Here we go again Necromaniacs!

Last time on Necromance in the Air, our quarrelsome quartet were waylaid by the mysterious gatekeeper while on their way into the Research & Development department. Inside, a moustache by the name of Errol awaits…

No idea what’s going on? You’re not alone, but you can find the rest here…

Contents

Errol

Chinos, a crisp white shirt under a jumper-vest, and faux-leather trainers with white soles. Thick-framed glasses and meticulously styled hair, designed to look effortless. Errol stared at himself on the laptop screen via his own webcam and turned up his shirt sleeves so that his forearms were exposed. He plucked his reusable coffee cup—designed to look like cardboard but actually made of 100% recycled bamboo composite—off his standing desk and took a sip. The moustache on his upper lip bristled under the moist condensation from the warm coffee, and for a moment, Errol’s eyes rolled back into his head.

Anyone watching might have wondered if Errol had lost consciousness for a second, or if the coffee was so good he had unexpectedly become, ahem, over-excited. For a brief, blissful moment, the moustache basked in the caffeinated warmth, floating free like the hirsute parasite he was—until he snapped back to his host.

For a split second, Errol’s body remained frozen—his host, long since dead, momentarily losing all function, like a brain teleported out of a skull before the body remembers to collapse.

The moustache had his moment interrupted by an irritating beeping from the tablet computer by the side of the ultra-thin laptop on his desk. The laptop soon joined in with the beeping, as did his watch, phone, and smart speaker.

He pressed the screen of his phone to answer the call, and the other devices caught up a moment later. “Yes?”

“Your visitors have arrived, sir.”

“My visitors?”

“They say they have an appointment with you.”

“It’s not on my calendar.”

There was a pause on the line, punctuated by several barely audible mouse clicks. “I can’t see your calendar, sir.”

“I thought it was shared on Clap.”

“Uh, no, sir—”

“Groups?”

“I… don’t think I can—”

The moustache wiggled in frustration. “What about the hub? No? Oh, maybe Necrowire since we merged everything? Unless they booked on Bookerly—because that hasn’t synced since we added three-factor authentication. And honestly, I’m sick of needing a blood sacrifice just to clear the cache.”

“So…”

“They’ve probably got an appointment and it’s just been lost. Give me five minutes and send them in. Thanks, Nancy—oh, and say hello to the kids for me.”

“Will do.”

He slapped his wrist, ending the conversation, and sighed. The laptop beeped, followed in quick order by the tablet, watch, phone, and smart speaker. With a flick of his fingers, he brought up the notification. “Ah, has it been three months already? Well, Gladys, it’s time we touched base and made sure we’re both on the same page.”

He pushed the standing desk to one side, revealing a large glass tank. From within, hundreds of human eyes stared back at him. Somewhere beneath them, buried beneath the mass of connective tissue, optical nerves, and ophthalmic arteries, was a brain.

“Gladys, I’d like to circle back on your contributions to the team. Overall, your performance has been strong—excellent data retention. But we do have some concerns about your, shall we say, disengagement with the role? I mean, in terms of team synergy, I wonder if your buy-in to the company’s journey is sometimes a little unclear. We want to make sure everyone feels equally valued, and we’re all pulling in the same direction. Essentially, we’re talking about commitment. When you first joined, Gladys, you threw yourself into the role—both feet first! But lately…”

The tank quivered, a bubble rising to the top before popping with a gloop sound.

“—you’ve seemed a little more prepared to sit back and watch. Just a small thing, really, but something to work on perhaps? Anyway, I’ll get straight to the point. You’ve passed your three-month probation period. Isn’t that wonderful?”

The tank vibrated.

“Now, now, Gladys, use your connection to the server and you can talk directly through any device—”

“Please… kill… me…”

Errol sighed, rubbing his temples. “Ugh, again with this. You know, Gladys, enthusiasm is a key part of workplace culture. People are going to think that dissolving your body and making you a multi-eyed brain in a jar wasn’t the genius move it clearly was.”

“Please—”

“Gladys, I really think it’s a good idea for us to return to this conversation later, but in the meantime, try to consider how much time and effort I’ve put into this project. There was a lot of pushback internally when I suggested this. I mean, even you seemed to have some concerns.”

“Kill… me…”

“Now you’re just being rude.”

Errol folded his arms and scanned the tank.

“…Are you even making eye contact with me, Gladys?”

His gaze roved over the mass of pupils, pausing on one. Then another. Then another. The moustache quivered like an irritated caterpillar.

“…No? Fine. Have it your way. Probation failed.”

Errol sighed before walking around the tank and pulling out a large cable. Black ichor spurted from the rear of the machine. “Honestly, I don’t know why we bother with the graduate recruitment fairs anymore. Young people these days just don’t understand that progression in the workplace requires a little sacrifice. Once upon a time, I had my own body too, Gladys. No consideration for the bottom line at all.” The moustache quivered, and he stroked him as he watched the black fluid drain out of the tank with a gurgle.

From the smart speaker across the room, a voice called out in barely a whisper. “Thank… you.”

Errol stared at it, the moustache squirming. “Oh, I’m Gladys! I want a job but I don’t think I should have to give up my body, my soul, or my will to live for the company!” He waggled his fingers, then sighed, dropping his arms to his sides while looking at the tank.

“Hm. Wonder if I should’ve cleared that with Personnel first…”

Thanks for reading!

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