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Post by effinfitz on Apr 1, 2013 16:26:06 GMT -8
Seen scrolling at the bottom of the screen of a QBL News broadcast, tucked away amidst lottery updates and speculative weather reports:
"SenTaxx Pharmaceuticals announces the closing of its New Hope facility in light of recent financial difficulties."
It's not getting much attention. The PIT crew only picked it up because it had the word SenTaxx in it.
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Post by tess on Apr 1, 2013 17:49:25 GMT -8
As Tess goes over the daily reports from the PIT she comes across this little tidbit. She picks up the intercom
"Lucy, can you get me a full rundown on Sentaxx's New Hope facility? I want to know everything I can about it."
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Post by effinfitz on Apr 1, 2013 18:16:08 GMT -8
The walls were distinct from one another. The floors congealed, cracked like old linoleum and water damage, no longer flowing one into another like they should into an indistinct, immaterial whole. Lights flicked on and off overhead, casting peculiarly rigid shadows, an alien level of organization that traumatized already offended senses with sharp, shaped angles.
There were no soothing whispers to comfort him. No fever-fugue to blur the lines of practiced monotony. Only the blaring, bleating squeal of dying valves, iron veins bleeding burning-hot steam that flared, squealed, then recoiled at its inability to fly through the walls as it was meant. Trapped. So trapped. So rigid. So horribly wrong. He had to fix it. Had to bring the voices back.
He stood up, felt the vertigo of gravity and inertia tear him apart. Stood and stepped over himself -- no, no. Not himself, another now. Jamison? Did they have names? Identities? Branding. Divisive. Awful.
He stepped over Jamison, watched in sorrow as the other tried, weeping, to scrape away the paint on the walls with his teeth bring it back into himself. Bring about union, again. He understood, but this other one was wrong. It wasn't the way. What was the way?
Valves on the bleeding pipes. Once they had turned, under hands that were as much flesh as the steel wheels they were joined to. He would have to turn them again. Red hot and scalding hate gripped him back. He screamed, and Jamison looked up. They all looked up.
Unity. He started turning.
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Post by effinfitz on Apr 1, 2013 19:23:02 GMT -8
QBL News live update, with an on-site reporter. Young, blond, but not young or blonde enough to make anchorwoman. The banner along the bottom of the screen gives her name as Amanda Creed. Beside her is an impassive, pale, seemingly hairless man in a suit. You think it's a suit. The cut seems...off, somehow.
"We're here outside of SenTaxx Pharmaceuticals's -- aw, dangit. Sorry. Are we live?"
They were. The young lady slipped right back into her practiced smile like she had never made a misstep.
"We're here outside the New Hope facility of SenTaxx Pharmaceuticals, where only just today workers learned that the site would be -" she paused, briefly, looking up to the taller man for confirmation. "Temporarily closed, am I correct?"
Another pause. If the man responds in any way, it's certainly too subtle for you to catch. Even on replay. She continues. "Amazingly, the local workers have refused to return home. Plant foreman Rafael Vargas issued a statement just an hour ago that so long as SenTachsis...SenTaxxys..blargh!"
She makes a face. He makes no comment. "So long as there are people in need of SenTaxx products, it would be irresponsible for them to halt production until such time as other facilities are able to provide for them. Company representative Christian Screwtape has just now left the facility after meeting with Foreman Vargas. Mr. Screwtape, is there anything more you can tell us about this situation?"
She holds the microphone up to him. He doesn't move,or even speak for a time. When he does talk it's in a near monotone, with strange inflections almost like an old speech synthesizer. "SenTaxx respects Foreman Vargas's commitment to his community and clients. Negotiations are ongoing at thei point, and we hope to resolve the outstanding issue currently crippling our budget soon."
Creed blinks. A moment passes. Screwtape informs her that "That is all," at which point she flashes a nervous smile back to the camera.
"More on this situation as it develops," she says, just before the feed cuts back to the studio and a gripping story about a puppy who saved a cat from a house fire.
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Post by effinfitz on Apr 1, 2013 21:41:44 GMT -8
Unity. Turning the valves again. Cranking the wheels. Fitting the pieces. They didn't really know what they we doing, how to do it. There were no gentle lullabies to lull them into labor, no midwife to the alien work they were birthing. They were hands, and their mind had abandoned them.
The one at the lever pushed it down from above, leaning his entire body into it and falling on it. Then he'd stop, rest, before jerking back and wrenching the handle up again. The one with the machined metal pieces to assemble would beat them together clumsily, savagely, finally resorting to. Hammering on them with his fists until his hands bled and his wrists broke.
He himself still manned the valve, unable to let go. He turned and turned until it would turn no more, still the melted skin over the wheel threatened to tear loose. Then he would spasm and start wheeling counterclockwise. Rest. Repeat. However many times it took.
Only Jamison didn't join. He had gnawed on the walls until his teeth cracked and split, and curled up sobbing after scoping up the broken pieces and swallowing them down. For too long he stayed like that. Then he picked his head up, still sobbing, sill bleeding from the gums, then studied his hands.
Looked up at the opaque but illuminated booth of the Foreman, where a blessedly shapeless, writhing silhouette flickered across the the frosted glass. A humming, n-dimensional shadow that could still ignore the petty constraints of a dreamless universe.
Jamison stared, then smiled, beatific, tears still flowing. He started chewing on his fingers, screams and sobs punctuated by choking, hacking swallows.
Unity.
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Post by effinfitz on Apr 2, 2013 3:05:30 GMT -8
Amanda Creed again, smiling for the camera. No company this time at least, and it's much easier to see the facility in the early morning light.
"...we're back at the New Hope SenTaxx facility, where overnight one of the workers was taken by ambulance to nearby Doctors Memorial Hospital in Bonifay. Frederick Jamison is said to have suffered from a nervous breakdown and is being kept overnight for monitoring. SenTaxx has already stepped forward to pay for Jamison' medical expenses, saying, quote, that it would be unconscionable to allow a former SenTaxx employee to suffer any further loss than his job, especially considering the commitment he and his coworkers are showing to everyone reliant on the medicines we provide. That is all."
No one looked up when Jamison was called to the Foreman's office, except for Jamison himself. Aberrant, divergent, pieces of raw tendon stuck between his teeth that still stretched taut from the stump of his wrist. Upstairs, unseen, the shadow behind the frosted glass had stopped moving. The glass itself moved, it seemed, a refractive shift in perspective that made all four walls of the square room seem to be arrayed in a line like a film reel, spinning in linear circles. It was this projection that Jamison shambled towards on faltering legs that did not seem to understand up or down or right and left. He would try to move both legs at once first, and, falling, get up by kicking backward and pulling himself forward on the metal catwalk or its attached stairwell by the skin of his forehead. There was no protest, no crying out. Just the eager, grunting hyperventilation of a hydrophobe chasing a desert mirage.
He reached the door (constant, in fixed space, regardless of the spinning walls its hinges we're bolted to) on his knees, as if in supplication. He beat on it with hand and stump, the doorknob unnoticed. Now he grew frantic, erratic. He was afraid. He was ignored, he thought. But then the door opened.
It would be impossible to describe how, exactly, the door opened. It was not a thing of four dimensions, bound like Prometheus to realtime recidivism. It was open because the Foreman's shadow fell through it, a thing of whipping nullspace and synaptic contour. A curious drone accompanied its presentation, a subatomic resonance so small it shook the universe.
It would be impossible to describe what, exactly, happened to Jamison. He was of the World, now, no longer in Unity. He was handed back to the world.
The workers carried on.
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Post by effinfitz on Apr 4, 2013 18:51:11 GMT -8
"This is Amanda Creed updating you again with the SenTaxx situation here in New Hope, Florida. An announcement from the board of directors came just after closing hours today."
The screen changes to a wallpaper backdrop with scrolling text and an unflattering picture of Christian Screwtape. You wonder if there are such things as flattering pictures of Christian Screwtape.
"Amanda Creed back again at New Hope, where just hours ago a fire broke out and gutted the facility..."
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Post by effinfitz on Apr 7, 2013 4:39:45 GMT -8
A new article on the QBL News website: SenTaxx closes multiple sites
An emergency meeting of SenTaxx executives just came to a close early this morning with a shocking announcement.
"In light of continuing difficulties in these hard economic times, and our dedication to help as many as we can, SenTaxx is closing nine of its remaining fourteen facilities in order to better streamline our workflows and concentrate our talent. We realize this will come as a bitter blow to countless employees and their families, and we can only hope that they find some solace in the thought that their sacrifice is helping us usher in a brighter tomorrow, for everyone."
When asked what, exactly, these plans for a brighter tomorrow were:
"We've been working closely with a technology firm that we strongly believe will catapult SenTaxx to the pinnacle of neuropharmacological research and development. It's to everyone's regret that the contract was not filled as originally promised, but we're confident we can reach an agreement that leaves everyone pleased."
The New Hope fire was also discussed, with several concerned family members in attendance.
"The tragedy that occurred at New Hope served as a warning to all of us, about how dedicated our employees are to SenTaxx ideals and how we in administration have to honor, and mirror, that dedication in all our decisions. We hope that by concentrating our activities in a small, more interconnected area that we can avoid any future such disasters."
It's still early in the morning, but stay tuned for further updates!
Amanda Creed is a QBL media associate for breaking business news. |
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Post by effinfitz on Apr 8, 2013 10:21:05 GMT -8
Another QBL News online article. More Panhandle Problems?
Seemingly in response to the SenTaxx's announcement yesterday, a new wave of concerns for their executive board. Stock values are falling as investors pull support from what has been called a "toxic asset" in recent online discussion. An unidentified commenter has released the following statement:
Amanda Creed is a QBL Media associate for breaking business news. |
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Post by effinfitz on Apr 9, 2013 12:35:08 GMT -8
Another QBL News online article. | New Hope For Tomorrow sues SenTaxx |
[/color] It's one thing after another for beleaguered Florida fixture SenTaxx Pharmaceuticals. Seemingly overnight a group of concerned citizens has formed to protect their interests now that a once major employer in the panhandle region is scaling back their operations dramatically. Led by local woman Sandie Jamison, New Hope For Tomorrow has already begun canvassing other SenTaxx occupied townships and lobbying both state and national legislation for aid and support. Additionally, legal firm Bartzfeld & Kreutz have volunteered to take the case pro bono, saying they view it as a "moral responsibility to serve their communities in such trying times." Mrs. Jamison has not yet released a public statement, claiming that she wishes to spend the morning with family before launching her crusade. Readers may recognize the name Frederick Jamison as the SenTaxx-New Hope employee who was evacuated in critical condition before a fire broke out in the facility. He remains in intensive care at Doctors Memorial, no doubt the inspiration for his wife Sandie's sudden activism. More on this as it develops. Amanda Creed is a QBL media associate for breaking business news.[/td][/tr][/table] |
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Post by effinfitz on Apr 16, 2013 6:33:39 GMT -8
The droning in the background is positively head splitting. Five men, nearly identical in their featurelessness, sitting at a small conference table in an otherwise dark, unfurnished room.
The walls and ceiling and floor are all mirrors. But they're reflecting stars that no astrologer has ever seen.
"The prototype is complete. Area sensitives began responding last night."
"The company has not contacted us?"
"No."
"Screwtape has not contacted us?"
"No. Warding conditions at his location make this difficult."
Silence. None of them was expressing anything that might be called emotion. No frustration or fear, anger or excitement. Only the dull, toneless apathy of old men discussing the weather.
"Present circumstances are distracting the media, we cannot count on them to apply pressure."
"Ægir does not trust us. They will not deliver."
"We must have trust."
"I will contact the project director."
Silence again. Then, as one, they all rose up, pushed their chairs back under the table, and walked out a door that had, until a moment ago, not existed: a shining white rectangle in the cubed sky they seemed to reside in.
Just barely visible in the light as they left were the shapes hugging clinging to their backs. Long legged and spindly, dark gray and, in their own way, just as featureless. Each with a long, needle-like proboscis sliding into the base of their hosts' skulls like a catheter.
The door closed behind them.
To: Seanne Rystaad, Teresa Auerbach, Malcolm Sigurdsson
From: Brad King
Subject: Damn thing's done
...and you guys are the first to know, besides the team that actually finished it. Twice. What do you want us to do with it? Right now it's locked up, guarded by security, and hidden in the framework for our rocket assisted hang glider. I call her the iHop.
If it matters, I just got an e-mail from the SenTaxx Board of Directors thanking us for all the hard work. Funny timing, yeah? They want to meet the project team to thank them personally. Usually I say no to any meeting that would make want to shower afterward, but if you want to know more about what this thing's supposed to actually do then this might be a stellar opportunity.
Let me know. Preferably before they do anything rash, like try to call me.
- Brad King, Director, ESI Labs
This is a confidential communication between employees of AEgir Communications. Any unauthorized readers are violating federal law, and will be detained by company security until such time as the proper authorities make a formal charge.
Engineering Solutions and Innovations -- Practical answers to outlandish problems. |
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Post by tess on Apr 16, 2013 7:58:04 GMT -8
To: Brad King
From: Teresa Auerbach
CC: Shay, Investigations, Security
Subject: Meeting
If SenTaxx wants to meet in person then this is a wonderful opportunity to get some answers out of them. Go ahead and schedule the meeting, maybe we can actually figure out what they wanted the ODIN for in the first place. I don't fully trust them, especially after what happened at New Hope, so I would suggest erring on the side of caution and taking a security escort with you to the meeting. Please let us know everything that is discussed. Thank you. And be careful
~Tess
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Post by effinfitz on Apr 17, 2013 10:47:45 GMT -8
"Get him in, get him in!"
"I gotta check his ID --!"
"How many patients we got right now coming up from ER with a lumbar puncture? He's our guy!"
"You don't even know what he had for dinner!"
"It's not gonna matter in five minutes anyway! Rapid sequence baby! Now where's our damn surgeon?"
"Hey hey HEY, sit down, man!"
Security paused, dumbstruck, as the tall skinny seventy year old grabbed the body builder by the shoulders and and forced him into one of the chairs of the otherwise empty waiting room. Two guards, hands on their radios, a pose they must have learned from actual police officers who kept their sidearms in the same spot. Brad had no time for them, and he sure as heck didn't want them to hear the conversation he needed to have.
"We're cool, officers, we're cool. Just needs some space. You mind?"
He still had one hand clamped on Warfield's shoulder like a vice. The bodybuilder -- big, broad, Polish looking guy, still in his underwear -- had both hands wrapped around Brad's wrist and seemed to be leaning into it.
He was. He was trying to push it off, actually, but Brad wasn't in the mood to make it look real.
Security nodded. One of them had the presence of mind to tell him they'd be just outside if they needed anything. Just call. Brad assured them he'd do just that. They were all lying. Social interaction 101. He watched them step out the door, close it, before rounding on Warfield like a bat out of --
Well.
"Would you QUIT with the crying already, you simpering steroid freak?"
Warfield looked up, briefly stunned, and caught the look in Brad's eyes. Just long enough. Brad's tone changed. Calming. Hypnotic.
"Take a few deep breaths while you listen to me. The joke's already going around the OR that Trumble's up there because you guys we celebrating too hard. Head explosion. Get me?"
Warfield paled, nodded, looked about to vomit. Brad never let go of his shoulder. Warfield never broke eye contact.
"Now I don't really give three shits what these guys think, but I'm gonna need something a little more concrete in my report this morning. So you've got three hours to tell me what happened tonight. Two, really, if you count how slow I type."
"Is...is he gonna be alright?"
Brad sniffed. Maybe snorted. He could smell the blood down the hall, the adrenaline rush of an emergency case. "Fifty-fifty. Talk."
To: Seanne Rystaad, Teresa Auerbach
From: Brad King
Subject: Long night
It's the automated control unit for a homeostatic matrix. I got this third-hand, so I can't tell you much more than that. But since you found an anima-reactive organic soup in those pipes, my guess is they're growing something. Golem factory seems a bit mundane. The ODIN can handle a lot more complicated dynamic equilibriums than that.
If you need me to brainstorm later tonight, just shout. Have to see HR and some families first.
- Brad
Sent from my eyePhone. |
To: Jenna Mercado
From: Brad King
Subject: Paperwork
Need the forms for injured-on-the-job and dead-on-the-job. Think I could pick them up this evening? Thanks.
- Brad
Sent from my eyePhone. |
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Post by sersi on Apr 17, 2013 14:33:51 GMT -8
To: Legal, Aquisitions
From: Seanne Rystaad
Cc: Investigations
Subject: >.<
This has been going on for awhile. How are we, status wise?
Aquisitions - shareholders are selling Sentaxx assets by bulk. Biy up everything we can. I want to own them by the end of he month.
Tess, Carl - get me something soon. A bonus to who ever can tell me it's dealt with.
- Seanne
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Post by effinfitz on May 5, 2013 17:26:13 GMT -8
"An Inevitable Conclusion"
Following a month of setback after setback, SenTaxx Pharmaceuticals, a major Florida panhandle employer, is filing for bankruptcy under the state's chapter 11 laws. This allow the Board of Directors to retain control while whatever last, desparate measures they have in mind can be enacted to save the company...
"The company cannot be saved."
That same black, droning room, with those same five people, no more excited or agitated than they were before. Even the dire pronouncement is delivered impassively, as if it were no more upsetting than the weather half a world away or half a century ago.
"Will it survive long enough?"
A moment of silence. Silent conference, perhaps? They all study the table.
"Screwtape strongly believes that the announcement will draw them here. The foreman has already been instructed to pick a team to assist us in delaying them."
"Is our sacrifice likely?"
Another moment of silence.
...at the same time, citizen activist group New Hope For Tomorrow is organizing an area-wide rally to draw attention to what they call "SenTaxx's self-destructive business practices" and the damage they've supposedly brought to local communities. Spokeswoman Sandie Jamison is pushing for a full inspection of all company assets and for "due compensation" to works and their families...
Screwtape had little idea how long he'd been in this room, at this point. Time was something he only held a distant attachment to, nor was imprisonment of his body a thing he would allow his mind to grown concerned with.
His two security guards, though, they could tell him. Thirty two days and some odd hours, stuck in a two bedroom hotel room and told in no uncertain terms that the cable was off limits to them. Their charge rarely spoke, and when he did it was in the same ostensibly genteel but unmistakably flat terms he had used to request a toothbrush from Officer Walton and to ask how many children Officer English had. It had been a long, long thirty two days.
But now Screwtape was acting different. Not excited, certainly, sitting there in the easy chair staring at the clock. The guards couldn't give name to why at first, until English, with mixed incredulity and horror, whispered in his partner's ear.
"He's...smiling!"
...Ægir Communications has recently bought up all available SenTaxx stock, leading to speculation that the Brooklyn based networking firm may be trying to buy out the company. Director of Acquisition Martin Haversox has been unavailable for comment as to why...
There was a certain...unity...to the actions that only She could appreciate, mirror signals from synapses hundreds of miles apart. Her first thoughts in ages. Her first thoughts. Time didn't matter. One of her drones making his escape from imprisonment, breaking out, casually, gently subduing the two hapless guards at his door.
Then, the stranger breaking in, casually, gently subduing the two guards at the door to her home. Both men disguised by quiet actions and a calm comfort that their actions, though diametrically opposed, were the Right Thing To Do. Causes. Beliefs. Small, human constructs. They would learn.
Both, under the cover of normalcy, walked their respective halls until they found what they we looking for. A fire alarm.
They pulled the levers at the same time, even.
Unity.
...more on this as it develops.
Amanda Creed is a QBL media associate for breaking business news.
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