Proof of Purpose 6

 “How long are you going to spend on my suit? I have places to go, things to do!”

“Not much longer now. See, the stain’s practically gone! No harm done.”

“I’d still like to know what you were doing at the Secretary’s desk for so long.”

“You know her. She’s reluctant to give up any details without a fight.”

“Tell me about it. I don’t know why we bother. What were you doing there?”

“Trying to find information about another worker here.” The words were barely out of his mouth as he rearranged the current situation to fit his narrative. “He’s lost his badge, and is kinda embarrassed about it.”

“If that’s all, then he just needs to register for another.”

“He’d prefer the original. He’s very sentimental about it.”

“Who gets attached to their own badges?! I’ll ask around, let everyone know.”

“He also asked for privacy. Let’s keep it between us.”

“I want to tease him about it.”

“There’s no need to aggravate him any further.”

“Let me get my jollies where I can! There’s so little joy to be found in this place.”

“I don’t know his name! All I have is his number and description.

“Go to the Lost & Found. They should have what you’re looking for.”

“I don’t go there that often. Could you point the way?”

“It’s five corners down that way, past the blocked hallway. You can’t miss it.”

The Thief had severe reservations about that. It was very easy to get lost. Appropriately enough, the Lost & Found was notoriously difficult to find, but why should he expect any different in this place? He’d just keep going and ask around until he was told, ‘The Lost & Found? This IS the Lost & Found.’

As he left, he could hear from behind, a faint voice whisper, “Hey! Guess who lost his badge again?” Without looking, the Thief could already tell he was being pointed at. Let them have their laughs. He’d be getting what he wanted soon enough. Instead of going to the trouble of forging a new badge which was overly complicated, it’d be simpler to just piggyback onto an already existing one.

Along the way, the Thief started filling in the blank sheet, filling the form with an amalgamation of false identities lifted from the vast well of known IDs. He didn’t like leaving a paper trail that could lead back to him, so he created a fictional third party. To ensure the success of his plot, he wrote down descriptions that couldn’t possibly exist within the realm of plausibility. Three eyes? Sure. Borne of a tall midget and short dwarf? Why not? Name - a bunch of randomized letters strung together. Perfect!

The trick was to find an ID that was relatively low on the importance scale, but not high enough to arouse attention. From there, he could leech onto other unused identities from careless employees wandering about the place. And once there were enough names in lofty positions that he could control, he’d get access to restricted areas beyond his reach.

He topped off the finishing touch with the inclusion of a long string of numbers that to any outside observer, could’ve been caught with his keen and observant eye, but was really from memorizing a dark screen that showed the interior of reflective shiny objects. The Thief initially didn’t think much about this at first, but filed it away for later, and the seemingly irrelevant data popped up once he had some proper context for them.

At the Lost & Found center, the badges were kept out of view in a drawer for safekeeping, and to double security, the interior of the drawer that kept them secure was outlined with Amazing Greys. That was a severe security breach that no one had caught, since no one from the inside would normally think of stealing officially lost badges, and the Thief planned to take advantage of this opportunity.

The Thief initially wondered why there were so many missing badges, but after extensive navigating the confusing layout that defied common sense, gradually understood that it was very easy to lose yourself. After multiple unsuccessful attempts, he finally arrived at the barely visible counter of the Lost & Found. It was simpler than he thought. It worked on the same principle as looking for missing objects in plain sight. All he had to do was NOT look for it, and there it was.

“Do you have this badge number?”, he asked, already knowing the answer.

The Clerk lazily drew attention away from his fascinating fist he’d been examining up close, and took a half-cocked glance at the paper, the knuckle imprint still visible on his face. “Well, the form certainly seems right,” he muttered, as if unsure of what was right before his unfocused eyes. He ran the document through a slot which sucked in the paper and spat it out. “Everything checks out.”

The Thief waited expectedly for the badge to be handed over. The Clerk made no attempt to do so. “Sometime today??”

“Did you want something?”

“If the badge could be returned, it would be appreciated, and I can continue doing my business.”

“Why bother? It’s not as if we’re prevented from doing our job properly.”

“If you could bother to check...”

“There’s no hurry. They’re not going anywhere. You can accomplish just as much with a badge as you can without.”

What was with this obstruction? Retrieving lost items shouldn’t be this difficult. “Is there something wrong with not giving it to me?”

The Clerk looked up and down at the Thief. “You don’t match the description.”

“I’m picking it up for someone else. He’s terribly busy.”

“How do I know you won’t lose it along the way?”

“I won’t!”

“I’ve heard that before. Careful people bringing items back that just keeps slipping out of their hands. Honestly, if you’d stop losing your stuff all the time, we wouldn’t have to keep track.”

“I’ll staple it to my forehead if that’ll convince you.”

“Don’t lose your head over this.”

“It’s firmly attached!”

“I’m not letting you skip ahead of the line. It would be unfair to all the others.”

The Thief glanced around. What others? Apart from himself and the Clerk, there was no one else to be seen. “Is there a number I’m supposed to take?”

The Clerk pointed to the ticket counter on the side. “That thing’s been empty for ages. We had a replacement roll, but it’s been lost. I imagine it’s somewhere in the high hundred-thousand digits. You’d be somewhere in the middle.”

“And then it’ll be my turn?”

“No, you’ll be eligible for a reservation. You’ll be notified when the time comes.”

It was maddening! Everything he needed was right there, and the only obstacles in his way was a flimsy drawer and a Clerk too lazy to do his job. Compared to picking safes and locks, this shouldn’t be a problem. How could he be stymied by such weak defenses?

“Is there something I can do for you to help speed the process along?”

“No need. The owner’s already been notified. In fact, here he comes now.”

The Thief looked in amazement as he saw the exact description of the fake persona he’d just created come waltzing down the corridor as casually as anybody, walking on twenty legs and three feet decked out in a garish plaid coat with unmatching designer pants, in clear violation of the dress code.

“Oh, there’s my badge. Thanks for looking after it for me.”

“But... aren’t you made up...?”

“The Government is not in a position for making lies. Are you calling the Institution a Liar?”

“Perish the thought!”

---

“...always thought they were just children’s stories.”

“Even the most outlandish stories are loosely based on fact. That’s what makes them so dangerous.”

The Complainer was making casual small talk with the Worker, anything to distract himself from the fact that they were most likely indulging in skeevy behavior. They’d been driven around for awhile, and still hadn’t reached their destination. Whoever this “Friend” was, must be very important.

It occurred to the Complainer that the Worker had already used the book as a bargaining chip for taxi services. What could he possibly trade with now?

“Stop here,” the Worker suddenly told the Driver and got out, making his way towards a drab street. The Complainer hadn’t been told to stay behind, and against his better judgement, decided to follow. The Worker hadn’t gone very far when he was suddenly accosted by a Turned. The Complainer was shocked at first, but that turned to a different kind of shock when he saw how the Turned reacted.

“Friend!” the East Turned declared warmly as he embraced the Worker who stood stiffly. “It’s been a long time! Who’s the best worker?” he asked in a sing-songy voice.

“No need to compliment me.”

“You deserve it, you magnificent bastard, you!”

“Just because you praise yourself doesn’t mean you have to do it for everyone else.”

“If they won’t do it, then who will? After all, who’s the best Turned?”

“You don’t have to - ”

“*I* am!”

“I know!”

“And I’m going to tell you again!”

The Complainer couldn’t help interject himself into the conversation. “I’m impressed! I’ve never seen one so eloquent.”

“Oh, I’m not really dead, I’m acting so for copyright reasons.”

“You talk too much, you know that?”

“Just because Turneds don’t talk doesn’t mean no one listens.”

“Go tell the world, why don’t you.”

“I certainly will!” And the East Turned got started.  “I was a popular Musician who provoked shock and outrage by providing music in an ad for a platform that went against everything I stood for, which dismayed fans and members of my band. They felt I was betraying them by working for the establishment I once rallied against. And then, it was revealed that the lead singer (me) only did the first lyrics, and delayed completing the rest, due to ‘artistic temperament’. The more they pressured me to complete my song, the more I rebelled against them and put out weak rhymes. In the end, they had no choice but to release the ad with that single completed line, which lost a lot of its potential power.”

“They wanted to own everything I produced, but wanted nothing to do with the unfinished music, and outright refused to own the working draft for my next song. Once the terms were up, I still held the rights. In my hands, I finished the outline, making it a bigger commercial hit than the drink it was supposed to sell. When the music’s that’s been banned in multiple countries is reduced to selling fruit juice, that’s a sign you’re no longer popular. They tried to make me irrelevant, but failed.”

The Complainer was confused. “What does any of that have to do with playing dead?”

“There was a nasty clause in my contract - when I die, the property rights revert back to my backers. I worried about what would happen to my music after I died, and wanted to keep my work out of the hands of parasites. And this wonderful worker here helped!”

“It was more of a suggestion than anything.”

“‘You should just die’ was very useful advice! Since I’m both dead and alive, and they don’t want to raise attention to bad publicity, they can’t touch me! So, cozy up to the people in charge. Say you’ve had a change of heart. Ask how you can help. And once you’re inside, sabotage as much of their operations as you can.”

Throughout all this, the Worker kept nodding impatiently, rolling his eyes and hand as the East Turned went on and on. Sensing that the speech was nearing its end, the Worker interjected with, “As long as you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful.”

“Of course! Anything for my little friend!”

“It’s not for me. It’s for him.”

“What?? You’re helping others?? I thought I was the only one!”

“You’re not that special. You just happened to be in the vicinity, and I figured you needed some advice.”

“I don’t want more living people here! They’re so unethical and selfish!”

“How can you say that?” the Complainer asked. “You were alive once.”

“That’s how I know what they’re like! They’ll leave no stone unturned, no land untouched, no food unbitten! You don’t know these people. They’re filthy and ratty and smelly and ugly and have no fashionable sense!”

“Well, excuse me for living.”

The Worker sighed. “I really didn’t want to do this, but there’s a way to tell the Authorities that there’s a certain glitch in your status card that could make it possible to send you back where you came from.”

The Turned stared at him. “And to think I thought you were such a nice guy. How can you do this to me?”

“I told you, you didn’t have to compliment me.”

“Well, you’ve got your wish you contemptuous cantankerous sorry excuse for a living being that ever existed! I regret the day you were ever born!”

“Keep it up, and I’ll make good on my threat.”

“You don’t want compliments, you don’t want insults. What DO you want?!”

“You to make a phone call. Contact this number regarding this property,” the Worker stated, handing over a piece of paper.

As the East Turned stormed off, the Complainer sidled up, “Was that really necessary?”

“He fights dirty, so it’s fair that I fight dirty on my own. Don’t underestimate people who use Politeness as a weapon.”

“If that’s how you treat your friends, I’d hate to see how you treat your enemies.”

“Oh, he’s no friend of mine.”

Before the Complainer could even digest this, a man with a shovel came shambling up to the Worker and without preamble, asked, “I need to hide a body.”

“THIS is my friend.”