"Mikael!"

"Hey, Ken."

The lithe swordsman exchanged a complicated fist bump with the mountainous man sitting incongruously behind a low cubicle wall in the central bullpen of the Cataclysm Squad's headquarters. With a start, Brock realized he recognized him from the day before. One of the bureaucratic types pushing paper when Mikael brought him in to be processed.

"So what's the deal with the Sekkie? Thought we were cutting him loose, which, you know, kinda rubbed me the wrong way, seeing whose body he stole and all. Figured he'd be heading straight for the Abyss."

Knuckles cracked like gunshots and Brock tried not to flinch. Mikael leaned on the cubicle wall, lowering his voice.

"That's what everyone was supposed to think, Ken. Including that Overlord."

Ken let out a low whistle, eyes lighting up.

"No shit. No shit. You guys bag it?"

"I'd like to say we did..."

"...dammit."

Mikael smiled wolfishly at Ken's downcast expression, then nudged Brock with an elbow.

"...but it was the kid who brought things home. Turns out he's not quite the standard-issue Sekkie, and the old man was quick with the necessary needs paperwork."

"...no shit?"

Brock flushed under the muscular man's appraising stare, somehow intimate in its consideration.

"This geezer telling the truth? You took out an Overlord by yourself? More importantly - he'll vouch for you?"

"I... uhhh... I guess. I didn't kil-"

"Hot damn," Ken roared, fist suddenly pounding his desk, "maybe there's more to you than meets the eye after all." He rose from his cubicle like a tidal wave, one massive hand clapping Brock on the shoulder and nearly driving him to his knees. "You, me, and the old man. Drinks at the Unsavory Unicorn when we get off work. I have to hear this story."

"Ken-" Mikael tried to interrupt.

"I'm not taking 'no' for an answer, you geriatric sadsack. Drinks!"

"Ken-"

"Fine, fine! I'll buy the first two rounds, but you and the Sekkie are going to be there. Promise me!"

"Ken!"

"...what?"

Mikael inhaled deeply.

"We'll be there, but right now I need you to do your job. Brock has to be onboarded to the squad. Director's orders."

A calculating expression flashed across the big man's face like the briefest flicker of lightning, gone as soon as Brock noticed it.

"No shit. Well then." Ken dropped back into his seat, cracking his knuckles one more time above his desk. "Let's get you into the system. Okay, first things first, I gotta check your paperwork..."

With a curiously delicate touch, Ken began tapping at a blue-holograph keyboard, humming softly to himself while staring intently at a hovering blur of solid light. Brock stood next to Mikael and watched for several seconds until he felt a presence at his shoulder.

"Can I help youOHGODWHATTHESHITAGHHHHH-"

"Greetings, meatbag. Your mewlings continue to amuse."

Brock clutched a hand to his chest, trying to still the death-metal drumline of his heart. Is it the murdereyes, or the murdervoice? Maybe both? Probably both.

"...hnghhhh... hi... hi, KB (Administrative)."

Brock swore the walking killmachine briefly narrowed its fiery vision slits before letting out a sound suspiciously reminiscent of a hisss.

"You remembered my name. Cute. You didn't pronounce it properly, and are still designated Priority Biofuel In Literally Any Situation That Matters." The arachnid nightmare swiveled towards Ken. "Operative Trator. Enjoy your paperwork. Do not hesitate to contact me if you need assistance with administrative matters."

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Ken flipped a hand without looking away from his screen.

"Heya KB. Yeah, for sure, I'll talk to you if I need help. Bye."

Silently, the missile-festooned combat construct scuttled from the room in a pants-wetting flurry of limbs. Brock let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and Ken looked up him.

"KBs, amirite?"

Brock chuckled nervously, not trusting himself to speak, and Ken turned back to his desk.

"Ok, vitals and identifiers logged, security rating of..."

Ken looked up at Mikael, who pursed his lips.

"Two... no, level three."

"You're the boss."

More fingertaps.

"Housing... on file... magiphone plan... covered... basic sustenance access... okay, looks like that's all of it. Last thing I need to do is delete Operator Vandal's file so the system doesn't pull up false positives."

Mikael tensed almost imperceptibly next to Brock. If he hadn't been glancing straight at him he thought he would've imagined it.

"You don't need-"

"Hmm," Ken rumbled over him. "That's weird. Operator Vandal's file access is locked. Lemme-"

The hovering screen of blurred light seemed to flicker, so fast this time Brock was sure he was seeing things.

"...huh. Nevermind. Says he's deceased. System must have glitched. Guess I can trash it after all."

One last keytap.

"Okay, the Sekkie... Brock, is good to go." He winked at the two, and Brock was struck by how suddenly Ken seemed to have switched his mental framework to acceptance.

Stop it. You're being paranoid since Mikael messed with your head. People are allowed to trust their friends, and those two are definitely friends.

"Thanks, Ken," Mikael smiled, and the two bumped fists again.

"You know it. Remember, drinks tonight! At six! You and Brock both!"

"Yeah, yeah. C'mon, Brock."

Quietly Brock followed Mikael over to another section of cubicles, most of which appeared empty. Almost two-thirds of the way down the row, Mikael motioned Brock into one of the vacant spaces.

"Here's your desk."

Confused, Brock looked around. The sight of an ordinary office space greeted him. Slightly scratched desk, probably wobbly chair, vaguely fabric-covered partial walls, scuffed tiny black waste bin. One of the inbuilt desk drawers appeared a heavy pull away from dismantling everything entirely. All of it was covered with a healthy layer of neglect, and devoid of anything resembling an identity. Mikael nudged him into the chair, which, sure enough, managed to be wobbly on all four legs.

Brock cleared his throat.

"Isn't this, uhhh..."

"Yes?" Mikael asked expectantly, a slight smile on his face.

"...well, a little bit cheap? Shabby, perhaps?"

"It most definitely is," Mikael laughed. "Why don't you put your magiphone on the desk?"

Slightly disgruntled, Brock pulled his magiphone out of his pocket. "I hate Bindy, though," he muttered, placing the tablet on the desk. In response, the screen lit up.

"Brock! Hey! Brock! I'm here to help!"

Brock slumped into the wobbly chair, feeling misaligned metal bite into his back. Sighing, he put a hand over his eyes. Undeterred, the magiphone continued flashing.

"Brock! Don't be despondent! You're doing great! You're employed! Congratulations! I'm allowed to access more abilities now! I can manifest!"

Brock froze.

"Please tell me I didn't just hear-"

A maniacally grinning animated binder clip leapt out of the tablet with a shower of coruscating light.

"Brock! Look! I can materialize now! I can use the system to personalize your workspace! According to what I calculate are your deepest desires!"

"Oh, hell no-"

A blurring rainbow shot around the cubicle, altering reality in its wake. The chair straightened beneath Brock's spine, transforming into an embrace of warm comfort. Scars blurred out of the desk, replaced by-

"Bindy WHAT the FU-"

Shag carpet. Shag carpet so thick it might as well have still been on the sheep, in hideous swatches of pastel green, pink, and robin's egg blue. Not just covering Brock's new recliner chair, either. Covering the sides of the desk like deranged sea anemones, sprouting gaily from the black plastic trash can, even tastefully matted down along the visible surfaces of the cubicle walls.

"It looks like I'm a children's toy serial killer," Brock said numbly. Next to him, Mikael was turning an interesting shade of red beneath his dark skin, heavy breaths snorting out of his nose.

"It's... snrkkk... amazing... gnrhhh-"

On top of the grotesque desk surface, the animated binder clip took a bow.

"See! Brock! Perfection! Magical restoration to your heart's content!"

"You should really change your personal assistant away from the default," Mikael choked out, his back to Brock. "It's in the settings menu."

Brock slowly crossed his arms over his chest, silently fuming. In front of him, Bindy did a celebratory dance. With unnecessary hip thrusts. Just as Brock was about to fling the magiphone into the nearest shredder, consequences be damned, Bindy morphed into a glowing screen similar to the one above Ken's desk earlier. On it appeared a familiar green tusked face.

"Ahh, Brock. It's good to see you've settled in." The Director's eyes scanned to either side, but his expression never changed. "Quite a comfortable layout. On to business. Your schedule for today is as follows. From now until lunch, you will train on the system's Sekkie Prediction Model, which will help you identify the more obvious signs of a Sekkie incursion. You'll start with the harem module."

Brock blanched.

"I thought Mikael already covered that," he stammered.

"That?" The orc chuckled politely. "That was just to wake you up. You're not even close to dealing with a true Harem-manipulator. Anyways, after lunch you'll be accompanying Operator Thorne on spot inspections until your shift ends at five. Do your best. After that you are free for discretionary time until tomorrow morning at eight."

The golden screen blanked, and Brock sagged in his luxurious chair.

"So I have to watch training videos?"

"Yeah," Mikael grinned. "Something like that. See you at lunch."

Brock watched him walk out of the cubicle, then turned to his magiphone. Fortunately, Bindy was still manifesting as a screen, now with a large red 'PRESS ME' button displayed on it. Brock reached for the button with a groan.

"Fine. How bad could a workplace training video be?"