Park "The Shark" didn't scare you more than any of the other doctors at the Pitt. If they had to put on the grey scrubs and face the anger of patients first, they'd crumble. Well…the shithole ones anyways. You didn't expect to become the replacement charge nurse for night shift while Lena took a much-deserved road-trip along the interstate highway. You had no idea which one.
You were the youngest charge nurse in the Pitt's--(hell, probably in the whole damned institution's)--history.
You were ready to defend your position while keeping other nurses safe and supported.
Tension still brewed, as was the way in such a hectic work environment, and, the night shift crew knew you ready to back them up. After working in the "witching hour" of the Pitt for nearly two months, when you received the news from Dr. Chen that--due to 'nursing shortage'--your energy and capacity were needed during the day shift you were pissed.
Dana was kind, familiar--Lena had tasked her with gathering intel on how good of a job you were doing while was she was away--enough for you to semi-adjust to waking hours.
The most infuriating part of your job was each and every interaction with "the Shark". What others saw as silent genius you saw as a blunt uninterest. It was as if he had pissed all over ortho to warn off the school of fish that were the new residents and medical students itching for his position, that he had fangs to show.
Hasiera had spun around an entire cycle since Walmer infiltrated the oil rig; what the aliens called a year had been enough time for the cephalopod to ingrain himself into the platoon. At first, he always kept himself in the background, trying to blend in, failing miserably as every attempt at sabotage paradoxically turned into something in the driller’s favour.
When he started, his first plan was to make holes all around the infrastructure, hoping the crimson rays would fry up everyone inside the rig. It turned out that the aliens loved the sunlight; instead of drying up upon exposure, they rejoiced and sealed the openings with a transparent material. The crew’s productivity skyrocketed by 10% after that. Nevertheless, he did not fret; changing plans was something he predicted could happen with such disturbing creatures, and he was prepared. He followed with plan B, sure to get them this time.
To his surprise, he failed once more. The second idea was to make the aliens eat the bottom crawlers found at the coral reef, shrimp"like creatures that no civilized Nautilus would ever use as a food source. Not only because they were disgusting animals that crawled around eating anything dead or rotting, but also because, as the bright blue of their chitin shells hinted, they were highly poisonous. Expecting the same reaction from the riglings, he fished for the crustaceans in his regular form, taking plenty for everyone to eat, then brought them to the cooks in his human disguise. Looks were shared, skepticism rose, but in the end, their curiosity won, and at dawn, the blue shells, which turned a reddish purple upon being cooked, were served.
He sat and observed expectingly, having rejected the curious dish for what he had deemed as the only safe and nutritiously valuable food the rig could offer; the mushy protein bars whose texture and flavor were not far off from the marine snow he regularly enjoyed. He waited as everyone around him ate, at first with skepticism and then with unrestrained joy, as if the crawlers were a delicacy to gorge on, and had Walmer not been a soldier, he would have probably felt queasy with the scene. He stood by for hours after the feast, everyone congratulating him on his discovery, he took the taps on the back begrudgingly, just hoping the venom in their systems would make them drop already.
They did not, two hours had turned to four, four hours turning into six and they kept on with their labour, the pesky things refused to die, and as if mocking his failure, next meals included more of the beady eyed seafood. Another failure, but he still had more contingency plans, they were not going to stay on his planet any longer. He did not sleep, he did not take whatever the riglings meant as “days off”, and he kept on working in disguise, doing every single task given to his persona in order to research the alien structure, seeking to find anything exploitable that his team down under may have missed. He kept coming up with plans in the mornings, executing them in the afternoons, his luck getting twisted by evening and by night, he snuck out to the sea to report his findings to his leader and his miserable failures. It was getting irritating.
At the blink of his pin hole eyes, what the aliens called months had passed, six of them to be precise. Six months accumulated of progressively more ridiculously calculated ruses turning sour for the runt, and quite sweet for the invaders. He persisted, the situation at the bottom fueling his resolve. Things were turning even more dire as a dark liquid with iridescent hues was reportedly seeping out from the bottom, the drill was poisoning what remained of the destroyed Fall, slowly rising over the water column, seeking to infest everything else. The first emotion Walmer felt in the oil rig was rage, as the riglings celebrated what he overheard as a “promotion”, his home was becoming more and more ill as their parasitism wrecked all that he knew, and they dared to be celebrating.
Six months turned into eight, eight months turned into ten. It turned out the promotion celebrated was his, he had become the so"called leader of the roughnecks accidently due to his “outside the box thinking” and his influence in bringing production up by 30%. His duties doubled and something called “pay” supposedly did too, he did not care for that. He did not sleep, he did not take breaks, he just worked, going on and on with his façade during his fourteen hour shifts, only for the rest of the time to be filled with trying to come up with new plans to get rid of the invaders, Or how they called themselves, “humans”. Even with the information extracted from the hostage held captive by the Nautilus civis, regardless of all the inputs his subordinate clicked into his ear through his obsidian earring, no plan was coming to fruition inside the oily steel walls. Desperation was creeping up, that was the second emotion he learned to feel at the rig.
Walmer had at last ran out of ideas, his entire nervous system fried up from staying in constant alert, accumulated exhaustion and all the new attention directed towards him. One of the things that contributed to his deteriorated state was a rigling custom that frustrated him endlessly, the fleshy annoyances loved to make physical contact all the time, handshake this, tap on the back that. It made his senses go mad, the endless touching was becoming unbearable and apparently, it was increasingly required for his role. Not only that, but the rig’s bosses started breathing down his neck for more reports and asking for more growth, insatiable for what they already had, they called him no matter the hour or place, there was not a time he was not watched. Getting out to make an in squid reports was beginning to be difficult.
In contrast, in his species customs, physical contact was exclusively used for important situations, like the decisive stroke of a courtship or for transferring information electromagnetically, anything else was simply unnecessary, vulgar even. Staring was also a no go, especially long sustained watching, as it was seen as a sign of challenge. The humans were insufferable in both aspects, making it that in all his five centuries of life, they were the first creatures that had managed to stir up as much annoyance in him; not even the Colio colony, which he infiltrated during the Substrate War a century ago, was this different and invasive. He resigned himself, tired, battered by endless shifts of excruciating labour followed by more excruciating hours of desperation on his and his civis part, things were getting worse every single day at sea, and everything he did against it only seemed to prolong it. The third emotion he felt at the rig was guilt, guilt for not being able to do anything to get the leeches off faster from his ocean.
At last, an idea came, since sabotaging the vessel proved unsuccessful, maybe rising through the ranks could land him high enough to call off the entire operation, he just needed to blend into his new role better. He had just learned about the concept of bureaucracy from the alien chats he overheard, it seemed simple to manipulate. As always, he did not sleep, he did not rest, he just fueled himself with protein bars and kept up his act.
His repeated disregard for the body he borrowed started to take its toll, dark circles forming under the blue eyes that were not his, white hairs bloomed between the stolen golden locks and growing facial hair, he looked dishevelled as the once neat hairstyle he dawned became more messy, wild strands coming out and obscuring his face. The body he puppeteered was feeling increasingly heavier and sluggish with every passing day, its shape sometimes changing in little ways that if not careful, could compromise his entire cover; the tattoos changed places, sometimes being forsaken entirely, the color of his skin sometimes showing disturbingly unsaturated pale. Those aesthetic elements were usually kept up by a conscious effort on his second brain, but it seemed that its performance was wavering. Not only was his first and second brain tired, his entire chain of cerebral ganglia was just as exhausted. He continued on, he had to.
For his new plan, he only did things that he considered were worthy of another one of those promotions. First on his list was to switch out all the new menu items for the protein bars, since they were more nutritiously and in his boss’ words, cost effective; secondly, he also cut off the three meal routine of the rig for a one meal a day deal, it was more logical, why spend time eating multiple times when once was more than enough; and lastly, he reduced break time by half, certainly 30 minutes saved would be beneficial to the company and the employees. The bosses heard all those suggestions and implemented them gladly.
It was not beneficial for the worker aliens though, none of it was. At twelve months, he was called to the second building where the bosses’ meeting room was, he expected his promotion. Arriving at the spacious office, it was the size of two of the roughneck’s sleeping quarters combined, he planned to make it his soon enough and downsize it, nobody needed that much space for bureaucracy, it was not efficient. He entered without knocking, they were expecting him, why would he knock? Barging in, they all had stopped talking upon his arrival.
A bunch of unsurprise faces he recognised from his last promotion greeted him, in addition to one that sat in front of the rest and he had never seen before. He stood still without talking, a bit of a forward slouch on his still quite prideful stance. An old man sitting at the head of the table coughed, it was his boss’ boss’ boss, fixing his glasses with one hand, he signaled with the other for Walmer to sit.
“ Hello, please take a seat Walter " the suited man finally said.
“ Walmer " the blond responded in monotone, his arms crossed behind his back.
“ Yes, Walner, whatever, please take a seat " the man said unamused.
“ I am quite sure this won’t take long, so I am fine staying up " The T in “quite” sounded serpentine in his mouth, he still had a hard time accustoming himself to the alien language, even after months of practice.
Walmer responded, not with the intention to defy his authority, but because he knew that unlike the big recliner seat his boss was sitting under, the flimsy plastic chair in front of him was known for making a horrible sound upon any weight laying on top of it. His species was sensitive to high pitched sounds, causing terrible sensations in their brains any time one was produced. It was his promotion day, he did not want to hear that on his promotion day. His boss, twice removed, did not find it amusing.
“ I guess we can keep it brief then " the man with glasses sighed with contentment, looking around the room as the others nodded " We called you here because your recent performance has been brought to our attention, you know why? " he finished by taking a bunch of documents into his hands and straightening them with an accentuated tap against the glossy table.
“ I do I am getting a-" the blond began to talk, but he was quickly shot down.
“ Numbers are down Waller, 5% less than usual production for the past two months. These numbers are talking, and what they are saying is that we may have had a lapse in judgment with your promotion " the man pinched his temples as if it genuinely hurt to see a 75 on the productivity report rather than the usual 80 Walmer had helped create. " What can you say about this? "
“ Eh? " Walmer responded genuinely, a bit thrown back from the sudden curveball. For some reason he felt weird about being scolded, normally since the riglings were beneath him, he did not care for their opinions. This time though, it almost hurt to see his work be for naught, and his plan beginning to melt again.
“ Hmm, thought so, you are unaware. Even if you had struck gold with your first couple suggestions Walker " the boss looked at Walmer’s falsified information then scanned him up and down with a tinge of judgment, as if it was not the directives’ decision to pass the changes for approval. " We believe this may have been too much of a task for you to handle, that was an oversight on our side " he smiled as if he had not insulted him to his face.
“ Hold on, what is the meaning of this? " Something was boiling inside the spy, this was not part of his plan. His lisp worsened with every word, his throat drying up in dread, he couldn’t be failing right now, not again.
“ The meaning is that now you are on a one year probation, at least until you can prove that you are fit and competent for being the manager on shift. We like your work ethic, that's why we haven’t kicked you off yet, be thankful for that " the boss spoke as if it was a generous idea.
“ Are you sure? " Walmer’s thoughts were racing as he held his arms more tightly, still behind his back. This was not in his plan.
“ Pretty much yes, but good news is that you won't be alone during it " The boss added while signaling towards the new person, the blond traced his twitching eye in the indicated direction. " My good friend Hiugho over here has been with the company for quite some time, he’ll help supervise and divide the managerial duties with you. He’ll also keep an eye on you for us, won’t you “Boss”? " the man with glasses finished with a joke, or what he thought was a joke. Walmer was silent, his eyes staring daggers to his new watchdog. This was not on his plan.
“ Well sir, it's actually pronounced Hugo " the stranger rose from the second plastic chair, which made a screeching sound upon departure, just as the spy wanted to avoid. Hugo walked closer to Walmer, extending his left hand towards him. This was not part of the plan, nothing was going according to the plan. " Nice to meet ya, it seems we’ll be working together from now on "
Walmer just stared unmoving, analysing the approaching new obstacle for his plan, the word “boss” ringing alongside the screeching chair inside his pointed ears, loudly, unbearably loud. Hugo was shorter than the blond, his curly hair black with washes of grey to the sides, it matched his big eyebrows and bushy moustache that almost hid his mouth, all well groomed. His skin was tanned and spotted, wrinkles marking most of what a couple of aged scars did not, it exuded a new smell that the soldier found unbearable, an aerosol sprayed not long before this introduction. At last, the subject of examination stared back expectantly with his two olive eyes, his hand still outstretched and waiting with anticipation.
“ Yes yes Hugh, I trust you will do good by me, and I expect the same from you too " the actual boss said nonchalantly, now also looking at Walmer. All his silent yes men also turned towards the spy, everyone in the room gawking as they waited for the ritualistic handshake.
“ Walmer, right? " Hugo said to the unmoving man, he found the deep blue"eyed stare unnerving, nonetheless he found all prolonged eye to eye contact unnerving, so he knew that was not a good judge of character in the situation. " Let’s try to work our best during the time we have ahead! " He said, trying to flash a friendly grin.
From Walmer's perspective, that lacked human cultural knowledge, the new human bared his teeth, in a dislikeable display of challenge. For the squid, to bare one’s maws was always a sign of asserting power, to not look away, to dare to contrast their positions. For what he learned in the rig, to ask for a handshake was a bid for control, the first to let go was the loser in a battle of wills and he hadn't lost yet.
Walmer took the offered hand without saying anything, he was in control. While he grabbed the rough hand of the man, he applied increasing force as they shook, he was above the watchdog. The green eyed man closed his mouth in realisation, this was part of the plan, however he also strengthened his hold, neither looking away, this was not part of the plan. They battled on, waiting for the other to look away first and let go as they grappled further, irritation palpably growing, someone had to resign for the assertion to be effective. Neither did, none of them had the power.
“ You will not be here long " Walmer finally said with a surprisingly restrained tone, he was sure of what he said, and it was directed not only to Hugo, but towards everything that lived and looked after the oil rig. " Do not get in my way " he warned, squeezing further, the human's endosqueleton seemed so easy to snap at that point.
“ We’ll see about that " Hugo’s friendly attitude was not working, so he did not bother to keep it up any longer, he just kept a calm demeanor. He was already warned that the current manager was rather cold, but he did not expect the distaste to be immediate. He was experienced in handling Walmer’s kind, grumbling men with bad attitudes that believe themselves to be intimidating? Knew them like the back of his hand, and he would use that information if needed be. " I want you to know I am not your enemy " Hugo reaffirmed trying to soften the ambiance. " But I know what you are and I am not above a challenge " the man marked his sentence while giving a last strong grasp and with a bit of attitude his right held the fighting hands decisively, it started to ache with how long they have been at the standstill… " Let’s get started shall we?" he grinned once more, this time it was less genuine.
“ What did you say… " Walmer questioned furrowing his brow, what did he mean by that, what did he mean he “knew” what he was. Tensions grew within him, the force in his hold wavering, no way his cover was blown so easily. What did he know by a single glance?
“ Yes yes get on with it you two, we have another meeting in five minutes " The boss interrupted as all his yes men clamoured in affirmation, the introduction had been going on for far too long. " I want good news and results boys! Now chop chop " they were ushered out the room, no clear winner in the handshake, and no truce in sight either.
The door closed behind them, both men standing at the hallway, the shorter one holding a backpack with all his necessities and the taller one retracing all the information given to him inside his head. The awkwardness grew as the blond remained quiet, the brunette observed him, trying to analyse what he would be working with in the foreseeable future. Hugo did not get the best first impression of his new coworker, but he also knew the conditions in which they just met were not the best either. He rustled inside the front pocket of his bag for a bit, then found exactly what he was looking for. This was his last hail Mary, to try to salvage their first meeting.
“ I’m really not your enemy " Hugo spoke, breaking the silence while putting his hand up to the spy, on his palm a small wrapped sweet layed. " It’s better to get along, so peace? " an olive branch was extended.
“ Peace? " Walmer repeated, glancing pensively towards the man, what did he know? He needed to retreat and share what found out with his generals, the new threats to their plan, and the plausible compromise to the mission. Peace was not an option for Walmer to choose; peace was not an option before, peace was not an option at the moment and peace would never be an option when negotiating with savages. Also, that object could be poisoned, he was not taking it any time soon.
“ It’s not poison I swear " Hugo snickered at the distrustful glance almost seeming to have read the blond’s mind, taking the candy for himself and popping it in his mouth. It was a brown caramel cube that melted gleefully in his tongue, his favourite. He offered another one from the bag, still waiting for at least an effort on the other’s part to make amends.
“ No, I do not want it " Walmer rejected plainly, both the candy and the peace. He looked at the watch wrapped around his wrist, he had learned how to tell rigling time, and it read that their shift was going to start soon, they needed to go straight into the drilling facility. " Time to go " he announced shortly, then he started walking.
“ Okay then ” Hugo accepted while he put the candy back and started following the blond. He did not have hard feelings about the candy part, but he suspected that probation time would not be easy. " Let’s get going " he sighed, not even a tour guide was offered, not like he needed it since he had worked on this mobile rig before, but still, this was going into his daily report.
They walked in silence for a while, the stress in their steps making the way to the drill feel longer than it actually was. Sounds of machinery grew stronger as they approached, a strong smell of oil, sweat and rust permeated the air, Hugo was used to it, Walmer could not get accustomed to it. It was the first day of their new working situation, and they both dreaded it already.
Work enemies please. (I've been dying to know since you said you were doing it)
I really thought I had sent you a link to this one. But since you know the premise, I'll find a snippet
He watched her suck a breath in when the pressure came off her chest and then she pushed away from him when he released her hands. He didn’t mean to notice her lips or the flush of her cheeks but he had to mentally force himself to respond as her boss.
I Want a Long Flat Sarlaac Pit that I Can Drop My Work Enemies Into
I Want a Long Flat Sarlaac Pit that I Can Drop My Work Enemies Into
Straight out of Lisbon, Portuguese artist/designer Filipe Carvalho brings some pretty stunning interpretations of classic Star Wars iconography, in a flat yet visually interesting way. Check out his Behance page for more of his work as well as numerous other Long Shadow Flat Design pieces.
