Apparently a select handful of us are being strongly encouraged (see: forced) to interact with the general populace via blogs, and because I'm one of like four people with any degree of tech skills in this entire multinational corporation, I've been voluntold to take part.
Here's what you need to know:
I work for Mann Co (2019-present)
Assistant to an assistant's assistant
The pay is really good
Female, mid-twenties
Graphics on this blog are not for external use
Send me questions, I guess.
Β» LINK_ERROR: PROXY_NOT_FOUND
IRL Info
βΈ Mod is an Adult
βΈ Mod is in time zone UTC+10 (Australian Eastern)
βΈ This blog will contain 18+ content
βΈ If you don't like it or should not be interacting with it, block me
βΈ NSFW will be tagged: [ NSFW | tw violence | tw gore | tw sex | tw torture | tw guns ]
βΈ Not comfortable with: [ Cannibalism | Incest | Paedophilia | Pregnancy RP | Rape ]
βΈ Will not interact with characters under 15
βΈ Will not do NSFW with characters/mods under 20 (yes I know the legal age is 18, that doesn't change my preferences)
βΈ If you want to start an RP, drop your starter in Ask and I'll set it up
βΈ Reblogs are turned off for some posts; interact in the comments
βΈ This blog will be almost entirely in-character; exceptions will be tagged accordingly
If you're interested in learning about the Faultverse, I recommend checking out the appropriate tags and/or read the journal entries.
Character Info
This character is an original character from the Team Fortress 2 Faultverse but will interact regardless of timeline or fandom
Character prefers not to use labels to define her sexuality or romantic orientation
She is a cisgender woman
She typically speaks with a generic East Coast American accent - but this may shift depending on circumstances. You may get the sense she is faking the accent for some reason.
Odds of shipping successfully are [ Low ]
Shipping bonus applies to: [ Snipers | Women | Rizz ]
You are extremely unlikely to encounter her in person - she is much more likely to engage with you via online chatting or digital media. Please do not assume you are in a shared space when starting an RP.
She operates as a sort of Tech Support, so feel free to drop her a line
Exclusive Tags
[ GL17CHP0571NG ] Non-story, non-journal posts
[ L0R3 ] Lore posts relating to the character and/or Faultverse
[ TR4N5M15510N5 ] Transmission posts featuring conversations between two or more characters, or singular character appeals.
[ Faultverse ] Posts relevant to the Faultverse, including but not limited to life, character info, fic posts, etc
[ Mann Co ] Company-related information and memorandums
[ User Logs: Mann Co ] Journals and story posts related directly to Mann Co
[ User Logs: RED Team ] Journals and story posts related directly to RED Team
[ User Logs: BLU Team ] Journals and story posts related directly to BLU Team
[ User Logs: Unspecified ] Journal and story posts related to multiple or unspecified entities
[ Modposting ] Out of character posts and answers
As a courtesy, please avoid using the GL17CHP0571NG, L0R3, and TR4N5M15510N5 tags without my express permission, and please ensure you only use the Faultverse tag for relevant content.
Warnings: Threats of violence, alcoholic references
Rating: M
Tags: Team Fortress 2 | Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
"Mr. Hale wants to see you."
Shit.
Mr. Bidwell, my departmental supervisor, flicks an imaginary speck of dust off his cuff as he sniffs. He's a bit of a rod-up-the-arse type, cultivated accent and all, and he's determined to pretend that our escapade in San Diego never happened, but I have the photographic evidence, and I'm pretty sure his boss has the voicemails and texts to back it up.
I've been at this company for nearly five years, flying under the radar and using employee status and benefits to further my extra-curriculars. It's been a bit of a breeze, going from mailroom to call centre to where I am now, but I don't need to work my arse off for some multinational corporation to feel fulfilled in life. I've skated by on the bare minimum, sometimes even less - so long as they keep the paycheques coming, I'll keep working here.
But six little words might just be signalling the end of my time at this company.
"Perhaps I should have prefaced that by saying you're not in any trouble," Bidwell adds, glancing at me. "He simply wishes to speak with you."
Yeah, that's not exactly reassuring. "About what?" I ask, slowly rising from my desk. Bidwell shrugs.
"Couldn't say, but he asked for you specifically."
Prick.
My mind is whipping through fifty different things it could be. The Darling-Mann files sit at the forefront of it, files formed from collecting data that may or may not have been illegally obtained, may or may not have cost a hacktivist his identity, and may or may not have already been used as blackmail against Olivia Mann, the CEO of our company.
Well, co-CEO. The other is, of course, the indomitable Mr. "Samuel" Hale.
But what if it's not the files? What if it's about San Diego? What if Bidwell's exacting some sort of revenge for me getting him thoroughly munted on the last night of the trip? Obviously I take no responsibility for anything he did while drunk, he's a grown man and he could have said no to the fourth Long Island Iced Tea I offered him, or the eighth Fireball shot, but I think he was trying to keep up with mine and Flo's drinks record. Still, it was probably a bad look for the company. And it wouldn't surprise me if Bidwell is about to throw me under the bus for his behaviour.
Bloody men.
Breathe. Calm. Bidwell said you're not in any trouble.
Still, it's weird that he's asking for me specifically.
Bidwell doesn't talk as we take the lift, rocketing up twenty floors to where Olivia Mann and Samuel Hale both have their offices on the top floor. I come up here often enough to drop off papers for Mann but I haven't set foot in Hale's office since the renovation. It used to be the main boardroom, but Hale insisted on taking it back after he literally crashed through the skylight into Mann's office and challenged her to a fistfight for the company. Anneliese said it's now filled with hunting trophies of various formerly-endangered species, but I guess I'll find out soon.
"Wait here," Bidwell tells me as we stop in front of the doors, "I'll let you know when he's ready."
Shouldn't he be expecting me, if he wants to see me specifically?
I'm not about to push any kind of goodwill or luck, so I smile and salute as Bidwell slips through the doors. Glancing down, I tug at the hem of the work blouse I'm wearing to make sure it sits somewhat neatly on my frame, and run a hand half a centimetre above my head to make sure I don't have any flyaways or wisps of hair that have escaped my ponytail. I never bother with makeup, and the necklace I'm wearing is a thumbnail-sized pendant that hides just below the collar line. I know I look professional and presentable, which is what you want to be certain of when you have to deal with a guy known for firing on the spot.
"Bidwell! How's that search for the yeti goin'?"
Ah, the sound of Australians - loud and seemingly aggressive, but with just enough warmth in the voice that they can still sound friendly. You don't hear or see too many Australians nowadays - they shut the borders and went full isolationist sometime in the 90s, and now finding an Aussie outside of Australia is rarer than finding a dog turd that smells like lavender.
Hale is Australian, though. More than that, he's old Australian - big, beefy, brutish, even has the patch of Australia-shaped chest hair still. Men like him haven't been common since the 1970s, and the so-called "Samuel" Hale seems to have modelled himself off the manliest man Australia had to offer back then: Saxton Hale.
Of course, the global legend that was Saxton Hale allegedly died in a plane crash in 1974. No body was ever found amongst the wreckage, but it's such an odd coincidence that he went down with his assistant, a man known as "Bidwell". And then, fifty-two years later a guy shows up with all the same traits and mannerisms, calling himself Samuel Hale and served by his assistant, Mr. Bidwell.
"I want that trophy back, Bidwell, you got it? Do whatever it takes. It was my kill, fair and square."
I don't know how many people of the modern era grew up with Saxton Hale posters but it's pretty fucking obvious Samuel and Saxton Hale are the same person. I'm still trying to figure out how exactly that works though - time travel has remained elusive even to the most advanced cultures of the world, and cryogenics is still a shonky rip-off at best.
Bidwell's reply is too soft for me to hear, so I lean against one of the doors to get closer to the gap between them.
"β¦ aware of that, sir."
"Good. Anything else?"
Hale sounds like he's in a mood. Great - perfect time to see the guy. I would roll my eyes internally at my luck if I wasn't trying so hard to eavesdrop.
"Miss Spencer is here, sir."
"Excellent!" Hale pauses for a moment. "Who?"
Who? I'm not sure whether to feel relieved or annoyed that Hale apparently doesn't know who I am, but I have to remind myself I'm just an assistant's assistant. Mann Co might not have had a heirarchy under the reign of Olivia Mann's predecessors, but there's definitely one now - and on the ladder of Mann Co career-chasing, I sit fairly low.
It works for me, thankfully. In more ways than one.
Bidwell manages not to sound annoyed at the response, which only convinces me he's superhuman in some capacity. "The one I spoke with you about yesterday, sir."
He must have moved away from the door or lowered his voice, because I don't catch the next three syllables he says, though there's a sybilant in there. I barely start to run a mental map of the possibilities based on context when Hale replies again.
"Right! Bring 'er in, then!"
As if I'm fucking Anastasia Steele or some shit, the door I was leaning on gives way and I stumble forwards into the office. Unlike Ana Steele, I catch myself before I faceplant into the dark green rug and straighten up, quickly adopting my most professional customer-service smile.
"Ah, Miss Seltzer! Come on in, have a seat,"
"Spencer, sir," I correct him. Don't look him in the eye, don't let him see your nerves. I pull my head up and stride forward as he gestures.
Hale stands at over two metres tall, which completely dwarfs my 167 centimetres. I have no idea what he weighs but every kilogram is pure muscle, and it shows as he stands, extending a hand. He's infamous for going shirtless and, yes, the luxuriously thick patch of chest hair on his chest that looks like it could be shaved and turned into a wig, is indeed shaped like Australia.
I shake his hand, keeping the smile in place even though his hand is almost twice the size of mine, and reflex kicks in before I can stop myself, my pathetically small hand trying to crush his. He nods approvingly though.
I'm still not sure if that's natural or a choice he makes with whatever manscaping he has.
The office still has echoes of the old boardroom, but it's been decked out in the very Australian green-and-gold, and what Annaliese said about the trophies is true - massive creatures line the walls, all arranged in various threatening poses with small nameplates attached to their bases and mounts.
"Strong grip! Love that in a worker, shows you're not as weak as you look. Now," he sits back in his high-backed chair as I draw up a chair opposite him. "Bidwell tells me you've been a bad girl."
Jesus fucking christ, there wasn't a better way you could have said that?
"Not that I'm aware of, sir," I lie, glancing at Bidwell. The accent remains in place, though I notice my usual eastern American slips slightly into a Pennsylvanian lilt. Clearing my throat slightly, I raise my chin, still not directly meeting his gaze, but focusing on the scar above his nose. "I've been performing my work duties to the letter, as required."
"You sure have, Miss Spitzer. And you've been going above and beyond," he adds, grinning behind the bushy moustache covering his upper lip - but his voice drops, going dangerously soft. "But let's cut the crap. You've been diggin' up information you shouldn't be."
Shit.
Shitshitshitshitshit.
Every nerve is on alert as his expression remains the same, but something in his eyes changes with his voice. The office is starting to feel very cold, and that smile looks almost a little... sinister.
It's a game of Texas Hold 'Em and we're on the blind. I've got two choices - play or fold.
This meeting has just turned into a match of wits, and I don't have a read on my opponent.
Fuck, this is why I tried to hand off those files; I hate going into situations without all the information, but I'm sitting right in front of a man I don't know, a face I can barely read. If he were anyone else - Mann, Bidwell, whatever - I'd be fine. But he's not.
And I don't fold before at least seeing the flop.
"With respect, sir," I bow my head slightly, playing off a submissive gesture though I keep my back and shoulders straight. That lilt is definitely slipping southwards, and I steel myself, trying to drag it back to my usual fake voice. "The information was in easily-accessible files. I stumbled across it while trying to dig up the company's history, as part of the project Mr. Bidwell assigned me."
I'm gambling with what little I know about this pair, mainly the fact that neither of them probably knows how to handle a computer. Bidwell seems to have figured out smartphones, but there's no sign of modern tech in this room so I have a sneaking suspicion Hale is still behind on the times. I can use that.
The look he's giving me is a withering one, ice blue eyes narrowed as he studies me silently. Rising from his seat, he leans over his desk, using all two hundred and whatever centimetres of his height to get as up in my grill as he can.
"We both know that's a load of bullshit, Jessica."
Oh. He does know my name.
"You had to get through three firewalls and dig out two data cores from the mainframe to get that information," he tells me, his voice low. There's no warmth to it; it's just pure threat, and though I let the customer service smile fade, I keep my expression schooled to hide the fact that my heart is thundering in my chest like a stampede of emus.
Check.
He's calling the bluff.
Raise, check, or fold.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, sir."
I've played this game before, but never against someone like Hale. The disconcerting glare remains fixed, and I'm forced to meet his eyes as he inhales deeply. Thank fuck this place has good air con, because I'd probably be sweating otherwise.
Hale squints, eyes still locked on mine as I play the part of the confused staffer. I don't blink, though, and I don't glance at Bidwell like I know I should; something instinctual within me demands that I meet this challenge, and I hold his gaze.
"You're not the sharpest tool in the shed, are ya?"
Raise.
"A wrench doesn't need to be sharp to loosen bolts."
He snorts like a bull. He's close enough that I feel the burst of breath, fortunately not so close I have to smell it though.
"Tiny scrap of a thing, too." He tilts his head, gaze shifting enough to look me over with an assessing gaze. "I bet I could snap you in half with one hand. Crack that little spine like a glowstick."
Oh shit, we're escalating to threats now.
There's a reaction - a tiny one, though I try not to let it slip out. My eyes wide as my breath catches somewhere in my chest. My heart is pounding and I am uncomfortably aware that he's right - he could throw me across this room if he felt like it without even trying. I have to try and de-escalate
"Size doesn't confirm danger. A real Aussie would know that."
Fuck - some errant little shitstirrer in me takes a hold of my tongue and says it first. The internal wince at my own dumbassery is overshadowed as I realise - the way those words came out.
No accent.
Well, no faked accent.
"I'll be damned," Hale straightens up, still studying me. He starts to laugh, looking at Bidwell.
Hale's caught it too, because his expression freezes and he stares at me, shifting back a little. A furrow appears between his brows as he tilts his head again.
"You heard it, right?"
"I did, sir,"
"I fucken knew it!" Hale roars with laughter as he slaps his knee, falling back into his seat, "Fuck me, you're a little lyrebird, aren't ya?"
Son of a fβ
"Oh, a skippy are ya?" Hale throws his head back laughing, "Fuck, it's good to hear that accent again."
Fuck it. May as well give up the act.
"And ya sittin' over here threatenin' to crack my spine?" I snap back at him. "You should know better than to scrap with a skippy."
He sits forward, wiping his eyes as he shakes his head, still grinning broadly. I let myself relax in the seat, abandoning the rigid upright posture in favour of letting more loose than I have in five years.
"What the bloody hell are ya doing outside the mainland then, Skip?" Hale asks, sobering slightly though he keeps that grin. The harsh aggressive demeanour is gone, and before me sits a man who looks like he was born to fight, eat steak, and drink beer. It's a reminder of home, honestly. "Where ya from?"
"Coffs," I shrug, "Well, just north of it. Great little surf spot but you won't see it on a map."
"I'll bloody bet, 'cos that ain't the voice of someone from a civilised part of the land," Hale chuckles, nodding to Bidwell before shifting again. "Steak? You could do with some filling out."
"Dad's been saying that since I was twelve, I just stopped growin'," I shrug as Bidwell closes the doors, giving us significantly more privacy. "So long as it's Angus, I'll have whatever."
"A woman of taste," Hale nods approvingly as he ducks beneath the desk for a few moments, rising up and dropping two veritable slabs of meat onto the surface of the desk. "Don't touch the top; you'll sear the flesh off those little hands of yours, and I'm gonna need them in top condition."
Right. Negotiations - it was probably too much to hope my identity or the information was the only reason Hale had me dragged up here. The steaks begin to sizzle as I notice the heat starting to radiate from the top of his desk, and arch a brow.
"A grill in the desktop? I always thought that was a myth."
"Nup! Best way to handle a negotiation, over two well-cooked steaks. How do ya like it?"
"Medium-well," I snort, as if any other answer could ever be correct. "So, I'm not just in shit for the files, by the sounds of it."
"Files?" Hale glances at Bidwell, who gives him a small gesture and he reels slightly. "Right, those files! Nah, it actually helped me out a lot. Little 'Liv didn't have my signatures to confirm any of those partnerships so I managed to nip that in the bud," he gives me a nod and grins, prodding the steaks as they hiss. "Nah, you're not in trouble - it got me thinkin', actually."
Ah, of course. I smirk, settling back in the chair as I tilt my head. "Did it? Careful not to think too hard, ya might pull somethin'."
He chuckles again, cracking a beer with one hand as he watches the steaks. "You're good with these modern computers, Spencer. Good enough to get a guy out of trouble, though?"
I smirk as he grabs a second beer and holds it out for me. I'm not usually a beer drinker, but I'm not about to say no if Hale's handing it out. It's bound to be Aussie if it's from his fridge. "Depends on the trouble. Depends on the pay."
He looks up from the steaks, and though the smile's still there his gaze has darkened.
"Careful, missy. You're still a nobody."
"You'd be surprised on the dirt this "nobody"'s dug up," I tell him. "My skills are available, but at a price. Question is, how much are ya willing to pay?"
The steaks sizzle between us as Hale and I lock into a staring competition, but I think he knows that now, with the mask off, I've got a lot less to lose. The moustache shifts as he considers his options.
"You can make this whole prosecution go away?"
"Promotion. You don't work under anybody except me or 'Liv." He turns his gaze back to the steaks, flipping them both. However hot this cooktop is, it's already got them well-browned and smelling amazing. "Pay rise, your own office, freedom to work on whatever projects you think are best, with a couple exceptions," he adds, "Fuck it, I'll even throw in some training. Little waif like you might need it," he looks me up and down again. "All you have to do is make sure I never end up behind bars. I've got people who can handle the physical evidence, but we're still, uh..." he hesitates, eyes still on the steaks. "A little behind on the digital side of things. So that'll be your job - cleaning house digitally."
Of course. The protesters Hale's in trouble for beating the shit out of. Some picketers were causing trouble out the front of the office a few days back, harassing staff and even tried to grab one of the young interns. Hale isn't the most noble of people - obviously, considering the threats he was just levelling at me - but he's got standards.
Apparently those standards go out the window when he's got an excuse to start beating the shit out of people protesting his company.
And obviously when that happens, charges are pressed.
I nod once, not breaking eye contact. "Wouldn't be my first. Or my second. Wouldn't even be top ten," I add, adding a cocky grin. I know what I'm good at and this is one of those things - computers aren't just my job, they're like an extension of me, like I was born to be plugged in. "I can make records disappear, erase all digital copies of evidence, including source files, and even delete entire identities from existence. World's so focused on interconnectedness nobody ever stopped to think about the dangers of it."
Well, a bunch of virus companies did, and most people working in tech, but it's not like what I do directly hurts anybody. Not usually, anyway.
Hale hurts people. His company hurts people. I probably shouldn't be here, offering services to the enemy - but he sent for me first.
"All at your disposal, temporarily or permanently, for the right price."
He chews over his thoughts for a few moments, moustache quivering as he watches me and nods slowly.
"Then this'll be your last meal."
He pulls open a desk drawer and digs out some cutlery, offering me a fork and steak knife.
"And what if I say no?" I ask cautiously, accepting the cutlery. He smirks, but that warmth in his eyes has disappeared again, along with any warmth the office held.
He spears one of the steaks on a carving fork, though he doesn't break eye contact with me as he does so. Sliding the steak across the desk, the smirk fades.
"I have enough trouble trying to keep that bloody woman down the hall in line," he tells me, the warning back in his tone. "I'm already watching my back against her bullshit. But you? You're an ant, Spencer. I could snap that pretty little neck and throw you in the compactor downstairs. It'd take a day or two for anyone to realise you went missing, and a lot longer than that to figure out what happened."
Jesus; he doesn't need to get so graphic about it. Some of my newfound anxiety must show on my face, because he shifts his weight, tilting his head slightly.
"At least I'd send your dad a gift basket with a condolences card - 'Liv wouldn't even give you that," his lips twist into a cruel smirk. "She'd just have you shot down by one of her goons, left for dead in the middle of the street. Or anywhere, really. She keeps her hands clean, but she's got her own team makin' a mess of bodies on her behalf."
"You think she'd fight to keep you out of prison?" I ask, unable to help myself. He chuckles - a dark, unnerving sound, the kind that haunts dreams.
"I think she'd care more that you handed people the info to blackmail her with. But I can protect you from her, too," he adds. settling into his seat and picking up his cutlery. "I strongly advise you take my first offer."
Promotion to Hale's digital lackey, or death.
"Not much of a choice, is it?" I grimace, looking down at the steak in front of me.
"You could also run back to Australia, but I'm guessin' there's a reason you haven't done that already."
Yeah, definitely fuck all of a choice. I sigh, looking up at him as we let the steaks cool to an edible temperature.
"Sounds like an offer I can't refuse," I tell him, forcing a tight smile. "When do I move my things?"
There's gonna be a big lawsuit threat about Hale's whole fighting-protesters-thing unless the lawyers can pull something magic out of their arse to get Hale out of it. I'm tempted to make an offer to the guy, because wiping a criminal record is like child's play, and I happen to know someone who's exceptional with malware that can track specific social media tags and corrupt image files both online and within the originating device so...
But nah, I'm gonna sit back and see how things go. Offering such skills for Hale feels a bit like working for the enemy, even if he's not really the enemy. My interests don't typically lie in protecting corporate interests so it's probably for the best I don't go getting into bed with him. Metaphorically, of course.
Oop, Bidwell's making a beeline for me with that face that says he wants something. Let's see where this goes.
Summary compiled by [ ππ΄π³π°π²ππ΄π³ ]
Teufort is a small town in the Badlands region of New Mexico. Boasting a population of around 7,000, Teufort is a gated community with strict access restrictions, and sits roughly 30 minutes drive off Route 64.
While most of the region around it is classified as desert and the climate is arid, Teufort has implemented a hyper-modern irrigation system and farming techniques that enables them to maintain a modestly-sized farming sector in the immediate surrounds year-round. Verge gardens throughout the town and local orchards add to the yield of produce within the town, resulting in a well-supplied population that are mostly self-sufficient, with excess produce and crops being shipped out to neighbouring areas.
The town boasts a public-access regional hospital with helipad, two major banks, a post office, three supermarkets, a joint elementary-middle school and a high school, sporting facilities, a combined town hall and police station, and a number of small businesses supplying goods and services to locals and beyond.
Though Teufort maintains strict perimeter control, the town is easy to access and keeps a register of all visitors for public safety reasons. Documentation of visitors is kept but visitors' personal information is typically destroyed three days after the visitor's departure, unless they choose to have their information kept on file for more regular ease of access. Those needing access for emergency reasons are typically escorted from the gate, and while ID is typically required to gain entry, local residents can vouch for a visitor to help them speed up the entry process.
Teufort, most notably, lacks a single governing mayor, and the town is led mainly by the Sheriff - at present, Sheriff Adam Greene. The Sheriff is expected to defer major decisions to a governing council of trusted deputies and community-selectsd representatives where possible, but given the region the town occupies and its difficult history, the council and locals recognise that sometimes action must be taken without awaiting a council vote.
Information taken from the Teufort Town Council website.
π»πππ π―ππππππ
Teufort's history is public record until mid 1974, after which the town was recognised as a private entity. Records indicate that a major fire destroyed most of the town's centre and killed a number of residents who had allegedly tried to put out the fire with their urine, and damaged much of the existing infrastructure. In the aftermath, according to official records, recently-appointed Sheriff Lucas Hood stepped in and locked down the town and much of the surrounds, taking control of the situation.
While it had suffered from mercenary attacks and raids in the months preceding, Hood's "martial law" helped turn the town around and protect it from outside attack, while stabilising conditions within enough that people could begin to rebuild. Spearheading the town's recovery, Hood and his team discovered toxic lead levels in the local water table and traced the cause back to infrastructure owned by TF Industries.
Filing a lawsuit against TF Industries, the company agreed to settle out of court before any court case ever occurred. It is alleged that the company was already struggling under recent issues, and the financial repercussions of the settlement resulted in a total collapse of TF Industries. Reparation costs were absorbed by TF Industries' parent organisation, Mann Co, which continues to pay out the ongoing settlement and support rejuvenation efforts in the region per the settlement.
In 1974, Teufort closed itself off from the rest of society and became isolationist. Since it had never been a major tourism hotspot and was already considered a backwater, there was little fanfare or public awareness of it, and the state of New Mexico allowed the town to become a private entity in 1976. Following this, many records of Teufort disappear, with only websites remaining for the town's council, school, and hospital able to be found online.
In 1989, to support the growing needs of local residents and as part of an agreement with Mann Co, Teufort became home to a small airfield, servicing small private charters that flew supplies in and out of the region. This project, though extremely costly to Mann Co, was eventually abandoned and the Teufort Airfield closed in July 2001.
The council website provides information about the region and the main people on the current council, as well as offering contact links and visitor pass applications. It also contains a warning about the structures left around the Badlands region, indicating that they have been declared unsafe and to avoid entering any. It also includes links to the school and hospital websites, as well as a photo gallery displaying certain town events such as Veterans' Day, Fourth of July celebrations, and the annual Community Spring Festival.
The hospital website indicates that though the town is private, the hospital provides state-of-the-art healthcare services to anybody holding a USA social security number, and is funded primarily by Mann Co's ongoing compensation. The website boasts of the services available at the hospital, and the news page announces any exceptionally noteworthy achievements the hospital lays claim to. The hospital also has a small medical research wing, though the field of speciality is not indicated.
The school's website covers both Teufort Primary and Secondary Schools, highlighting the educational facilities and celebrating achievements of students and alumni. It promotes Teufort's educational facilities as being above-average for the state of New Mexico, proudly boasting test scores in the top 10% and celebrating the educators who make this ranking possible.
Still no sign of Blue Shirt Guy. I've put the Darling-Mann stuff away for now, locked it up where only Dad might find it, but I'm still feeling pretty nervy about it all. I still have the digital version ready to go in case anything happens, but hopefully it won't.
Jill's sent me an invite to an "Education Excellence" thing she's having next month, some awards presentation for teachers and educators in her county who have stepped up and proven to be the best at what they do. It's entirely nominated and chosen by students and she's apparently been a real rockstar at the high school where she works. I don't normally go to these events since parties are way more Jacq's thing and invites only ever allow for a plus two, but she's invited me specifically. According to Dad, her words were "don't let her slip out of this one, I want her there for once." As if my support from afar is no longer good enough.
I joke, but it would be nice to sit in the crowd as she accepts an award and applaud in realtime. The livestreams only convey so much and as much as my sisters know I love and support them, I could probably be better about showing it.
The report on Olivia Mann was a weird one. It felt so much like glazing but she genuinely has done a lot of good things in the world. She's almost single-handedly pulling third-world nations out of poverty by literally just improving infrastructure, and it's hard to find anything actually backhanded about what she's doing.
Makes me wonder why she's so keen to tie herself down with Darling. What do they have to offer that she can't get for herself? If Blue Shirt Guy really did use my files to blackmail her into anything, then he can't be a Darling henchman. So where is he from?
Part of me thinks I could just ask her straight-out. She knows that I saw something that day I walked in on them; maybe if he's really out of the picture, I can poke at that particular wound. But there's always the chance it'll cost me my job, and... Well, I don't know if I want to risk it. Still gotta keep the roof over our heads.
In accordance with police reporting standards, anyone with photo or video evidence of the brawl that occurred on April 10th is requested to come forward to assist in the investigation.
For those concerned for Mr. Hale's wellbeing, he has achieved a full recovery and is on record saying "six tasers and two tear gas canisters can't keep a good man down". He will be returning to work on the 17th.
So Hale's gone and fucked himself. He went out and started beating the shit out of those protesters, which normally I'd disagree with but they were literally grabbing at Rebecca when she was trying to bring in the coffees that day, and I think he saw that and lost his shit. Like, in general don't fuck with Hale's company, but when you're harassing the 18 year old sunshine sweetie intern? Yeah I probably would have thrown hands, too. It's honestly maybe the most "normal" thing in my life at the moment. Well, in my work life. Home life is fine.
No sign of Blue Shirt Guy anywhere in or near the building. I checked the front and lobby cameras during my break and he hasn't appeared since the 8th.
That was the day the file showed up on my desk.
Did I just help that guy somehow? Is that what the "thanks" note was about?? What the hell am I dealing with???
Shit is going DOWN at the office and I just don't have any brain space to deal with it because of what's happened to Cy.
Network says he's alive. Relocated, but he had to drop a lot of data. He's got like twenty different identities so he'll be okay, but his San Diego one he's been using for eight years. Dude had a day job and hobbies and everything, and he's just had to burn all of it.
I won't be able to get in touch with him for at least two months, maybe longer depending where he ended up and how bad it was. It's the second time he's been burned, but still. I can't imagine having a whole life you just have to up and leave with no notice, and it's not like he can contact his old friends. When you burn an identity that's it, they're dead, and unless you get facial reconstruction or something, you can never go back to that place.
I don't want to think it's because of me but, well... the timing is pretty suspicious. I gave him that case on, what, the second? Four days later, shit hit the fan so badly that he burned an entire life to get out, and that fucking file shows up on my desk?? And this is Cy we're talking about, he doesn't normally blink at threats and blackmail. Whoever got to him, they had to be serious. Serious enough to properly scare him.
All staff are reminded of the non-disclosure policy in their employment contracts. Any employees found to be contacting the media or sharing company information regarding yesterday's events surrounding protesters and Mr. Hale will be immediately terminated for breach of employment contract.
URGENT: FOR IMMEDIATE CIRCULATION TO ALL DEPARTMENTS
Management and authorities are aware of the altercation at the main entrance. We strongly advise all staff to use internal facilities if they have a scheduled break and remain within the building. DO NOT APPROACH THE MAIN ENTRANCE. The all-clear fire alarm will sound when the incident is declared over.
Please make sure to keep all personal and company belongings secure and safe, including access cards and company ID.
We are aware of the protesters outside the main entrance. Do not engage with them when entering or exiting the building. Where possible, use private access points instead. Ensure all personal belongings including access cards and company ID remain hidden at all times. It is recommended to wear cover clothing and use the internal parking facilities to avoid contact with the public.
Summary compiled by [ ππ΄π³π°π²ππ΄π³ ]
Born in 1965, Olivia Mann was raised by her first father, Gray Mann, until his death in 1972. Aged just seven years old, she was taken in by rival CEO Saxton Hale, who continued to raise her for the next two years before he disappeared, presumed to be dead. Jim Reddy stepped up to the task of looking after Olivia after this, and unlike his two predecessors, he survived the task.
Olivia described her childhood as "a vague haze of business demands and insurmountable expectations", up until the time when Reddy took over as her guardian. According to Mann, Reddy insisted she experience life as a normal child, and not only enrolled her in public schooling but also in a variety of extra-curricular activities, which he made time to attend with her around his role as the caretaker CEO of Mann Co. Mann often describes this part of her adolescence as a happy one, where she was never left in doubt of her worth as a person nor questioning whether she was loved or cared for.
With an impressive academic and athletic record throughout her high school career, Mann earned herself a scholarship to Harvard Business School. Despite the offer, she dropped out of formal schooling after graduation and went on to travel the world, exploring some of the poorest regions and undergoing what she describes as "a transformative experience", bearing witness to the struggling existence of those who lived in the harshest regions.
Vowing to do something about the conditions she witnessed and experienced, Mann returned to the United States in 1987 and took up her role as Mann Co CEO, allowing caretaker Jim Reddy to step back into a guiding role. Emboldened by bright ideas and optimistic beliefs, Mann established a clean water infrastructure project that Mann Co began to deliver on in 1989, building bore water wells and filtration plants in impoverished regions, and employing as many locals into traineeships as possible.
At the same time, Mann restructured the internal heirarchy of Mann Co, enabling more efficiency that quickly accelerated project proposal and delivery within the existing sectors of the company. Over her first decade as Mann Co's CEO, Olivia Mann delivered more critical infrastructure development into remote and "difficult" regions of Africa and Asia that improved living conditions for the people living there - and most notably, achieved all of this without tying the Mann Co name to anything.
Into the mid-1990s, Olivia completed two engineering degrees and put them to immediate work, appealing to other wealthy elites to adopt the mantra of "Always Forward", and supporting humanitarian development projects in Africa. Her most-cited talking point remains that "if we raise the tide, all boats will rise", believing that humanity can achieve incredible things only when its weakest, most vulnerable person is enabled to achieve incredible things. A number of fellow multi-billionaires have joined her in this approach, though it has come under fire in the past two decades and labelled as "narcissistic altruism". Mann often fires back pointing out that yes, her own wealth grows with each success - which means she has the money to keep doing greater things.
Outside of her humanitarian work, Olivia Mann has married twice, however both husbands passed in different circumstances. After facing investigation for her second husband's death, Mann joked that she'd rather not risk more of the male population, and has since claimed to be romantically unavailable. Allegations around both husbands are still the topic of common gossip, however both deaths were ruled as everyday accidents, and with Mann nowhere near the event in both cases, she was never found guilty nor convicted of anything.
Despite the reputation of Mann Co and it's connections to weapons sales, Olivia Mann is recognised as one of the world leaders in support and aid projects the world over. Though her initial work began with wells in Africa, she has funded critical infrastructure from roads and power supply to hospitals, schools, and supporting community-oriented government systems in disadvantaged regions where larger government has fallen. She is seen publicly as a shining example of a "good" billionaire. She is witty, friendly, and quick to laugh or joke, but when confronted by her own behaviour she is also quick to rectify issues and accept accountability. Overall, she is very well-liked the world over.
During the Global Financial Crisis of 2008, Olivia Mann became the richest woman in America - counterintuitively, as she poured not only a large amount of her personal wealth, but also a lot of Mann Co's wealth into supporting her employees and helping them retain their jobs. She remains the richest woman in America to date, and is currently the fourth-richest person in America, regularly appearing in magazine spreads and using her position to promote humanitarian values and encourage supporting development projects in struggling regions. While many others in similar positions often come under fire for their views, Mann evades much of the flak as she notably avoids overspending on luxury items.
The afterglow is wearing off and I'm starting to regret not pushing Flo for more details about why she freaked out. It's just a shirt, and Tayla's done some wonderful work with it so now it fits me properly. Definitely still a work shirt but maybe I'll wear it tomorrow or something. I've washed it really thoroughly so it doesn't smell like outback dust and grit and Man.
These reports Bidwell's asked me to compile are a bit of a mess. There's not much about Teufort Airfield since it was shut down before the Internet really took off, and these two families he wants me looking up are both based out of this Teufort place so it's hard to get much data on them. Teufort itself is a gated and super private town, so I guess they keep their own records of everything.
More work but at least it keeps me busy and not thinking about the Darling-Mann files. Now I just need to settle in and get my eyes on this Peabody doc. I want to check in with Cy but contact might be a bit dicey. He hasn't been answering anything lately.
That guy seems to have expanded his zone. I sometimes see him loitering in the street now, or hanging out at the cafe across the road. Sometimes hes even hanging out in one of the staff lounges so I guess someone gave him an access card. He's always chatting with someone, I've noticed, like he's trying to look busy without actually looking busy. He doesn't seem to look in my direction (and I've dyed my hair again anyway) so I'm not as worried anymore. If he was trying to track me, he'd have said something by now surely?
