some of which had gloves and jackets draped over them.
"Bradley," he tried again. "Where are you? I've got your holiday bonus here."
He was entirely too uncomfortable to enjoy that statement, but it still managed to bring a smile to his face. Getter thrived on the look that he got when employees opened the envelope, expecting a bonus check and found a dismissal slip instead. Moving towards a lamp on at a workbench beyond the high shelving units, he cursed as he had to step awkwardly over a stack of boxes containing Seismic charges and blast caps and nearly fell. When he righted himself, he saw the soon-to-be ex-employee working on the optical sensors for one of the XP's. The man hated being called "Bradley" and needling him with it was a bonus.
"Bradley, I have your-" he started, but stopped when he realized that the man was completely oblivious to him. He waited a moment and then tried again. "Bradley!"
"I heard" the man mumbled absently. His voice was drawn out and distracted as if he were sleeping and he kept his focus on what he was doing. Carefully adjusting the faceplate, he wiped at it with the edge of his cuff and picked up another tool. After several moments, he spoke again. "What is it?"
Getter put the envelope on the workbench within the man's reach and pulled back, anxious for him to open it. The anticipation was running on par with his irritation since the man had barely acknowledged him so far and he could scarcely contain himself.
"Aren't you going to open it?" he prodded, wiping his hand on his trousers.
"Open what?"
"The envelope."
"What envelope?" the voice came again. As far as Getter knew, Bradley Owen was not a drug user but he was beginning to wonder. What could be so interesting about a remote control exploration bot?
"The one I just brought," he answered. "Open it. It's your SLA-mas bonus."
Bradley stepped backwards suddenly while still facing away from him, but the quick movement was enough to startle him and he nearly fell into the boxes again. Casually, the man reached back to the workbench for another tool and went back to work. The man wasn't playing along and it was all that Getter could take. Slamming his hand down on the workbench, the rattle of the tools and plastic echoed in the quiet air loud enough to startle himself but Bradley didn't flinch. No longer able to contain his temper, he gave in and started yelling.
"Alright Owen, if you won't open the damn envelope I'll just have to tell you what's in it!"
Owen was still ignoring him and Getter felt the blood pulsing into his temples. His voice took on the shrill tone that he hated but this had ruined everything. With his hopes of seeing the man wilt with grief in front of him, anger was the only way to salvage what payback that he could.
"We no longer have use for your- ah, screw it!" he blurted as the standard speech failed him. "YOU'RE FIRED! You hear me? You're FIRED. F-I-R-E-D! FIRED!"
The look that Bradley gave him swapped his anger with something far less aggressive and he stammered. The man's face was blank and detached, empty of all emotion or even concern but the eyes were absolutely piercing and black.
"Do you like it?" Bradley asked in the same nonchalant voice. Getter looked up and saw that the man had scrawled a crude face on the cover plate around the XP's optics. It was a child's caricature of someone leering, complete with white caulk for a mustache and full beard. "Think of it as performance art."
"You freak." Getter mumbled, feeling more unnerved by the moment. "Get your things and get the frick off my station. NOW!"
The last part came out far weaker than he would have liked but it was all he could manage as he made his way back across the boxes and towards the door. The cold weight of the man's eyes was still with him and he knew that he'd need at least another two glasses of vodka to steel his nerves again. The next system tech better have damn good references and a solid psych profile.
Something chattered as he reached for the door and he looked over, recoiling into a file cabinet as a Halloween Jack doobrie lunged up at him. Its left leg had been stapled to the top of a clipboard and it clawed and snarled angrily as he passed. The chill flooded across his entire body now and he shoved the door open to push through the two security men without looking.
"Give him five minutes and then I want his bleeding carcass dragged to a shuttle."
They mumbled a response that he barely heard and he stormed back towards his office.
Watching him go, Brad Owens waved absently and casually pulled the red felt hat with the white trim out of the box of decorations. Carefully putting it in place, he smiled to himself and waited.
"I got your SLA-mas spirit right here," he said to the empty air.
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