Citizen Tales 2 – Overseeing (Patreon)

Hank looked at himself in the mirror of the public bathroom. He looked unkempt, a problem he was quickly fixing, using a brush he carried with him in the bag slung over his shoulders. There were some stubbles on his mildly wrinkled face, befitting of his forty years of age. The bags under his eyes betrayed the little sleep he had gotten today.

Being the second in command for the festival organization office was a horrible job. ‘Only for the next two days,’ he told himself and splashed some cold water in his face. That made him feel a little more alive. ‘Maybe I’ll get promoted by next year. Then I won’t have to deal with this anymore.’

Just one row up in the government ladder was the primary Guild Hall festivity organizer. Hank’s boss got to do what Hank would have killed for right now: do all the theoretical planning from his office over on the Fusion Administration Island. As his minion, Hank had to do all the running around and make sure the planning was actually put into action.

Did it beat his previous line of work? Difficult to say. Stealing from the anarchistic guilds all over New York had been risky business, but at least it had been exciting sometimes. Hank was notable as an Abyssal for just how weak he was, which had allowed him to slip through people’s aura protection more often than not. That sense was not particularly pronounced on most people. In, out, and then blending in with the crowd. That was how Hank had survived the Abyss before Collide came along.

Now the only part of his job that was the same was the blending in with the crowd part. Being a manager gave him authority outside of personal power, a considerable salary, and the opportunity to distribute some work. The problem was that all of his own minions were woefully incompetent. ‘Alright, back into the fray,’ he grumbled in his mind and put his communication earpiece back in. “Vice-manager Hank here. How is the main stage coming along?”

“We are assembling the speaker system,” a voice responded swiftly.

Hank double-checked with the schedules saved in his phone. He had a whole bunch of them, both for the actual events due to happen all over the Guild Hall, starting tomorrow, and the time allocated to finish all of the preparations. “You are twelve hours behind.”

“We just started working today.”

“And you’re still twelve hours behind,” Hank insisted and deactivated the piece for long enough to groan. He stepped out of the bathroom and into the breakroom, where he poured himself the third coffee of the morning. Once he had a sip of it, he had enough humanity to consider the actual situation. The stage was outwardly finished, at least, it was the under-the-surface technical stuff that needed doing. Luckily, this was Friday and the festival had only started unofficially. The stage would not actually be in use for anything. They could still figure this out. “What do you need to get this done? Sound engineers? Labour force?”

“Two big guys to lift things sure would be nice,” the man on the other side said.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Hank stated and switched the channel off. Hot coffee in a Styrofoam cup, he headed out. ‘Alright, so I need to grab one of the useless minions from somewhere else and send them to the main stage,’ he thought, sipping on his coffee while manoeuvring through the obnoxious crowd.

The break room for the government officials was a temporary Building the President had put up yesterday. Why he didn’t have such convenient structures for the stage, Hank would have loved to know. Considering that would have made his job obsolete, he probably should not have, but during festival season the only thing he had for his job was contempt.

The people only made this worse. People were so… people-y. Where everyone of the visitors was walking and chatting with happy leisure, Hank had to swerve and stride around them with busy steps. ‘Gaia, fuck, do I have to do everything myself?’ he cursed in his head, going through the entirety of his catalogue of useless and less useless underlings. He downed the rest of the coffee and then dropped the cup. Some slime would eat it up at some point.

At least there was that convenience.

Hank made it to the waterway and opened the Guild Hall console. It was as odd a sensation as ever, to think about something and to have a screen-like window just manifest in the air in front of him. It was a simple blue, for the most part, a shade brighter than the dark colour that was typically used for the background on Fusion flags. Flags that Hank hated. Not because he hated the Federation, but because he had been the one to personally fiddle fifty of them onto the flagpoles along the Harbour.

“Why can’t we have a President that is just the slightest bit of a moderate?” he grumbled under his breath, ignoring all of the greyed-out areas in the console. His access to the Guild Hall was phenomenally limited. He only got this much on specific request. Tapping a button, he ordered a gondola to his current position. Impatiently, he tapped his foot on the grass. “What an absolute ass, making me work this ha- ouch!”

He felt a sharp pain behind his ear. Instinctively, he swatted at whatever tiny thing he felt skitter there. The pain of his palm smacking against his skin was dull in comparison. When he raised his hand again, he spotted the rough shape of a spider in his hand, flattened and quickly dissolving.

‘Fucking vampire,’ Hank thought. This was not the first time one of Claire’s little pets had bitten him. Mentioning it around the office had eventually gotten the President to pull him aside and offer him some hush money. The presence of these little critters was supposed to be a secret. Obviously, she was doing a shit job at keeping it that way, with how aggressive her familiars were, but that was not Hank’s problem. ‘I’ll get bonus hazard pay for that.’ The thought managed to create a small smile on his face. If he was suffering, at least he could get rich for it.

Property was laughably cheap around the Hudson Barrier. Perhaps he should buy another extension to his estate. In a couple of years, he could quit this periodically hellish job and settle down as a land developer. THEN Fusion would be the greatest thing to ever happen to him. No way he could have owned any land in the old paradigm.

The thought made his smile wider, as he climbed into the gondola. It remained as he cruised down the waterway and only wavered when his earpiece cracked to live on its own. As the highest official on the ground, there were only a couple people that could forcefully open a line to him.

“The fuck are you doing?” the aggressive voice of the only non-governmental figure came through the communication device. “There’s sound problems at the main stage. You’re twelve hours behind.”

“I fail to see how that is your problem, Scarlett.”

“You know exactly how that is my problem, Hank,” the technomancer growled back, forcefully upping the volume on him. Hank had to keep the lowering button pressed to keep acting against the redhead’s influence. “You better get that fixed; my John is not in the mood for any fuck-ups.”

“Is he not or are you not?”

“Don’t test me.”

“Or what? This isn’t your city anymore, Miss Thorne.” Hank’s heel repeatedly drummed on the bottom of the gondola. “Can you stop staying on my ass when I am already dealing with it?”

“Just lead with that next time. When are you quitting this job anyway?”

“Your benefits are worse; you’re not poaching me.”

“We’ll see about that,” Scarlett stated and then cut the line forcefully.

Hank shook his head. The Gamer was surrounded by crazy bitches. All Hank wanted in life was a housewife in her early twenties, that was nice and soft, inside and outside. That would have been the ultimate reward to come home to. How anyone could stomach a harem, that was beyond him. Hank could barely stand talking to a talkative store clerk.

Another reason never to work in the private sector. Whatever power Scarlett gave him, it would not have the equal authority of working for the government. One mention of that and people shut up. It was wonderful.

Ten years of service and he would have a pension. After that it was cruising and sipping pina coladas all over the world. Until then, grey hairs and sleepless nights. ‘Fuck, why didn’t I get a large coffee?’ he thought, as the gondola slowed. The call had ruined his mood.

The golden sands of the Light Island surrounded him in every direction, worsening his idea of a good time with its blinding colour. The heat was even more unbearable here than it was elsewhere in the Guild Hall. Stepping over a circle of amber and silver crystals, he walked up to the Monument to the Celestial Devourer. It was a tourist attraction, especially as it served as a pit stop to the Oasis of Enlightenment and the Light Shrine, where that sage crocodile was hanging out. Hank had never been to either place, because that would contain using one of his rare afternoons doing something besides enjoying double-cheese burgers.

Importantly, there were a couple of government workers hanging around here that were supposed to regulate how many people made it to the other side of the bridge. If they just let everyone through, the Oasis of Enlightenment would lose its effect from people doing people stuff and the queue trying to get access to Stirwin would have been hundreds of metres long. Not that the crocodile was even there at the moment, serving instead as a glorified ferry.

Hank wished he had the cushy job of the watchers here, sitting around in the shade of the tent that had been put out around the monument. All they had to do was tell people to go over the southern bridge, count who returned over the eastern bridge, and take the orders of the people that waited out their turn to get onto the rest of the island by sipping on cold beverages.

“Vice-manager Hank,” one of the fellow officials greeted, unenthusiastically. Hank could hear that no one was happy to see him because his presence meant bad news. He did not care. He needed to get shit done.

“Yes. Give me Shashush and Zin, we need two brawny guys at the mainstage.”

“That will leave us understaffed…”

“You’ll deal with it for a few hours,” Hank just waved off, not caring for any excuse. “Get them on the boat, we aren’t running a charity. If you want shit to change, sign my petition to that bitch Beatrice.”

The official sighed and hurried off. Hank had long since stopped getting reprimanded for demeaning the various officials of haremette origin. For one, because he universally demeaned them alongside everyone else. For two, because he was too valuable to have it stop. His earpiece switched on again. “Oy,” the voice of the chancellor rung in his ear.

“Hello, Miss Momo,” Hank said, respectfully. “How can I help you?”

“Just wanted to tell you good job for telling Scarlett off again. She’s in a foul mood, due to private reasons.”

“It’s an honour working for you, chancellor.”

“Yeah, yeah, you just say that for the benefit.”

“And it’s still true,” Hank assured, his slight smile dropping when his subordinates stopped in front of him. “Well, what the fuck are you waiting for, get into the boat!” he barked at them.

“Play nice,” Momo requested.

“After I slept, maybe.”

“Speaking about that, we managed to get a replacement for you for the afternoon shift. You can get off the job in two hours. That’s why I was calling.”

“With all due platonic respect, I love you.”

“Not worth much from you, but thanks. Now, keep trucking along, soldier.” The earpiece deactivated.

Having a lazy ass above and incompetence under was all forgivable to Hank, because the chancellor was even better at her job than he was at his. Whoever she had found to stand in for him at least wouldn’t make his job any harder, he could be certain of that. If only Beatrice had that much understanding and let him double his office. ‘Statement: you are only needed ten days out of the year,’ she said. ‘Reminder: a few days of notable stress still make this an easier job than most,’ she said.

What did she know? She didn’t even need to sleep.

“Alright, I need you two to go and do some heavy lifting over at the main stage, so they can get the sound system working,” Hank explained the mission to the two people he had just pressed into service. The gondola was moving at high speed, getting them all back as close to the centre of the Commercial District as a waterborne vessel could. Hank threw the two of them out, then moved into an entirely different direction.

He was now thirty minutes behind his own schedule. Walking rapidly through the crowd, he took a sharp turn left out of the walkway and into the area behind the row of food stands. The difference between the front and the backend was, as in all industries, immense. Cables and water pumps were all over the place, providing all of the stands with electricity, liquid, and mana to operate. There was no proper walkway here, people were just swarming about like a bunch of ants.

Hank wished they were ants. Then they would have worked quietly.

The area used for the cable management was confined by black plastic planes, rolled out and stretched between metal fence posts. The entire purpose of them was to make it impossible for visitors to look past the illusion of a nicely working rowing of expertly shopped together stands. If they knew how much of the operation was being kept together with glue and the sheer power of Hank’s will, they would have all demanded that he got another pay raise.

And with what?

With complete and utter justification.

Hank’s eyes darted all over the place. Skills he had once used to rapidly find his escape routes in crowds he was now using to find faulty cables before they became an issue. He tightened water pumps, ordered people to get new hoses, answered to the complaints of one waffle-shop manager with the justified arrogance of a government official, and just generally kept the entire place running.

Because someone had to.