Chapter 171

6.t.

His face felt like rising bread dough and his nose pulsed with an agonizing pain.  He knew he’d get those raccoon-eye bruises from this.  And he knew how pathetic he’d look.  Some people could pull off that battered, I’m-a-bad-ass, you-should-see-the-other-guy look, but he wasn’t one of them.  It would be awhile before he could score chicks again.

That freak.  That credit card freak had known he was there.  Tracking him somehow.  The Outsourcer tried to review the sequence of events, but his puffy, marshmallow consciousness could only recall starbursts of pain.

“This way.  Down this way,” a familiar voice came from someone. The Outsourcer peered through a seam in the cubicle paneling.  The Union, and that irritating credit card guy, were striding up the hallway on the other side of the wall.  Coming right toward him.  There was some sort of gun in the credit guy’s hand.  A yellow light on the gun blinked repeated.  As they came closer a red light ignited accusingly.

The Outsourcer’s mood flared, matching the fiery red of that damnable flashing light. 

They were tracking him. 

The bastards.

That was cheating!

Chapter 170

6.s.

“Down this way.  Hurry!” Commander Credit said, holding the greed-gun apparatus out in front of him.  He and the rest of the Union rounded a corner and were halfway down the hall when the Commander stopped.  He swiveled to his left.

“Look!  Down there,” said Franklin Buck, pointing to the end of the hall and the small, runty man who stood there.

“After him,” Corporate Man shouted, but Commander Credit held his hand out and stopped him.  Then he yanked a panel off the wall nearest him.  A small, runty man with a thin moustache was standing on the other side.  He hissed and three similar runty men with, more or less, similar moustaches stood behind him and echoed the hiss.  They bolted like frightened deer, scattering down a dimly lit hallway, banking into separate side corridors.

The Union rushed after them.

“Should we split up and take them?” Senior asked.

“No,” said Corporate Man.  “Keep us on the real one Commander.”

Around the next corner they saw The Outsourcer disappear into a ventilation duct. A group of maintenance workers moved a section of cubicle paneling across the corridor, blocking the way.  Simultaneously, two sections were pulled away and secured in different positions creating new passages going in opposite directions.

“Which way?” shouted Corporate Man. 

Commander Credit stopped to consult the greed-gun.

“Neither,” he said.  Then he strode up to a section of wall and tried to yank it free.  It didn’t budge, so he set about dismantling it with tools from his cybernetic arm.  Senior Executive approached the remaining maintenance workers and began questioning them.

“Hurry.  Hurry,” said Franklin Buck.

“You want to do this, Dollar Boy?” Commander Credit said as he popped the section of wall free.  A hand slapped him across the face.  A dozen runty men hissed and then bolted away, bounding down the newly opened corridor.

 “Little shits,” Commander Credit yelled, charging after them.

The rest of the Union poured into this new section of darkened passageways.  The scurrying, runty-men disappeared behind vents, panels, and other trap doors embedded in the pseudo walls.

The Union continued the chase and soon arrived at a junction of five passages.  Runty men stood at the far end of each hallway.  Middle finger raised.

Carpeted panels swung in and out from various positions along each corridor, concealing each of the five Outsourcer men.

“They just flipped us off,” said Franklin Buck.

Commander Credit checked the greed-gun.  His face pinched and he tapped the side of the apparatus.  Then her turned around and said, “Back this way.”

More panels swung in and out of the walls and runty men crisscrossed the corridor space, waving obscene gestures, before disappearing out of sight again.

Commander Credit slumped against a wall and shook his head.

“I don’t get it,” he said.  “My readings must be off.  The Outsourcer isn’t showing up anywhere.  I don’t know what to–”

But he didn’t finish.  Instead he thrust all his weight into the wall paneling behind him.  It gave way, slamming into the empty space beyond, landing on something small and hard.

There was a low grunt, followed by a yowling howl.  Commander Credit lifted up the section of wall.  A dazed runty man lie beneath it.  Commander Credit grabbed The Outsourcer by the collar and yanked him to his feet.  Atthe same time the Commander’s snapped his torso forward, his head delivering a nose crushing butt.

The Outsourcer fell to the floor, spurts of blood geysering from his damaged nasal cavities.  The walls around the bleeding man opened up and a troupe of runty men bounced into the corridor.  Two of them swept up The Outsourcer while the rest flung themselves at Commander Credit. 

The first couple of attackers suffered a great deal under the ferocity of the Commander’s defenses, but soon their numbers drove him backward, through the opening in the wall, and into the hallway where the rest of the Union still waited.

The runty men slid the caved in panel back into place and the only sound the Union could hear through the restored wall was that of scuffling feet and half-hearted expletives delivered through a collapsed nasal structure.

“Well, open it back up,” said Business Woman.

“Won’t help,” said Commander Credit. He held up the greed-gun.  Indicator lights were in the green again.  “They’ll have already reconfigured the corridor and The Outsourcer won’t even be in that direction.”

Chapter 169

6.r.

Somewhere on the twenty-sixth floor.  The personnel department.  A bored, balding man walked into a waiting room full of short, runty men with various styles of meager upper lip hair.  He kept his eyes half-closed to mask his shifty nature and avoid betraying the aloof appearance he cultivated.

“Okay, Koreans.  We’re ready to see the Koreans,” he said, gesturing toward the office door.  A group of seven or eight men stood and went inside.

“Hey,” said a short man with a dark, tightly-cropped moustache.  “When are you seeing Filipinos?”

“We hired a bunch of Mexicans yesterday,” said the bored, balding man.

“We are not Mexican.  We’re from the Philippines,” he said, his tone nearing a shout.

“Fine.  Irregardless, we saw all of the Hispanics yesterday.  You’ll have to wait–”

“We are not Spanish!” the Filipino man yelled.

The bored, balding man shook his head as if this was the most useless information he had encountered in a very long time.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, bored.  “Are you cheap?”

“We can do better than those Koreans.”

“What about India?  Can you beat the Indians? Or the Chinese?”

“Try us!” the man said proudly.

The bored, balding man shrugged and scribbled something across the screen of his phone.  Then he said, in a very dry manner, “Right.  Looks like… oh yes, here it is.  The Philippines.  You’re up next.”

Chapter 168

6.q.

Commander Credit removed the section of cubicle wall.  Immediately beyond was a corridor, but it was unlike all the previous hallways. The light was dim.  After-hours dim, like an office at midnight. There was the occasional fluorescent bulb which cast its dull grey light.  Many of these sputtering, giving off a nervous flicker in the murky space.

The Union crept down the hallway, instinctively huddling close to Commander Credit and the greed-gun assurances of where the danger lay. 

The commander froze. 

He pivoted slightly and craned his ear at an odd angle. After a moment he lunged forward, grabbed a section of cubicle wall, and yanked it free. A small, runty man hissed at them, his body pulled into a tense ball as he crouched in an undersized recess. 

There was a collective intake of breath from the Union.

“Jesus!  What kind of freaky–” Business Woman started.

Before she could finish, the runty man sprang from his perch, snarling and swinging like a rabid baboon.  Several blows drum-rolled over various parts of Franklin Buck’s body, but before an “ouch” or a “hey” or even a doubled up grunt could be muttered, The Outsourcer had bounded away, landing on Demand’s shoulders, smacking and head-butting, then vaulting toward Senior Executive.

Commander Credit grabbed The Outsourcer by the scruff of the neck and was promptly dealt several slapping kicks to the face for the effort.  The Commander lost his grip and The Outsourcer hit the ground, handspring up and immediately cuffed Senior Executive across the temple.  He made a quick succession of twirling flips, growled, and disappeared into a hidden cubicle panel further down the corridor.

Corporate Man raced to the panel but when he opened it he found no tunnel, just a section of carpeted wall.

“What the hell was that?” Franklin Buck yelled his hands seeking injuries to sooth but unable to decide between the multiple options.

“Mr. Outsource,” Corporate Man said.

“Not these days,” said Senior Executive.  “Insists on being called The Outsourcer.”

“Well whatever he calls himself, he’s still a pain in the ass,” said Business Woman.

“He’s right here,” said Commander Credit.  He was standing at the opposite wall, about twenty yards down the corridor.  The final light on the greed-gun blinking red.  He tore the carpeted paneling away and held up his cybernetic arm.  A series of blinding flashes sparked from the end of his hand in a strobe of bug-zapper clicks.

There was s squealing, hissing sound.

Commander Credit shoved his hand into the hidden tunnel space, pulled out The Outsourcer, and slammed the runty man into the adjacent wall. The Outsourcer made a chocked sound, like a cat working up a hairball, and then groaned.  Commander Credit brought his knee up while thrusting The Outsourcer down.  The resulting collision caused a thick whitish spray to come spitting our of the runty man’s thinly mustached lips.

“There’s your little weasel,” Commander Credit said, tossing The Outsourcer down the corridor, toward the Union.  The runty man rolled, arms flailing, to a stop at Corporate Man’s feet.

Corporate Man grabbed The Outsourcer by the hair and yanked his head up so they were face to face.  A slightly startled, more than a bit concerned, look pinched Corporate Man’s face.

“This isn’t him,” he said.

“Looks just like him,” said Senior Executive.

“Except this guy’s Mexican,” Business Woman said, pointing to the bleeding man Corporate Man held.

“So,” said Franklin Buck.

“The Outsourcer’s a white guy,” she said.

“Who are you?” Corporate Man asked the man who was not The Outsourcer.  “What are you doing here?”

“Working.  Just working,” said the outsourcerish man.

“For whom?” said Senior Executive.

“Don’t know.  They pay me.  Ask for me to look like him.  Is all I know,” he said.

“Seriously?” said Senior Executive.  “Am I understanding this correctly?  The Outsourcer outsourced his own job to Mexico?”

Chapter 167

6.p.

The small, runty man fumed.  There would be firings.  Oh yes.  Someone wasn’t doing their job properly.  If someone had been keeping up with their assigned tasks then the Union would be in a mess of trouble at the southern end of the building instead of over here, standing on the other side of a cubicle wall from his position.  And what were they doing?  Just standing there with their mouths hanging open for all he could tell.  What’s with that?  Were they trying to piss him off?  Looking all stupid, as if to say “duh… we know where you are,” or something like that?

He fingered his pencil-thin moustache.  He’d have to take care of this himself.  Restaff the entire floor.  Move the operation overseas and find cheaper labor there.  But first, the Union.  Yes, he’d handle them himself.  In fact, he could do with some good, old fashioned work.  He still hadn’t blown off all that steam from his airport encounter yet.

The Outsourcer slinked down the corridor and disappeared into a small panel in the wall, and sulked like a hungry eel waiting in a craggy rock for oblivious fish.

Chapter 166

6.o.

“It’s done,” said Commander Credit.

Attached to the greed-gun was a small metallic dish comprised of several, individual, flower petal-like segments.  This was housed in a pivoting gear box and the whole assembly rotated and tilted and spun around.  There were tiny lights, half the size of push tacks, arranged in a strip around the base.  One the lights blinked green.

“We can get a sense of direction out of those… things inside the gun,” said Commander Credit.  He turned slowly until the second bulb in the series flickered.  The first bulb continued to glow but ceased blinking.

“This way,” said Commander Credit.  And they moved down the hall.

“There should be sound,” said Business Woman.

“What?” asked Commander Credit.

“Yeah, right,” Franklin Buck said.  “Like a deet, deet noise that gets quicker as you get closer.”

“That’s what the lights are for,” said Commander Credit.

“But you have to look at the lights,” said Business Woman.

“And the deet-deet-deet-deet would be exciting,” Franklin Buck added.

“Yeah.  You know what else would be exciting?” Commander Credit said.

“How do we know it’s sensing the correct greed source?” asked Corporate Man.  He had no trouble imagining a wide variety of very exciting acts Commander Credit was capable of inflicting upon the One Hundred Dollar Man.

“There’s only gonna be one source here,” said Fair Wage.  “Everyone is scrambling to keep their jobs.  They barely have time to fantasize about wealth much less be greedy.”

The Union continued to walk down the corridor, everyone eyeing the small lights on the greed-gun assembly.  Those, who could not see, politely jockeyed for a position in which they could.  All the clustering about irritated Commander Credit and he wished he would have installed some sort of audio alert on the device.

The next light blinked yellow.

They instinctively quickened their pace.  When they reached a T-junction at the end of the hallway they turned right, but the yellow light switched off.  So they went back and took the left passage, but saw the same result.

“Well, what now?” asked Franklin Buck.

“We go straight,” said Corporate Man.  Commander Credit removed the wall paneling at the hallway intersection.  On the other side of the panel three startled maintenance men stood frozen.  Their eyes wide.  Tools for assembling cubicle paneling about to drop from their hands.

“Gentlemen,” said Senior Executive.  “Don’t mind us.  We’re working on another project.”

The workers seemed to ease at this, comforted by the notion that these strangers were already employed and would, therefore, not be stealing hard one cubicle wall assembling positions.  Senior Executive continued to chat with the workers while Commander Credit replaced the paneling and then consulted the greed-gun.  When they moved out, Senior Executive handed the maintenance workers a few business cards and told them to keep up the good work.

This sequence of events repeated itself.

It was never the same location of panel wall that was removed and never the same set of workers they found on the other side. 

The greed-gun charged through its yellow sequence and was now a fiery red.

The Union stopped in front of a seemingly insignificant panel of cubicle wall, pausing with breath held instinctively for dramatic effect.

Chapter 165

6.n.

Halo rings and starburst effects danced on every possible reflective surface.  Things looked wet, for no other apparent reason than to quiver light into attention grabbing forms.  LED sensors glowed like molten lava and glass panes had deliberate substance and form as if to suggest a crystalline structure.

“It’s all about the look these days,” said a doctor wearing a gleaming white lab coat and excessively sparkling safety glasses.  “You also need gadgetry.  Sleek and stylized, not the overly bulky, look-at-the-size-of-my-penis gear that everybody used to go in for.”

“Like the arm, you mean,” said Commander Credit.

“Yes,” the doctor said, giving Commander Credit a reproachful look.  “But that was the look back then.  People were supposed to see that arm and know you had power.  That you were solid.  Substantial.”

“That my dick was big?”

The doctor sighed, his shoulders slouching, just enough.  “Anyway, we’ve redesigned the arm a few times over the years.  And now its not such an eyesore.”

“It’s still oversized-dick big.”

“Yes, well, the message still needs to come across.  And you need the room to store all your cool gadgets and open market accessories.  There’s a full maintenance kit in the shoulder, electrical parts in the bicep, motorized–”

“Yeah, yeah.  I get it.  Snacks in the forearm and juice in the elbow,” said Commander Credit.

“Vials of nutrient solutions actually.  And coffee.  For office visits.  You’re also hooked up with a modem, transaction terminal, etc.”

Chapter 164

6.m.

“Keep moving,” Corporate Man said as they turned another corner in the seemingly endless labyrinth of hallways.

“Why?  We’ll never catch them,” said Franklin Buck.  “They’re always just rounding the next corner every time we get to a new hallway.”

“I’m less concerned with catching up to the office workers that are avoiding us than I am over the half-naked ones that are trying to chase us down,” said Corporate Man.

When they reached the end of a long hallway, Franklin Buck looked behind them and saw a mob of angry, partially dressed, white-collar types charge into view.

“I think we need to go faster,” said Franklin Buck.

“No,” said Fair Wage, gasping for breath.  “I need to stop.”

“I know you’re tired–” Senior Executive started.

“It’s not that, it’s this underwear.  It’s bunching up.  I can’t take it anymore.”

“I think we need to go smarter,” said Corporate Man, stopping suddenly in the middle of the hall.  He reached inside his jacket and held out the greed-gun.

“What’s that?” asked Commander Credit.

“Pieces of The Greed,” said Business Woman.  “Gives an indication of where the nearest source of overt greed is located.”

“It doesn’t work all that well, though,” said Senior Executive.

“Give it to me,” Commander Credit said.  He snatched the toy gun from Corporate Man, held it in his normal hand, waving it back and forth, sensing the vibrations of The Greed pieces inside.

“Umm… We kind of need to hurry,” said Franklin Buck.  “You know.  Angry mob headed this way and all.”

For a moment Commander Credit didn’t move.  He didn’t even breath.  Then he bolted down the corridor, shouting for everyone to follow.  They raced around the next series of corners and long hallways at a furious pace.  When they reached a short, stubby corridor Commander Credit stopped in the center of it.  He shifted some levers and gears on his mechanical arm and then pressed it against one of the cubicle-like walls.  There was a whirring sound as he removed the bolts.

“Help me shift this wall into place and block off the hallway behind us,” he said. 

They pulled the wall section free.  Behind it lie another corridor.  At the far end of this corridor was a group of maintenance men who were busy disassembling and reassembling cubicle walls.  They looked at the Union with a start and began hurriedly reconfiguring their wall sections in order to seal themselves off from the surprise visitors.

Meanwhile, the Union shifted their wall piece into its new location and Commander Credit reattached it with the bolts.

“Hey!  I saw you guys down there,” Franklin Buck yelled.  Then, in a lower tone, “Should we go after them?”

“No,” said Senior Executive.  “They just work here.  We need to find the person in charge.”

“Well, now that we’ve got those office types off our backs,” said Commander Credit, “I think I can modify this greed-sensing gun into a more effective piece of hardware.”

Chapter 163

6.l.

Somewhere on the twenty-sixth floor a man in upper management reviewed the e-mail correspondence of his employees.  There was a great deal of traffic on the subject of “Underpants Tuesdays.”  He had no recollection of such an alternation of the dress code but quickly dismissed any growing concerns after seeing the phrase repeated, over and over again, in Arial and Times New Roman. 

What continued to nag at him was this adherence to Tuesday.  He was not aware that it was Tuesday.  Quite sure that it was, indeed, not Tuesday.  It upset him a great deal that his subordinates had received notice of this unprecedented modification to the weekly schedule and he had not.

In moments he had a plan  He would visit the office and honor the underpants aspect of the day and in so doing, he would demonstrate the degree to which he was informed on all office related matters.

Unfortunately, having been absent from the events leading up to the creation of Underpants Tuesday, he had no visual reference for what this new theme day might look like.  And so it was that he walked into the office wearing his tighty-whities over his pinstripe slacks.

A wave of e-mails concerning Superhero Tuesday flooded the office inboxes.

Satisfied Customers 9

Want to be Mexican royalty?  Corporate Man can help.  Take this satisfied customer for example.  He bought a copy of The Tragic Death of Corporate Man out of some sense of obligation and then, on a whim, he smuggled it across the border into Mexico.  He now owns 38% of the country with 82% of his holdings being in the most desirable locales.  How did he do it?  With the aid of a Google Translate he created a Spanish language edition of The Tragic Death of Corporate Man… with a slight cover modification. 

All of his business is done poolside these days and he’s never more than three steps away from his copy of the Corporate Man book.  Probably because he never actually learned Spanish and can’t read the edition that is responsible for his wealth.

Chapter 162

6.k.

“Where’d you get your clothes?” Business Woman asked as Supply approached the rest of the Union, clad in here trademark mauve and purple.

“One of these people bought it at an interoffice clothing store,” Supply said.  She gestured toward a glass door.  Through it, on the other side of the hallway and down a few paces, was the entrance to Dress For Success.

The Union went over to the clothing store and found a rack containing the rest of their suits and business attire.  Corporate Man didn’t intend to pay for the stolen merchandise but Senior Executive advised that it would be easier on everyone and offered up a credit card.  He insisted that Fair Wage pick out a pair of boxers or even briefs.  Anything that would create an under layer.

A mob of angry, half naked, office workers greeted the Union as they left Dress For Success. 

“So that’s your plan,” one of the mob said.  “Trick us all into non-compliant attire.”

“You’re trying to get us fired!”

“Hey, hey!” said a fully dressed twenty-sixth floor employee as he ran up to the gathering crowd. “I traced the e-mails.  Nothing about Underpants Tuesday came from any of the higher ups.”

“Oh I see it now.  We all get the ax and these guys take over our positions.”

Corporate Man smiled and adjusted his tie.  “Actually, we’re needed in another department on a different floor.  Sorry for the inconvenience.”

The half-naked office workers puzzled over this as Corporate Man and the Union walked away.

“I don’t believe him,” one of the mob said.  “They were in here checking out their new offices.  Calling dibs on cubicles.”

“Or signing contracts that would move our division to some other sector.”

“Yeah.  Like this ‘another department’ he was talking about.”

“Let’s get ‘em!” someone yelled and they charged down the hallway just as the Union was opening a door that led into a non-descript hallway.

Corporate Man spun around, glared at them, and said, “Did any of you clock out?”

They stopped.

After a moment one of them said, “What do you mean?”

“You can’t abandon your station and go storming out of the office.  That’s a waste of company time.  Management would not approve.”

  The mob of dress-code violators looked at each other, confusion and fear reflected in all of their eyes.  They scattered, like a flock of birds, and sped off to their cubicles to log out of the system.

Meanwhile, the Union slipped out of the office and disappeared down the non-descript hallway.

Chapter 161

6.j.

When Polly returned to the office she found that she had a decision to make.  Either she was well ahead of the curve, already dressed in her new outfit, poised to retain her job and therefore had to do nothing.  Or her mind had cracked and she should check herself into one of many in-plan psychiatric facilities because, as far as she could tell, everyone in the office was strutting around in their unmentionables.

Except for one older gentleman who was gallivanting about in his altogether.

“Excuse me,” said a woman Polly had never met.

Oh no.  She knew it!  They were being replaced.

“Where did you get that outfit?”

Polly looked down at her mauve and purple attire, feeling a bit overdressed.

“At… Dress For Success.  The shop down… What’s… What’s going on?”

“Didn’t you get the e-mail?  It’s Underpants Tuesday.  Come on.  I’ll help you get in compliance with today’s dress code,” the woman said and led Polly toward a nearby cubicle.  

Chapter 160

6.i

E-Mails travel quickly.  For example, an employee, overhearing a conversation between a fellow employee and a group of half naked individuals, might shoot an e-mail to multiple coworkers well before the individual conversing with the half naked group had a chance to return to his or her desk.  This e-mail may or may not relay information from the overhead conversation and might be worded in such a way that aspects of that conversation which should otherwise be questioned are presented in a manner that, instead, seems to provide confirmation of the material in doubt.

The recipients of this e-mail would probably forward their own set of e-mails, adding their comments, further diluting the truth of the actual conversation.

Then, by the time the employee originally conversing with the half naked group returned to his or her desk in a gasping, squawking, squeaking panic, he or she would definitely find his or her inbox crowded with messages concerning topics which he or she was otherwise confused about.  These e-mails would seem to corroborate the information provided by the group of half naked people and a quick glance at adjacent cubicles might reveal fellow coworkers hurriedly removing their clothing in an effort to comply with a new thematic dress code.

Chapter 159

6.h.

“Why don’t we post a man at each intersection and maintain line-of-sight contact,” Commander Credit said.  His suggestion was met with a lukewarm response.  Nobody thought separation of any kind would prove beneficial, especially now that they’d confirmed Corporate Man’s suspicions.

The corridors were shifting.

“We’ve got to do something,” Commander Credit continued.  “These hallways aren’t fixed and this constant rearrangement will keep us running around forever.  We know there are people here, but we only catch glimpses of them disappearing around corners.  And except for that psuedo-gym we haven’t seen any other rooms or offices.”

“Well what’s that?” Franklin Buck said, pointing to a door just inside a hallway behind Commander Credit.  A hallway which may, or may not, have been there moments before.  On the door, in big black blocky letters, was one word.

OFFICE.

There was a moment of silent thought in which the members of the Union glanced around at each other with puzzled but scrutinizing looks.  Almost in unison, they approached the door.  A murmur of office noises, including human voices, hummed on the other side.

“We’re not really dressed for this,” said Senior Executive.

“I don’t care,” said Fair Wage.  “My thighs are starting to bruise.”

He opened the “office” door and went inside.

A network of short cubicles spread out before him.  At first the general murmur maintained its constant, efficient hum.  Then a few employees milling around the coffee maker or walking toward the copy machine, caught a glimpse of the old man called Fair Wage.  The murmur softened and then it rose again as the word spread.  Those still in their cubicles popped up like prairie dogs to see what all the commotion was about.

After a few moments, there was silence.

“What should we do?” whispered Supply.

Corporate man shrugged.  “Act natural.”

“Yeah.  No problem for Fair Wage,” said Business Woman.

“Excuse me,” a man said as he submissively charged toward them.  He wore a light-blue sweater-vest over a white shirt, grey chords, and shiny black shoes. “Who are you?  Are you new hires?  We don’t have any positions open at present.  Were you sent by upper management? What are you wearing?  Sorry.  Amendment.  Why aren’t you wearing business casual?”

Corporate Man stepped forward and placed his arm over the nervous man’s shoulder.  This had an effect on the nervous man much like a shark fin cresting the water near a reluctant skinny dipper.

“What’s your name son?” Corporate Man said in a soothing tone.  This tone made the nervous man’s ass clench.  The use of the word “son” made him prickle with fear-sweat.

“Kevin,” he squeaked.

“Kevin,” Corporate Man said, even and monotone.  “Didn’t you get the e-mail?”

Kevin straightened up.  He was comfortable with e-mails.  Memos of any sort really.

“Have they added some sort of theme-day to the dress code?” he asked, secretly hoping it might be true.

“Yeah,” said Business Woman.  “Underpants Tuesday.”

“Really?  But today’s not Tuesday.  Is it?” said Kevin.

“Would we be in our underpants if it wasn’t?” asked Senior Executive. 

Kevin made a gasping, squawking, squeaky sound and then ran toward his desk.

Chapter 158

6.g.

Somewhere else on the twenty-sixth floor, things were quite stationary.  And tense.  It was always tense for the employees on the floor twenty six.  Their jobs were in constant danger of being given to another set of workers.  And today, there was a meeting scheduled for this afternoon. 

Nothing good ever came from meetings, Polly knew.

Bottom lines were discussed and new efficiency parameters would be introduced.  And that was if they were lucky.

In the murmur of office conversation she picked up some alarming snippets.

Moving the whole division.

Cause it costs the same to pay four of them as it does one of us.

And worst of all.

It’ll never happen.  We’re too important.  No one else can do our job.

She rushed out of the office to the Dress For Success shop down the hall.

Dress For Success was a small business dealing in office appropriate attire.  It thrived on an environment of ever changing dress-code policies offering a range of styles from business formal to business casual to business intentionally unkempt and/or sporty.  Their proximity to the offices on the twenty-sixth floor was quite convenient.  Unfortunate coffee spill?  Lunchtime marinara drips?  Accidentally wore blue-jeans on Thursday thinking it was Casual Friday?  They had you covered.  Even those feeling awkward at having dressed business formal on Casual Friday could find the standard denim bottoms and T-shirt with the humorous-though-still-appropriate saying on a rack in the back.

Polly needed something smart and distinctive.  Something that shouted: I’m extremely professional, very current (or was that called “hip” these days?), an asset to any company, you’d be very stupid to give my job away to anyone with lesser clothes.

A Dress For Success employee was hanging up some interesting items that, he claimed, had just come in.  There was a men’s suit in emerald green, a dark purple one with a mauve tie and–

She spotted it.  The perfect outfit.  A mauve skirt and jacket with a dark purple blouse.

Chapter 157

6.f.

Commander Credit was the only one fully clothed.  The rest of the Union stood around, shivering in their skimpies, waiting as their clothes dried.  Except for Fair Wage.  He wore no underwear as a rule and was, therefore, bare-assed naked.

“You know,” said Business Woman, “despite being old and wrinkly, you’ve still got a firm butt.”

Franklin Buck groaned and said, “I was hoping we could get through this without comments like that.”

“What?  It’s true,” Business Woman said grabbing Fair Wage by the shoulders and turning him so his backside faced Franklin.  “Look at it.  Tell me that’s not a fine piece of ass.”

“God.  Point that thing somewhere else.”

“You’d prefer the other side?” she said.  Corporate Man and Senior Executive tried to stifle laughter.

“Isn’t this sexual harassment?”

“Not at all,” said Fair Wage.  “I call it welcome attention.”

There was a round of laughter.  Then Supply and Demand went to the dryer to check on the clothes. 

“Convenient that this gym came equipped with laundry facilities,” Supply said, opening the dryer door.  The words she muttered next were quite foul.

The clothes were gone.

Also missing was the backside of the dryer.  In its place was a hole.  This hole led into a hallway.  The hallway looked exactly the same as all the corridors they’d been in on this floor already.

“Well,” said Corporate Man, “for the comfort of everyone involved, I suggest that Fair Wage be the last to climb through.”

“We’re really going in there?” asked Senior Executive.

“I don’t see any other choice,” said Corporate Man.

“We’re half naked,” said Franklin Buck.

“Not all of us,” said Commander Credit with a smirk, his hand gesturing subtly to his full wardrobe.

“Yeah,” said Fair Wage, without the smirk but with the same subtle gesture, “not all of us.”

“The longer we discuss this,” Business Woman said as she climbed into the dryer, “the further away our clothes will be.”

The rest of the Union climbed through the dryer and into the hallway on the other side.

Fair Wage went last.

There was an abundance of awkward running that followed as the Union tried to maintain modesty and support while hurrying down the corridor.  There was an uncomfortable slapping sound which they all tried to ignore but could not.  It subsided when Business Woman barked an order at Fair Wage insisting that he secure his assets.

The shambling crew ran down many hallways, sped around dozens of corners, made lefts and rights in all manner of combinations.

“There they are,” Corporate Man hissed.  Ahead of them a group of workers dressed in office casual disappeared around a corner.  The Union increased their speed and rounded the corner only the find a stubby, dead-end hallway with no doors.

“Uh…” said Franklin Buck.

“Wait a minute,” said Fair Wage with enthusiasm usually reserved only for those who received insider information.  “Were there towels in that gym?”

Everyone looked dumbfounded and guilty.  Like an investor brought up on charges for insider trading. 

“Hey, was that hallway there before?” asked Commander Credit, breaking the strange silence.

About twenty feet back the way they’d come was a doorway leading into another corridor.  Corporate Man examined it as though it was a heavily worded contract with slippery language and semantic traps.

“Did anyone see this as we ran by?” Corporate Man asked.

Shrugging was the unanimous response.

“All right people.  Eyes open.  Stay frosty.  I don’t think this place is as stationary as it might seem.”

Chapter 156

6.e.

The small, runty man hovered at the crack between the cubicle wall, his fist clenched and shaking.

“Go in!” he thought and he thought it with exclamation.  Why were they hesitating?  Isn’t this what one of them had asked for?  So, here it was and what were they doing?  Standing around thinking about it?

Just go in!

Finally, Corporate Man pushed the door open and peered inside.  He announced that it did appear to be a gym facility.

Of course it’s a gym facility!  That’s what the sign above the door states, doesn’t it?

Reluctantly, the Union entered the room designated Fitness Center and the runty man chortled to himself.

We are now open for business.

Chapter 155

6.d.

“When these doors open we need to be ready for anything,” Corporate Man said as the elevator rose toward the twenty sixth floor.  “After what we went through downstairs we should assume that everyone is hostile and expect extremely aggressive confrontations.  Hostiles might be right outside the door and swarm in on us like a bunch of brain-starved zombies.”

Though he made a conscious effort to fight the urge, Franklin Buck edged away from the doors to the back of the compartment.  The motion of the elevator slowed and then stopped.  Commander Credit cocked a lever on his square-barreled gun.  A tone sounded and a small circular light above the doors blinked on.  Everyone took defensive stances and held their breaths.

The doors whipped open and the Union leapt from the elevator, snapping into attentive corporate postures.

The reception area was empty.

No one moved.

Then shoulders slumped, karate-chop arms dropped to relaxing sides, and respiration resumed.  They looked around at each other.  Smiles eased on to tense faces.  Then everyone jumped back into defensive postures, prompted by no sound or visual disturbance of any kind.

As muscles eased once more, Business Woman said, “Can we just assume that attack is not immanent and begin our?  Let’s start by looking for a washroom since we’re all soaked from that sharky mess.”

 Supply went to the empty reception desk, thumbed through a few files, and then moved to the computer, jostling the mouse.

“What are you trying to find?” Senior Executive said.

“I don’t know.  I was hoping there’d be some kind of map or list of offices on this floor.  Maybe a cheat sheet the receptionist used to direct visitor to their proper destinations.  Or even one of those fire-drill maps detailing the correct exit paths.  So we wouldn’t have to make a random search.  Hey.  Look.”

The Union gathered around the computer.  Supply was pointing to the monitor’s wallpaper image.

“Yeah.  Just a crappy snapshot of some office workers,” said Franklin Buck.

“I know, but look at the sign by the door.  It’s a gym facility.  There might be towels and things,” Supply said.

“How can you be sure that this photo was taken on this floor?” Commander Credit asked.

“Well, look at the décor,” she said, gesturing to the cold, grayish-white walls, the taupish cubicles and the muted bluish floors.  Then she pointed at the image on the screen.

“That could be any office in America,” said Business Woman.

“No, it’s this one,” said Supply.  She looked at Corporate Man as though he might confirm her assertion.  He shrugged and pointed out that it didn’t matter, their needs were still the same.  Gym, bathroom, janitor’s closet, any of them would be better than nothing. 

They moved out, searching the corridors for any sign of a doorway but finding only cubicle walls or gaps in cubicle walls which led into cubicles or cubicle-lined corridors.

“Umm…  Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I’m beginning to think that something’s not right about all of this,” Franklin Buck said after they had wandered for nearly twenty minutes. 

“Figured that out did you?” said Business Woman.

“Well, yeah.  Every office has doors somewhere.  And I haven’t spotted a single one.  Or a window.  And where are all the employees?  I mean, someone’s gotta be work–”

He froze as they turned a corner into a long corridor.  It seemed to span the width of the building.  On the far side was a group of office workers.  They were rushing around the corner at that end of the hallway and were out of sight so quickly that not every member of the Union had a chance to see them.

“Hey!  Wait up!” Franklin Buck yelled.

Commander Credit slapped his hand over Franklin’s mouth.

“Quiet Dollar Man.  We don’t know if those are friendlies or not.  No need calling their attention when we can track them.  Understand?”

Franklin nodded and Commander Credit released him.

“Hundred Dollar,” said Franklin Buck.

“What?”

“It’s the One Hundred Dollar Man, not Dollar Man.”

“Yes.  Impressive,” said Commander Credit.  “But technically, shouldn’t that be the One Hundred Dollars Man?”

After a few moments of glare-off, the Union rushed down the long hall, whisper quiet, and braced themselves as they turned the corner.

There was nothing there.

Not only was the corridor absent of people, but it was absent of corridor.  Instead, there was a small alcove and a door with a sign that read: Fitness Center.

Chapter 154

6.c.

Many rumors circulate through the offices of the Jacob Center Tower.  Most are quite fanciful and far fetched, and inevitably fall short of the actual reality of what goes on inside that place.

It’s been said that there is a human shredder somewhere and that incriminating individuals who know too much soon discover its whereabouts.  And quite unwillingly. 

The pyramid shape capping the building is often the subject of rampant speculation as are the strange noises that emanate from the area that would be the thirty ninth floor.  Many say that they can hear strange bells ringing. 

Not much is said about the space comprising the twenty sixth floor.  Those working on floors twenty five and twenty seven often comment about the amount of scuffling that goes on in this adjacent space.  Many assume that there are rats. 

Whatever it is, it never stops moving.

Chapter 153

6.b.

“Move and I’ll jack your interest rate up so high you won’t be able to afford your minimum payment,” the trench coated man with the square-barreled gun said.  A puzzled look flashed across his face and he opened his mouth, as if to speak, but said nothing further.

Senior Executive pushed between the two men and said, “It’s Corporate Man.  He’s with me.”

The man lowered the square-barreled gun and said, “I… I thought you were dead.”

“Not for a lack of effort on their part,” said Corporate Man.

Business Woman stepped forward, put her hands on her hips, and eyed the man in the trench coat.  “So… Are you working for us or for them?”

“Me,” said Senior Executive.  “I hired him.”

“Um… Maybe this is a stupid question, but who is this guy?” Franklin Buck asked.

“Commander Credit,” said Fair Wage.  “An associate of a sort.”

“He’s kind of like a gun for hire,” said Supply.

“Yeah.  And his loyalties are fluid at best.  Aren’t they?” Demand added, glaring at Commander Credit.

“You still haven’t gotten over that?” said Commander Credit.  “What was that?  Two decades ago or more?  It was just business.”

“Maybe for you but–”

“Okay people.  Let’s put the past aside for a second and focus on the here and now,” said Corporate Man.  He looked at Senior Executive and nodded.

“I’ve been in negotiations with the good commander ever since I received the summons to the Break Room,” Senior Executive said, taking the visual cue from Corporate Man.  “We managed to finalize our agreement a few moments before the Union entered this tower.  It would have been nice to have his aid on this floor, but at least we’ll have some extra backup now.”

“Hey.  How’d you get up here anyway?” asked Franklin Buck.

“The elevator.”

“Wait, what about the stairs?”

“What stairs?”

“You didn’t climb that never ending staircase?”

“Why would I,” said Commander Credit.  “There’s an elevator.”

Franklin Buck blinked and looked abashed.  He opened his mouth.  Part of a syllable managed to escape, but then he closed his mouth again and looked away.

“How did you get past the retina scanner and the hand print identification?” asked Business Woman.

“Let’s just say that I’ve had dealings in this building before and benefit from past associations.”

The comments encouraged more than one glare.

“Why are you guys all wet?” Commander Credit asked.

“Can we just get into the elevator now?” asked Senior Executive.

Corporate Man seconded the idea and the Union joined Commander Credit inside.  Franklin Buck made an indignant gasp and gestured toward the panel of buttons.

“Is this… Are you telling me we didn’t need…  And the sharks and the crushing was…”

This continued as the elevator rose up to the twenty-sixth floor.

Chapter 152

The Tragic Death of Corporate Man

a hero for capitalism;

champion of the working class

by Tom Landaluce

Section 6:

This Section Title Has Been Outsourced. 

(we apologize for any inconvenience)

6.a.

The lighting was stark, as if no shades of grey existed between the swaths of black and white.  In the cramped room a man lay on a medical gurney, a blocky mechanical arm, recently attached to his shoulder, oozed a clear pus at the suture lines.  Antibiotics seeped from bruised flesh which extended halfway across his chest, up his neck to his ear, and down to his hip.

The man’s eyes were dilated and his lips cracked.  Tangles of wires and tubes from various medical and mechanical machines, life support and diagnostic, fell about him, draped from suspended equipment.  There was a smell, like axel grease and afterbirth. 

“Try wiggling your finger,” said a weasely looking man in a bright, shadowless lab coat.  His fingers clattered against the chunky buttons of roundish keyboards and ten-key pads.  A stream of green numbers filled the black screen of a small monitor, whirs and clicking noises sounded in accompaniment.

The index finger of the mechanical arm spasmed in a series of jittery clunks.

“Good.  When you have rested there is a battery of tests we need to run through.  It will take several hours but is quite necessary in order to properly calibrate your new arm.  As per your specifications, the imprinting mechanism–” the man in the lab coat paused and reached for a lever on the forearm of the mechanical appendage.  With noticeable effort, he slid it forward and then back again creating a distinct ca-chunking sound.  “–is functional.  A small housing underneath holds a maximum of twenty carbons.  Be sure to carry additional slips in a belt pouch.  It will serve you well in future business endeavors. Speaking of which…”

A form moved in the shadows and a silhouetted shape edged around the room.  It said, “Your upgrade was funded by an associate of mine and was done relatively free of charge.  He requires only a nominal monthly fee for the use of the equipment as well as a percentage of what you charge your clients for your services.  Additionally, when you are called upon to do a job for us, a discounted rate must be extended.  Wiggle that cybernetic finger if you understand and comply.”

At first, nothing happened.  Then the finger moved.

“Great,” said the man in the shadows.  “I’m glad this all worked out, Commander Credit.”

The shadowy man stepped into the light.

“I too have a military moniker.  You may call me Captain Apathy.”

Chapter 151

5.z.

Franklin Buck raced to Corporate Man’s side, hunching low in the ever constricting space.  Fair Wage had regained his footing and was helping Senior Executive stand.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Franklin Buck said, slap-tapping Corporate Man’s face.  “Inflation's out cold so there’s no one to stop it.”

Corporate Man rolled onto his knees and pressed his fingers into his temples, eyes squinting. 

“Report!” he called out.

“Demand is still secure and Supply has already shaken off the attack.  Their size ratios are equalizing,” said Business Woman.  “Fair Wage and Senior Executive seem viable.”

“I need an exit,” said Corporate Man.

“It’s that way,” Fair Wage said, pointing off into the flickering darkness.  “It’s quite far.”

“Then let’s move,” Corporate Man said.  

The Union lumbered off.  Fair Wage and Corporate Man each grabbed a corner of Professor Inflation’s cape and dragged the limp form.

It wasn’t long before they were forced to their hands and knees in the shrinking space.

“We’re not going to make it unless we lose the professor,” said Fair Wage, the floor pressing his back up against the ceiling.  Corporate Man did not hesitate and released his grip on Professor Inflation’s cape.

“Where is it, Fair Wage?” Franklin Buck called out.  He was well ahead of all the others.  “I’m at the corner of the room and there’s no ex–”

The floor fell away beneath him and Franklin Buck tumbled away into the darkness.  He screamed.  The sound was deafening in the cramped space.

“What just happened?” Corporate Man yelled.

“Franklin.  He disappeared.  Dropped through the floor,” said Business Woman.

“Into the sharks?”

“I don’t know.  Maybe.  Wait.  I hear him.  He says it’s okay.  We’re going in after him,” she said.  Business Woman, Supply, and Demand rolled into the void in the floor.  Senior Executive dropped in right behind them.

Corporate and Fair Wage were on their stomachs, army crawling, the floor still pressing upward, about to crush them into the ceiling.  They felt pressure on their chests and on their backs, friction now hindering their movements.

Then they toppled into the shaft and landed on something soft and spongy.

“Did everyone make it?” Corporate Man asked.

“Yeah, I think we’re all accounted for,” said Senior Executive.  “But where are we?”

A seam of light pierced the darkness as Fair Wage opened a door embedded in one of the walls.  The Union crept through opening, careful and cautious, and found themselves in a reception area.

“Good morning, and welcome to the offices of Incorporated Business Corporate Incorporated.  Section Thirteen here at Jacob Center Tower.  I’m Betty.  How may I assist?”

They froze. 

Most of the Union held their breath.

Betty didn’t seem to notice the awkward pause, nor did she seem eager to sprout blades from her fingers and attack.  Corporate Man finally took a breath and approached the desk.

“Well, Betty, we’re all finished here but they said we were needed upstairs.  Would you advise us where to go next?”

Betty smiled and said, “I suggest you take the elevator.”

She gestured toward a set of doors opposite here desk.  Corporate Man, expecting to see the entrance to a stairwell, was surprised by the elevator doors.  He thanked Betty and pushed the button marked with the upward pointing arrow.  The doors slid open and a man in a long trench coat flinched, his eyes flaring wide.  His hand flashed inside his coat and he shoved an odd, square barreled gun against Corporate Man’s chest.

Chapter 150

5.y.

In the lobby of the Jacob Center Tower a man in a long trench coat casually strolled toward one of the black corner columns of the building.  He removed an object from his coat.  It looked a lot like a credit card except there was a rounded bump in the center.  On the bump was a decal that resembled an eyeball.  It had cost this trench coated man a great deal to acquire the iris pattern.  He held it in front of the dark glass of the black column.  The man did not enjoy standing in this position because it made the asymmetry of his arms very noticeable.  He was pleased when the optical verification of the retinal scanner triggered and quickly lowered his arm.

The trench coated man put the card away and held the hand of his larger arm over the hand print identification area of the glass.  He’d also spent a fortune on the hand print graft. 

There was a hiss and a door slid open in the black column.  The man stepped inside.  The elevator was smooth, metal, and clean with plush emerald carpeting.  A slim vertical panel featured two quarter-sized buttons.  Below them was a series of smaller, pencil eraser shaped metal nubs.  The smaller buttons were inscribed with negative numbers.  On the two larger buttons were the numbers 13 and 26.

Using his smaller arm the man fingered a sequence into keypad embedded in his wrist.  He wanted to verify the funds transfer before committing. 

It was all there.

He didn’t grin.  Not really.  The thing that happened on his face was more like a grimace of barely detectible pleasure.  It was there for an instant and then it was gone again.

The man in the trench coat pressed the button marked 26.

Chapter 149

5.x.

Professor Inflation circled, his flickering image jittering in a wide arc.  Franklin Buck instinctively backed away, fearing that every flash of light would reveal a charging adversary.  The floor and ceiling were still converging but it was doubtful that he’d survive long enough for it to be a real concern.

“Pathetic,” said Professor Inflation.  “Your father never backed away.  Not once.  You’re not worthy to wear his tacky green suit.”

Franklin Buck stopped, his shoulders slumping slightly with shame.  Then, slowly, he raised his fists up in front of his face.

“Oh, that’s rich,” Professor Inflation said.  “Priceless even.  You’re ‘the dollar man.’  That might have meant something a long time ago.  When the dollar had more value.  Maybe if you were the One Hundred Dollar Man, or even the Ten Dollar Man, I might hesitate, might not do what I’m about to do.  But the Dollar Man?”

Professor Inflation moved with a slow deliberateness, making sure his actions could be seen in the strobing light.  He pressed a large button on his wrist gauntlet.  Marquee lights surged up and down the piping of the Professor’s pink suit and cape.

“Wow!  What a show huh?  You can see me now can’t you, Dollar Boy.  Are you ready?  You ready for what’s coming?”

Franklin had to hunch over as the floor continued to converge on the ceiling.  He squirmed a bit and answered, “I… I think so.”

Professor Inflation cocked his head and said, “Really?  Even with…” he gestured to the limp forms of the other Union members strewn about them.

“Well… Yeah.  I’ve been thinking,” the Dollar Man said.  “My name’s Franklin.  So why can’t I be the One Hundred Dollar Man?”

“Because that’s absurd,” said Professor Inflation.  “You can’t just suddenly declare that you have more value.  And change you name.”

Franklin Buck shrugged.

Professor Inflation charged.  A flicker image of the caped menace strobed through the dark, the marquee lights visible throughout the attack with the professor’s body disappearing into the black as the fluorescents blinked.

A snap kick flashed toward Franklin Buck’s head.  The image frozen in light one moment, gone in the following black; marquee piping continuing to trace the maneuver.  In the next burst of light Franklin Buck gripped Professor Inflation’s ankle, the kicking foot only four inches away from the Dollar Man’s face.  There was no change in the next few after images.  The two men remained locked in this stance for an eon of a heartbeat.  Then Franklin raised his free hand, elbow brushing against the ceiling, and called out, “Feel the crushing weight of ten thousand pennies!”

He hammered his fist across Professor Inflation's chest, driving the doctor of malign economics to the ever rising floor.  In the flickering light, Franklin Buck raised his hand again and said, “Fell the purchasing power of the One Hundred Dollar Man!”

The next hammering blow pounded the remaining wind from Professor Inflation’s lungs.  A third knocked all conscious thought from his brain.

Chapter 148

5.w.

Professor Inflation lobbed something toward Corporate Man and then ducked behind a column.  There were columns everywhere.  The entire floor was one gigantic space with hundreds of floor-to-ceiling columns throughout.  Long fluorescent bulbs, placed like grid work, illuminated the space with a sickly glow.

“Price Bomb!” yelled Corporate Man as he leapt aside. 

The object struck the ground with a metallic clunk, fastened to the floor like a magnet, and exploded soundlessly, sucking all the noise from the air.

Senior Executive held up his portfolio, shielding the Union from the Devalue-Void created by the blast.  Wind whipped around him, threatening to drag him forward into the financial sink but he held his ground and the Price Bomb fizzled out.

“Welcome to my lair,” Professor Inflation said from somewhere.  His voice echoed throughout the open space disembodied and threatening.  “And to your economic ruin.”

The professor dashed out from behind a pillar, reached up, slapped two silver discs on Supply’s knees, and dashed back behind another column.  From the discs came a high pitched breet and a flashing blue light.  Then sound, like a bug zapper, crackled as a high voltage charge buckled Supply’s legs and brought the towering woman to the floor.

She moaned and writhed.

Business Woman rushed forward to assist as Corporate Man tried to gather his team together amidst the confusion.  But it was too late.  Professor Inflation was out of the shadows again, attacking.  He grabbed Franklin Buck, pinning the newest member of the Union’s arm behind his back and jabbing a large needle under his chin, up into his jaw. 

Franklin screamed.  This caused the needle to jerk and scrape around inside him.  This caused him to scream even more.

“We are not having a stand off,” Professor Inflation said, pulling Franklin Buck in tight like a human shield.  “I will suck the value from this man with my liquidating needle.  I merely pause for dramatic effect and to tell you that I have a plethora of wonderful implements with which I will dismantle all of you.  As for this gentleman–”

But Professor Inflation didn’t finish.  His hand remained motionless on the plunger of the hypodermic needle as a diamond card pressed against his Adam’s apple.

Fair Wage rose up behind the Professor and said, “I’m immune to your tricks Inflation.”

Professor Inflation smiled, “ That may be, but I doubt your friends can claim protection against… RISING COSTS.”

There was a shudder throughout the floor and a pneumatic hiss steamed from all the columns in the room.  Then the floor moved, rising slowly towards the ceiling.

“And so the financial pinch will crush you all,” Professor Inflation intoned, gesturing in triumph with his velvety gloved hands.

Fair Wage snorted dismissively.  “That old bit.  Won’t work Professor.  You’ll have to come up with something better than that.”

Professor Inflation’s smile widened.  Then he feigned a look of puzzlement and said, “Oh dear me!  You wouldn’t, perchance, mean something like… this?”

He clapped twice with pink gloved hands and the lights went out.  A surge of panic coursed through the dark.  The Union Members called out to each other but everyone was speaking at the same time. 

“I’ve lost him,” shouted Fair Wage.

“Quiet everyone!  Center on my voice,” said Corporate Man.  “And move to my position.  Business Woman?  How’s Supply doing?”

“Recovering.”

“Can she hold the crush of this fiscal death trap?”

“I’m trying,” said Supply, “but the force is too great.”

“Where’s Inflation?” said Senior Executive.

“If I’m north and you’re south, he’s to the west of us,” said Corporate Man, holding the greed gun in his hand.

“Interesting,” came Professor Inflation’s voice.  “I’m not quite sure how you did that.  Doesn’t matter.  Useless.  I had no intention of killing you in the dark anyway.”

A bright light strobed, leaving freeze-frame images of the Union members imprinted on the successive blackness.  In the flickering of images the caped form of Professor Inflation rushed in from the concealment of the columns and surrounding dark.  The attack came in the space of three strobes.  On the first flash he was on the periphery.  On the second he was in amongst them.  The third flash revealed the decommissioning punch, or chop, or kick.

By the fourth strobe, he was gone.

One by one the Union members fell to Inflation.  Fair Wage was not taken directly, but toppled under the limp form of Senior Executive after the Professor had hurled him toward the old man in the ragged brown suit.

Corporate Man used the Greed-Gun to locate Professor Inflation’s position.  He turned to face his flamboyant attacker, dodged the first punch and swung a retaliatory blow, but when the light flashed on, his fist swept through empty space.  Inflation had Corporate Man in a submission hold before the light went out again.

“Down with the Union.  Down with Corporate Man,” said Professor Inflation.  He jabbed a knuckle into Corporate Man’s temple.  Corporate Man crumpled to the floor. 

Professor Inflation chuckled, low and maniacal, then said, “And now all that’s left is you… Dollar Man.”