The public must’ve taken the multiple streaks and conflagrations for fireworks, because they started cheering once again at the… tenth? explosion

HR had lost count

He cussed under his breath and crossed another name from the list of the participants to the voluntary mandatory teambuilding exercise: one Sha Gadafi, Intern. He vaguely recalled getting this batch of interns just last week: four sturdy seed-embryos to be placed into key positions like the door of corridor 3, which would always slam in the breeze, or the empty service locker of Isle 7, where mole-walruses tended to pop up in the summer, or even the main line for the help desk and customer service.

He liked interns. They didn’t look like much in the beginning, but if you gave them an opportunity to branch out in a new position, they’d eventually grow into it. Sha Gadafi was one of HR’s favorites, a paramedic. He just emerged from his cocoon to try and medikit a nearby Noctifer (Simon, from Logistics, a sad little ordinance lobber who, despite his position in the company, never quite learned the proper meaning of “timing”).

That quickly turned into a new opportunity of further evolution for Sha Gadafi: from intern, to paramedic, to atmospheric biological enrichment powder.

The crowd at the hexadrome was going wild.

“Unbelievable” he said to nobody in particular “I helped manage this company for years, grow a team, a core of trusted members, give them jobs, opportunities, space, and all I get is a trip to the most hellblasted…I CAN HEAR YOU SINGING YOUR OWN THEME MUSIC OVER THE COMMS JAY!”

“What am I supposed to do boss? I’s looking hella cool out there dodging ‘splosions! Hear them public, they love me!”

“Oh fuck this all to hell, I didn’t study 5 years for this” interjected Doctor Calabiana (distinguished engineer who designed one (1) improvement to the sorting system of the warehouse 7 years ago and acted like the saviour of the world ever since) “I’m out of here, you’re on your own”

Those were his last words before a japanese biker wearing cat ears over the helmet and a steel prosthetic instead of a leg nailed him to the wall with a hail of bullets.

HR scoffed and drew another line on the list of names with his trusty pencil.

“Uh, wasn’t he the last one, boss?” asked Jay over the comms

“What? no! Impossible! we had 15 bodies! let’s double check”

“Karen from accounting?” (a cute short speculo who would buy coffee every morning for everyone, never to be made angry, lest the coffee contained a claymore the next day)

“She did a lotsa huffin and puffin to put a mine in front of those sexy little boys with them oversized Missile Launchers, but she gots tanko’d”

“Gigi from the front desk?” (A sporty speculo who liked to take thigs into her own hands but sadly was a firm believer that smoke kills, so she never used any)

“Wus throwin fists with a guy in a white bathrobe, then a nerdy looking lady shot them both to ded”

“They shot their own?” exclaimed HR, horrified