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The concluding volume of The Tragic Death of Corporate Man: a hero for capitalism; champion of the working class is available now.  Go to https://www.createspace.com/4148636 and order a copy now.  If you find yourself way out of the cool-loop and still need volume one, here's the link for it as well. https://www.createspace.com/3903289 

Chapter 181

7.a.iv.

“How much longer do you think it will take them to reach the top?” asked Business Woman.

Senior Executive shrugged.  Corporate Man and Commander Credit had gone on ahead, climbing the metal-rung ladder into the darkness above while the rest of the Union waited on top of the false elevator at the bottom of the shaft.  Discussions had lead them to a conclusion that this was the best course of action considering their experience with the ever descending staircase between the lobby and the thirteenth floor.

Senior Executive reviewed his portfolio on his smart phone and Business Woman chatted with Supply, their discussion often returning to the relationship of Supply and Demand.  Demand tried to ignore them but couldn’t help feeling irritated by divulgences of matters he considered personal in nature.

A beep sounded on Senior Executive’s phone.

He read the text and said, “They’ve made it.  They’re on the 39^th floor.”

There was a feeling of relief and an urge to celebrate.  This was immediately crushed by the realization that they now had to undertake a dark, thirteen story climb up a ladder of metal rungs.

Chapter 180

7.a.iii.

Also in the dark, but in the other direction, was Franklin Buck.  And he was falling.  Not straight down a shaft, but in a curling tube, like a water-park slide, only much steeper.  And without the benefit of the water.  Or the enjoyment.

The slide didn’t alter its course, remaining on a continuous downward corkscrew.  The friction had burned for the first few minutes but the tube walls eventually became greasy.  This decreased the burning sensation but increased the speed of his descent.  With the added velocity came the nausea.  He’d been falling long enough to be sick once already and he could feel t queasy roiling in his stomach return.  Still, at least it didn’t burn so much anymore.

He felt bad for the next person to fall down this tube.  They’d have to slide through his puke.  Then his mind, through a process of deduction, pieced together a solution to a question that was, he hadn’t realized, nagging him.

Where had the grease in this tube come from?

The solution that assailed him involved the breakdown and decomposition of vomit ejected by previous riders of this dark corkscrew drop.  The greasy smear that would result.  And he was forced to admit that there was a dank stench in this place.  He was also forced to endure another set of wracking heaves as his stomach added to the lubrication all around him.

Chapter 179

7.a.ii.

“We can’t just leave him,” Business Woman shouted.

“He’s gone, sister.  There’s nothing we can do for him,” said Commander Credit.

“Lift up this ladder and let’s go down there.”

“Can’t.  It’s sealed off.  Frozen.  Probably by an electro magnet or something,” the Commander said.

“So we abandon him?”

Commander Credit said nothing.

“What about Fair Wage,” asked Supply.  “Do we go on without him, too?  Without trying to help?”

There was a long moment in which none of them spoke.  Then Commander Credit said, “They’re both dead.  We press on.”

“We don’t know that,” said Supply.  “Fair Wage could be–”

“Torn in half,” said Commander Credit.  “From the inside out.”

“But he could–”

“No,” said Corporate Man.  “He’s dead.  Fair Wage is gone.”

“And Franklin?” asked Business Woman.

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do for him now,” said Corporate Man.  “Come on.  We should keep moving.”

He climbed the metal rung ladder up through the elevator’s ceiling and disappeared into the dark.

Chapter 178

The Tragic Death of Corporate Man

a hero for capitalism;

champion of the working class

by Tom Landaluce

Section 7:

Bull/Bear, the Crash, and the Bowels of the Building.

7.a.i.

When considering the urban myths attributed to floors thirteen, twenty-six, and thirty-nine, a special note should be made about the layout of the floors immediately above and below floor thirty-nine. Specifically floors thirty-seven, thirty-eight, forty, and forty-one. 

Architecturally, there is no reason for these floors to be devoid of central offices and corridors.  If one could locate accurate blueprints of the Jacob Center Tower the impression one might get is that middle section of each floor is, indeed, accessible.  However, if one found themselves exploring, they would be hard pressed to locate any office space occupying that area or any hallways traversing this central region.

The phenomenon is less obvious on the thirty-seventh and forty-first floors as the diameter of this inaccessible space is much smaller than the floors above and below, respectively.  It has been reported that as one nears this middle ground one can detect the sound of ringing bells and a clamor akin to the applause of a sporting event.  This has led to a belief that this central space houses a secret horse track and the bigwigs entertain large groups of foreign investors at illicit racing events.  Suspiciously absent, though, is the odor of horse manure.  This casts the horse track theory into question amongst those concerned.

Chapter 177

6.z.

“Mexico.  Philippines,” Senior Executive said into his phone.  “Project Exodus.”

There was a flurry of motion as wall panels popped away, shifted position, and slammed into place creating a long, wide corridor.  When the motion ceased a straight hallway, leading to a door with an exit sign above it, lay before them.

“So… Care to explain?” asked Franklin Buck.

“Oh it’s quite simple,” said Senior Executive.  “The more you outsource key positions or departments to alternate work forces or companies, the more you devalue the primary business.  This makes it susceptible to take over by its own subsidiaries.”

“Meaning?”

“I offered the maintenance workers higher paying positions with my newly formed cubicle-wall installation and removal business.  Once I controlled enough of the workforce, I used my contacts to engage the Outsourcer stand-ins and formed another company employing them.  Then, when enough Outsourcers were on board we… Well let’s just say we terminated our contract with current management and now hire ourselves out on an independent basis.”

 “You know, that’s great,” said Business Woman, “but do you think, maybe, we can get out of here and the two of you can discuss business strategies later?”

Senior Executive bowed slightly and gestured toward the exit.

The Union did not hurry down the hallway, but they didn’t walk at a leisurely pace either.  As they neared the exit a faint noise came bleeding through the walls and the floors hummed beneath their feet.  Franklin Buck put his ear to wall but said nothing of the frothy pig sounds and labored breathing that he heard.

Through the exit was a small room with a set of elevator doors.

“I’m hoping this isn’t the elevator that brought us up here,” Supply and Demand said in unison.  “The one that didn’t go any higher than twenty-six.”

The doors opened and they crowded inside, each noting the single button on the small metal panel.  The number thirty-nine was engraved upon its surface with an arrow pointing up.

“That’s a relief,” said Franklin Buck, stepping up to the panel and pushing the button.  “Though I wouldn’t mind going back down and getting out–”

But he never finished his sentence.  A trap door opened up beneath his feet and he fell screaming into a dark shaft. 

Corporate Man dove at the hole, but the trap had snapped shut.  He clawed at it ineffectively.

“Push it again,” he shouted.  “We’ve got to get him out of there.”

Business Woman pressed the button again and a trap door opened, but not the one in the floor.  This one was in the ceiling.  It swung open and smacked Demand in the back of the head.  A metal ladder slid out of the hole and clanged against the floor, obstructing the downward passage, sealing them off from the One Hundred Dollar Man.

Chapter 176

6.y.

The Outsourcer sauntered down the corridor and into a room full of half-walled cubicles.  They wouldn’t be tracking him now, and the ones the greed-creature didn’t dispatch, he would hunt down at his leisure.  But for now, he was going to take a well earned coffee and cigarette break in his office.

There were two letters on his office door.  M and E.  It used to read MINE, but he found the message came across just as clear this way and only cost half as many letters.

He opened the door and walked inside, but it wasn’t his office.  The room was empty and the walls were bare.  The only distinctive features in the space were three doors at the opposite side.  The Outsourcer swore and turned to storm out but his office door no longer led into a room of half-walled cubicles.  There was a stubby, dead-end hallway there instead.

“Hey!  Assholes!” the Outsourcer shouted.  When an attendant did not appear at his summons he turned toward the three doors and walked to the one on the left.

He took a deep breath and opened it.

The attention of more than thirty Chinese Outsourcer stand-ins flashed toward him, their faces fierce, eyes flared. 

“You peckers better get back to–”

They hissed and charged at the door.  The Outsourcer slammed it shut and raced to the door on the right.  Behind it, poised and ready to pounce, were fifty of the Outsourcer stand-ins from India.

They surged forward, screaming.

The Outsourcer staggered back, groped for the handle of the middle door, and fled inside.  An empty, extremely long hallway lay before him.  The Outsourcer ran down it as fast as his stubby legs would carry him.

He risked a glance back, positive that a mob would be right behind him, but the corridor was empty.  There wasn’t even a door.  He continued running.  At some point he became aware of a thundering, chortling sound which grew louder the further he ran.

The end of the hallway was still an agonizingly long way off, but that didn’t prevent the Outsourcer’s bowel from giving way a little bit when the furious greed-creature rushed around the corner, howling with rage.

Chapter 175

6.x.

“What was that?” Franklin Buck asked.  They were approaching a hallway intersection.  Behind them the foul, monstrous Greedy-Wage clattered and smashed walls and continued shouting and making horribly offensive noises.

“Just a little something… businessy,” said Senior Executive.  His smart phone trilled again and he answered, “India.  What’s the good word?  Fantastic.  Stand by for further instructions.”

After several short conversations, uncountable hallways and cubicles, and an unbearable symphony of wet howls from the pursuing greed-beast later, Senior Executive lifted his smart phone to his mouth and said, “Signal hallway maintenance. Project Greed.  Signal India and China. Project Outsourcer.”

Senior Executive stopped running.

“What are you doing?  Go!  Go!” shouted Commander Credit.

“It’s all taken care of,” said Senior Executive.  He turned, facing back the way they had come and the approaching, flailing creature that Fair Wage had become.

The Greedy-Wage thing roared and launched into a renewed sprint, slamming the walls with its moist, mealy appendages.

“Junior!  No!” shouted Corporate Man.

Senior Executive glanced over his shoulder, the greed-beast bearing down on him.  He flashed a quizzical grin and said, “Junior?  Really?”

The hallway between Senior Executive and the Greedy-Wage thing exploded with an inward shifting of carpeted panels and maintenance workers.  The passageway was quickly reassembled leaving a wall on the far side of Senior Executive.  It shuddered from a sudden, violent impact, but held.  A chortling roar erupted from the other side and a series of pounding, squelching thumps banged futilely and eventually fell silent. 

Another bellowing roar preceded a thundering, clumping sound as the Greedy-Wage beast barreled away down a newly configured corridor.

“They’ll keep him moving for a long while,” Senior Executive said, turning toward the rest of the Union. 

“How did you…” Franklin Buck started and then fell silent.

“What about The Outsourcer?” asked Corporate Man.

Senior Executive shrugged.  “India and China.”

Chapter 174

6.w.

“What’s happening to him?  What’s going on?” Franklin Buck squeaked.

“Take a guess.  You saw what we saw,” Business Woman said.  “Those things are inside him.  Nothing good’s coming that’s for sure.”

Fair Wage threw his head back, his arms shot out from his side, strained and epileptic.  There was a tearing, ripping sound, like perforated paper, splitting pant seams, and high pressure flatulence.

He screamed.

His body spasmed, slammed back against a carpeted wall, fingers digging into the fibers.  Fair Wage’s eyes went wide and pleading, glancing at his teammates, bouncing from face to helpless face.

A soft whimper.

Then a paralyzed silence.

A gash tore him open from crotch to throat, splitting his chest wide.  A noxious gas and a mist of vaporizing blood sprayed from the ragged wound.  A brown mass convulsed inside Fair Wage’s torso and then it climbed out roughly leaving a skin husk in a frayed brown suit on the floor beneath it.

The mass had a face and terribly greedy eyes.  When it spoke it used the voice of Fair Wage only deeper and choked with gurgles. 

“I feel…. Better,” it said.

“Fight it Fair Wage.  You can–”

“Fair Wage?” the thing growled.  “Not hardly.  I want more!”

It roared and in that terrible moment its mass doubled, swelling until its head nearly touched the ceiling and it’s outstretched arms pressed against the sidewalls.

Corporate Man stood his ground and yelled, “You’re the best of us Fair Wage.  The honest one.  The–”

A squelchy, slapping thud snapped through the corridor as a big messy greed-infected fist slammed into Corporate Man, hurtling him down the long hallway where he nearly collided with Franklin Buck.

Franklin Buck, not needing any sort of physical prompting, had turned and run at the moment the Greedy-Wage first chortled its initial sentence.  The rest of the Union adopted The One Hundred Dollar Man’s tactic and broke into a sprint in an effort to catch up to Franklin, though their main goal was undoubtedly to increase their market share in distance from the horrible greed-thing.

They scooped up Corporate Man in mid-stride.

The Greedy-Wage chased after them, howling and snarling its belchy-farty sounds and threats.

“Franklin!” Business Woman yelled as they closed the gap on him.  “Get back there and stop that thing with your powerful pennies.”

“Screw you!” Franklin called back without actually turning around.  “I don’t see you doing a whole lot.  Any of you.  I mean what the hell?  We’re economic superheroes.  Why are we just running around chasing and fighting instead of doing something businessy?”

“Business isn’t all about copper coinage,” said Senior Executive as they caught up with Franklin.  They raced around a two tight corners, through a small set of cubicles, and down another hallway.

“Well, what else is it then?” Franklin Buck asked, panting.

“Oh there are all kinds of hostile maneuvers and power plays.”

“Like retreat,” said Business Woman.

“When it’s tactically advantageous,” said Corporate Man.  His breathing was rough, but his speed hadn’t suffered from his encounter.

“Yes.  And there’s negotiation, acquisition, merger, and–” Senior Executive said but was cut short by a loud trilling breet from his smart phone.

“Mexico.  Are we go?” he said into the device.  After a moment he added, “Good.  Stand by for instructions.”

Chapter 173

6.v.

He wasn’t quite sure if he could hear the sound through the microphones of his surveillance system or if his mind simply imagined it from the reactions of all the people on his monitor screen.  It didn’t matter.  The Big Bossman had heard that sound before and understood what it meant and the utter terror it inflicted on those in the vicinity.

And he smiled.

The next part would be entertaining, he was sure.  Lots of panicked fleeing and property damage.  The inevitable loss of life; perhaps even some limbs.

Cocoa.  He needed some hot cocoa for this.  Perhaps a little nip of rum in it.  And a cookie.  Preferably shortbread.

Chapter 172

6.u.

“Let’s try something different this time,” said Commander Credit.  How about we all go on the offensive?  Not just me.”

His comment was met with looks of bitter assent and the Union fanned out into practiced positioning, ready to engage preplanned maneuvers. 

Franklin Buck had to fake it.

Commander Credit pulled open the panel and Corporate Man lunged through the opening.  But there was no one behind the wall.  Business Woman and Senior Executive spun into defensive postures, facing empty hallways, expecting panels to shift and Outsourcer proxies to pour in.

“I don’t get it,” said Commander Credit.  According to this reading, we’re right on top of him.”

There was a subtle shift in the stance of each Union member.  Their attention turned to the ground beneath Commander Credit’s feet.

No one breathed.

They shifted, ninja-like and in unison, positioning themselves around Commander Credit.  Corporate Man and Business Woman leaned down and carefully felt for a trap door; a secret panel.

Senior Executive and Fair Wage arranged themselves behind Business Woman.  Supply and Demand acted as backup for Corporate Man.  Franklin Buck instinctively took up the covering position for Commander Credit in case the attack came there and felt proud of himself for doing so.

Corporate Man found a seam in the industrial carpeting and mouthed a countdown to Business Woman.  On three he tore the carpeting away and Business Woman lurched forward, fists cocked.

But there was only sub-floor and glue remnants beneath the carpet.

“Jesus you guys,” said Franklin Buck.  “Made my ass all clenchy with that–”

The ceiling panel above Commander Credit shattered and The Outsourcer dropped onto the shoulder of the cybernetic arm, hammering with fists and feet.  He snatched the greed-gun, leapt onto Senior Executive, delivering a kick to Business Woman on the way.  He chopped Senior Executive on the neck while thrusting a foot into Corporate Man’s chest, then dove onto Fair Wage, smacking both Supply and Demand while in mid air.

The Outsourcer wrapped his legs around Fair Wage’s throat and shouted, “Don’t move or I’ll snap his neck.”

The Union froze.

Cautiously, The Outsourcer examined the greed-gun, tightening his choke hold when Fair Wage tried to move.  Then he sniffed the air.  His eyes pinched with a sudden realization and he snuffled the greed-gun, an enthusiastic chortle escaping his throat.

“I know what this is,” he said in an oily voice. 

Fair Wage groped at the legs wrapped around his neck.  The Outsourcers nonchalantly reached down and flicked Fair Wage’s nose.

“I know what’s in here,” he said and slammed his fist into the toy gun.

Corporate Man and Business Woman surged forward but The Outsourcer tightened his leg-grip and hissed, “Back!  Back!”

The small, runty man fished the greed chunks out of the ruined toy gun and held them like a fistful of dirty dollars.

“I wondered what happened to him,” said The Outsourcer, jostling the pieces as if estimating their weight.  “Do any of you truly comprehend what it is that you’ve brought here?”

The Outsourcer unclamped his legs and yanked on Fair Wage’s hair.  The old man screamed but his call was silenced.  The Outsourcer forced the remnants of The Greed into Fair Wage’s mouth.

It was like cookie dough mixed with hair and mashed up spaghetti squash.  It tasted like filthy pinched pennies and the greasy collar sweat of unscrupulous financiers.  It stank of exploitation and cow manure.

A dozen cubicle walls flew open and a score of Outsourcer stand-ins rushed into the corridor slapping and hissing.  The ensuing struggle between the Union and the Outsourcers was violent and brief.  This was not because one side decisively triumphed over the other, it was because the fight was merely a diversion set up to grant the actual Outsourcer his escape.  The altercation was cut short when a near seismic gurgling noise erupted somewhere deep within the body of Fair Wage.

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.