Plutocracy

Stage 12- Mistakes

THEY DID WHAT!?

Jeff clutched his head in his hands as Mentor psychically assaulted him, leaving no holds barred. The creature was furious beyond all measure of reason.

"The W-War Tech-T-Technicians invaded . . . invaded-"

INVADED WHAT!?

"S-south America." Jeff's voice was shaky and tenuous, as if Mentor would rip out his mind at any moment (which he was extremely capable of doing).

WHY IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE DID THEY INVADE SOUTH AMERICA!?

"T-to expand our-" Jeff stumbled, realizing his mistake and rectifying it as quickly as possible. "T-to expand your mining prospects."

Get me the Registers. Now.

Jeff sat in his chair, shocked and unable to speak. The combined mental assault and physical pain he was in only contributed to his confusion. He hadn't heard the phrase 'Registers' spoken in decades.

Did I stumble?

"N-no, sir. It's just-"

GET ME THE GOD-DAMNED REGISTERS RIGHT NOW OR YOUR HEAD IS COMING OFF!

"Y-yes, sir."

And stop stuttering, you goddamn fool.

The attack on Jeff's mind ceased abruptly, and he fell to the floor, spots of light blinding his vision and his mind reeling in the torment of the psychic assault. Mentor had never attacked him like this before; he'd only even come close once.

Slowly standing up and wobbling uncertainly, Jeff made his way out of his office, stumbling through the halls of the building. A few Technicians snickered as he stumbled down the hall and shouted "How many dicks did ya take in your ass this time, Jeff?"

Jeff gave them the finger and continued walking, making his way to a dark room with cool, dry air. He fell into the large padded chair, and closed his eyes. This was where he came when Mentor attacked him; it was the only room where he could be deprived of outside sensory information and relax.

A phone began ringing, and Jeff, sighing, picked it up.

THE REGISTERS. NOW!

Jeff collapsed forward under the renewed assault, but then picked himself back up. Dialing a number on the phone, he heard the voice of a Neurosurgeon come through. Neurosurgeons were a caste that was hardly ever used, due to their extreme specialization. They only worked on demigods and creatures of high psionic potential, and therefore didn't come out very often.

"Can you send us some more pot? We haven't had anything to do in the last six months."

Jeff sighed. The Neurosurgeons were an odd bunch, to say the least.

"Get me the Registers."

"Whoa, man. That's, like, bad karma right there."

"Karma is bullshit and you know it."

"Nah man, that's wicked grody."

"Get me the Registers or Mentor is taking both our heads off."

"Who?"

Jeff slapped himself at his own carelessness; he had to remind himself that most people didn't know what Mentor was.

"Not important."

"Whatever, man. How does six sound."

TWELVE.

Jeff fell out of his chair and onto the floor.