A normal group was not necessary for a job well done. Only two factors came into play when it came to assessing the worth of a Worker. Competency in procedure, and total obedience to the Overseer.
In Sites the Overseer was usually the only person Workers and Employees were discouraged from seeing. Instead, they existed as a god-like entity through the scrying crystal which monitored every hall and every chamber aside from their private quarters.
Employees of the very First Floor could be seen wandering the halls, hauling paperwork and other items to prepare for Day 1. It would begin in only a few hours, and already an abnormal event had begun.
This was the absence of a shipment, meaning the only Corrupted within the Site was “Essence of Light.” On occasion these white-coat employees, who were a mix of the lowest common denominator of races, such as Demi-Humans and Half Breeds, waved into the opaque, colorless crystals at the omnipresent Overseer.
Most waved, whereas few offered a gesture akin to a short prayer.
In this world of mostly sword and magic, those that worked within the echelons of an Atelier were considered worthy of a loyal following, for they were deeply associated with the god-like Beholders whose powers knew no bounds, and whose actions were deeply entrenched in history.
These people knew of the Abyssal Mother only by name and distant legends dating back to a legendary expedition party which scoured the world with only the stars as a compass. Few of these people looked up with star-filled eyes.
Those same stars were the artificial, fluorescent lighting of the Site’s corridors.
Now that they were deep within the boundaries of the Site Core, they could no longer see the light of day. This was their life now; owed to ImpulseWorks that offered them salvation when their life was its worst. The surrounding Region – Emvita – was one rife with wars, conflict, cursed lands, and monsters.
It was a region where the light of the sun seldom shone, and where the cold embrace of the night was perpetual depending on where one was. Each Worker and Employee came from such placed and were offered respite with the promise of their total devotion to ImpulseWorks when the time came.
And the time was now.
They were here to serve the Atelier.
The 5-member Core Team fit themselves into their unform at exactly 06:00 hours. Elysia operated on a 24-hour clock, as shown by an antique analogue clock ticking away with its methodical tune.
Hairs were tied, sleeves straightened, ties tightened – All the while a small vibration reverberated throughout the Site, as though it too had roused awake. The chandelier lights flickered to a faint red as the group of five gathered by the door, leaving only when the lights then turned blue at 06:01.
06:15 was when their day would begin. The 15 minutes between was dedicated to a briefing with their Unit Manager.
Unit Managers are a highly trained Worker who would oversee an entire floor. They were essentially the third in command after the Overseer the and the Navigator. When all communications were cut off whether due to a Corrupted break out or to other phenomena – such as the Trepidation Invasion Events – then they’d take over.
It was a flexible method. Waiting for absolute orders was too sluggish at times. Although, the breakdown of communication from the omnipotent Overseer was frankly unheard of.
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Each sublevel of a Floor was given a designation from an unknown 26 letter alphabet, ranging from A to Z. The Administrative Floor was strictly labeled as A, whereas on the First Floor its subfloors were currently B (Lobby and Living Quarters) and C (Corrupted Containment Sections).
A fully realized Site would possess a total of 26 floors, split into 8 major floors, each governed and ran by a Unit Manager.
An alarm blared across the Site. It was the sound of a lock being opened, announcing the beginning of the very first day.
< Day 1 >
< Level: 1 >
< B-4 Corridor >
“That’s not the sound of the First Seal, is it?” Leo asked, wondering what those rattles were as they navigated through the corridors, door after door in search for the 1st Floor Unit Manager’s Office.
“Nah. That’s how we know a day has started. You’ll know when the First Seal has been broken. Or any as a matter of fact.” Urusai was happy to answer. “Everyone knows that!”
“Erm…” Rosette rubbed the back of her head, brushing her hair to reveal a cuffed earpiece. This was the Cognition Receiver, a device that telepathically linked them with the Overseer and Navigator.
Every emotion. Every sensation. Every fear and every doubt would be assessed in real time. They could not, however, communicate with one another. Instead, their minds were simply filled with commands of the Overseer, manifested as a sudden compulsion or visually by highlighting certain object. At times, even words would appear before their very eyes or very rarely hear their voice.
When it came down to it, the basis of this technology was one that manipulated the mind.
“Remind me what Seals are again?” Rosette finally asked, knocking onto the side of her head.
“There is no way that you’re that clueless.” Sharka bared her teeth. “The alarm system. Get this drilled into your head now or else the Unit Manager’s going to grill you good, and I wouldn’t mind eating you up.”
“I’ve already got someone else on my mind, sweetheart.” Rosette interpreted her words very differently, causing the shark girl to grumble. “But go on.”
“The Seven Seals. It’s a seven-stage emergency protocol, and it was one of the first things they hammered into us in training. It goes from ‘Someone just lost an arm. Ignore it’, to ‘It’s over. All hope is lost. Might as well make the most of our last seconds.’”
Sharka explained, moving ahead of the group as she hastened her pace.
“When you hear chains breaking, listen for how many times it happens consecutively up to a maximum of seven. Four shatters are our first major warning. At our level? You wouldn’t hear the seventh warning, because you’d already be dead.”
“’All hope is lost’.” Abra solemnly echoed. “How encouraging.”
“At least it’s just the Site, right? Not the same as the ‘all hope is lost’ adage they use for Paradise Lost.” Rosette spoke as they approached the final door, which was marked with a strange, heart-shaped insignia.
“This ‘they’ seems to know everything.” Leo mumbled to himself inquisitively as they stood by the door, hearing mechanical grunts behind the thick walls before it suddenly lifted.
“Core Team here!” Urusai shouted, saluting at whoever was inside.
The scent of smoke instantly assaulted their senses. It watered the eyes and obscured the red walls of the chamber within. A turbulent storm seemed to pass through, blowing their hair and the smoke aside before it disappeared entirely.
“Come in.” An unenthusiastic voice spoke from within. It belonged to a man who appeared as if he had not slept in weeks and smoked from a long pipe.
Paperwork and glass tubes were littered across the floors like a storm had struck. A giant, dead tree of some kind sat in the center of the room. It was huge, and pink ribbons drooped from their branches like the leaves of a willow.
The man was dressed in similar uniform to the Navigator, except that he wore the same pink heart insignia on his chest as he brought a hand to brush away the ashes from his otherwise youthful, black hair.
“Names. Occupations. Strengths. Weaknesses. Introduce yourselves.” He spoke in a reserved tone, as if deprived of all motivation.
This was frankly the last thing they had on their mind when they thought of a Unit Manager. Those people were amongst the most resourceful, punctual, and ravenous when it came to Atelier protocols.
He was the antithesis of them.
“Oh. Before that. Don’t mention anything more. Let’s keep this professional. No dreams. No aspirations.” He suddenly warned. “Those tend to get blown away by the tempest of this layer. Otherwise, welcome to your 15 minutes of daily respite. My name is Paolo. I’ll be managing you for as long as you remain on this Floor. Go on. Speak. Or don’t. Your choice, really.”