“I’m telling you, that’s mine!”
“Look, I’ve worked here for years. I think I know who’s an employee here or not.”
Fine words coming from someone who couldn’t recognize the Thief upon first sight. “Just scan my card.”
“Sorry, I can’t accept this.”
“Why not?”
“Your signature doesn’t match.”
The Thief had attempted to imitate the Worker’s handwriting as best as possible, but the letters were so illegible it was impossible to make anything out. How could anyone possibly create such an indecipherable scrawl? “I’ve had a wrist injury recently. That must be what’s throwing you off.”
“If that’s the case, you need to update your signature so it’ll be accepted.”
The Thief was about to protest, when he realized that in a roundabout way, this would result in getting what he wanted. “How do I do that?”
“You’ll need to go to the 38th floor, sector A, and ask for proper documentation and present a handwriting sample.”
“Isn’t there a faster way of doing this?”
“This IS the express route. You’re fortunate enough just to get ahead of the line!”
Now having a specific destination, it was a simple matter of asking around until he was directed to the directory. From there, through a roundabout method of covertly asking questions, the Thief found out he’d need access to the Identification Clarification Department.
“Is this the ICD? I need to prove I am who I say I am.”
“There’s a lot of that going around here. Are you aware of the risks and consequences for doing so?”
“I am, but I want to speak to someone in charge.”
“Have you filled out the proper forms?”
“Of course not!”
“Then don’t come back until you’ve done so.”
Convincing complete strangers that he was who he wasn’t, wasn’t a problem. The problem was, unlike the other stations, the ICD needed more papers than usual, and all the necessary memos were scattered throughout the building. This required taking referrals from known associates starting from the ground floor, then moving up from every floor onwards before moving on to the next floor. To make matters more infuriating, some of these notifications had to be repeated, so a blank heading that would remain unsigned on the 12th floor would then have to be filled upon reaching the 23rd floor, resulting in a lot of back and forth action.
For a Clarification Department, the procedure for making your identity clear wasn’t very clear. Such a long-winded regulation process wasn’t along the Thief’s preferred methods, so he fell back on his last-ditch attempt to speed the process along. He didn’t normally take this option, not wanting to give up his reserves of easily acquired ill-gotten gains, but he was desperate to get this over with.
“Might this help convince you?” The Thief asked, slipping a fair share of money hidden in his coat pocket over to the Receptionist who wouldn’t complain about being given a higher cut than usual.
“For bribery, you need to fill in the necessary forms.”
The Thief looked down at the paper in dismay. The procedure for such a simple transaction was more trouble than it was worth. There was a surprisingly large number of tax deductions and rewards depending on how much you were willing to sell your soul for. It was just like these employees to balk out on a deal, even when it’d benefit them. What were they all so scared of?
It would take too much time and energy running around, finding all the relevant documents necessary to fill the requirements. But he needed these papers if he needed to get further. So, to save time, he covertly copied and stole from the files of those waiting for their turn.
It was a long gruelling process, and went against his better nature, and by the time he was done, it would’ve been faster if he’d gone to the trouble of going of collecting the papers himself. But once having gone down this path, was loathe to change his mind.
Another problem was the need for numerous referrals that didn’t exist. That was easily taken care of by having dummy accounts with pre-recorded messages to match the caller’s scripted responses. It wasn’t likely that they’d be double-checked, but it was just in case.
The procedure for accomplishing all the falsified information took the better part of the afternoon and the remainder of the day. Finally, the necessary paperwork was done, the required body samples were on hand, the numerous fake contacts were in his inventory, and he was ready to have his signature approved. But as always, there was just one more thing that needed doing.
“Not so fast. We need a witness to verify your signature.”
“Is that really necessary?”
“There’s been a rash of identity theft all around. You understand.”
“Yes, all too well,” the Thief ironically replied. “Can’t you just see me sign my signature and sign off on seeing me sign off?”
“I can’t be part of the notary process.”
Typical. There were so many redundant hoops that needed jumping through. So many blockages and detours in getting anything done that it was a wonder anything got passed around here. There should be better ways to navigate through the labyrinthic process that stood in the way. There had to be something he could use here! Something he could use to his advantage. It would be far easier for someone to -
A nefarious thought suddenly popped up in the Thief’s head, and he normally would’ve kept it to himself, but decided to share his findings.
“What guarantee do you have that that’s the official witness’ signature?”
The Record Keeper looked shocked at this glaring obvious hole in the system. If this was revealed, it would mean having to verify hundreds of thousands of signatures, further backdating the already backdated system.
Sensing weakness, the Thief made his proposal. “Look, how about you just let this legislation slide, and I’ll forget this conversation ever happened?”
“I - don’t have the proper authority - ”
“Once I get the badge, I’ll give you the authorization to temporarily deputize yourself under an assumed name, then you can legalize me, making your signature legitimate.”
“What about the timestamp?”
“Set your clock ahead a little, then rewind it back. The order of operations doesn’t matter as long as everything checks out in the end.”
The Thief had no idea if what he said made a lick of sense, but it sounded reasonable enough. It must’ve been convincing, since the Record Keeper hesitated slightly before silently agreeing with the proposal.
“Finally!” the Thief cried out, grabbing his updated card, which still had the Worker’s photo on it for some reason. He was just about to leave, when he mentally slapped himself. It was only after he completed his task that the Thief realized too late that he could’ve seen the Worker’s portfolio. He could’ve received clarification of the stolen identity, access to private passwords and looked up his personal history.
He maneuvered back, one foot still staying back to prevent the person behind from moving further up the line. “Can I get a copy of my old files?”
“Impossible. That person no longer exists. As soon as you changed your handwriting, all access to your previous records has been expunged - forever.”
“Surely you must keep backups somewhere.”
“Yes we do. However, the path to getting said backups is as elusive to the point that they might as well be destroyed.”
“Isn’t there an easier way?”
“For that, you’d need to talk to the Management, but I wouldn’t recommend it. The Management are eternally busy, even when they’re not.”
“I’ll find a way to make myself part of their schedule. Where are they?”
The Record Keeper looked at the screen, noting a blurry static image moving about that couldn’t be captured properly. “You’ll find them three floors down, but you didn’t hear it from me.”
“…a little something from me.”
“It’s just what I needed!”
As impressive as the trade-off was, the Complainer was beyond the saturation point of being impressed. All day, he’d been witness to seeing the Worker making trades of useless items in exchange for more useless items that were gradually exchanged for increasing valuable items, only to exchange them for seemingly useless items again. He’d endured a dizzying array of trades, the sheer number of swaps making his head spin. The rate of trade went back and forth with random bargaining thrown in the mix depending on the deal, either through gently cajoling or making veiled threats. What had started out as a pencil stub had grown to children’s toys to rare animals to parchment papers to jewelry to the current item - a jarful of swarming bugs.
“What’re you going to trade those in for now?!”
“These are a delicacy for Bians. They’re sure to give us a well-cooked meal in exchange.”
“I could’ve paid for that in a fraction of the time you spent running around.”
“You’re just upset because you’re hungry. You’ll feel better when you’re full.”
“I don’t want to be further indebted to you! When are we going back?!”
The Worker checked his watch. “Now would be a good time.”
After making a quick stop at some Bians, emptying the contents of the jar for some roasted thighs that the Complainer didn’t want to admit was pretty tasty, they made their way back to the Gravedigger, and the scene was surrounded by dozens of aggravated police officers. The Worker held the Driver back, saying “It’s still too early.”
Even from this distance, the Complainer could hear snippets of the conversation:
“We dug all day and didn’t find anything!”
“My bad,” the East Turned apologized. “I must’ve been mistaken. Aren’t you going to resoil the lawn?”
“After reporting a false alarm? You’re lucky we don’t report you.”
After the cops left, the East Turned signalled over to the Gravedigger, “Go ahead. Pick a spot.”
The Complainer looked on in amazement at the handiwork. “How did you know - ”
“I use the same trick when I want to till the fields.”
“That seemed too easy. Aren’t you worried the Gravedigger’ll use your trick without you?”
“Not a chance. I know which precincts have been alerted. Don’t want them to notice a pattern. And I know where the skeletons are buried. Now… gimme the dirt.”
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