Recruiting Project

By Maya


First, check out (Basically, it's about laid off dotcom workers being encouraged to forget their problems and go to summer camp., which was itself set up by two former Internet high-fliers, is offering activities like hiking and golf to the casualties of the dotcom recession.)

So . . .

Baal stared thoughtfully at the heavy metal door in front of him. It was scarred with bullet-pocks, acid-marks, explosive backblasts, and dented in the middle. Painted on it was the slogan, HELLDESK X9999: ONLY PHONE THE OPERATOR IF YOU WANT TO DIE PAINFULLY AFTER HAVING YOUR FILES DELETED AND YOUR PORN SCANS MAILED TO THE LOCAL SHEDIM ANONYMOUS.

"Correct me if I am wrong," he said, "but I have the impression that the Vapulan assigned to monitor the system is not as efficient as he might be."

"Wouldn't say a word against him," brown-nosed a helpful Impudite. "Great guy. Really helpful. Why, he gave me a direct connection to . . ."

Baal returned his gun to its holster, as the Impudite's brains dripped slowly onto his fizzing monitor. "We need more amenable technicians. And sysops. And whatever they're calling themselves these days. Fortunately, I have an idea as to where we can find some easily trainable ones -- and ones that the Forces of Good will never think to look for . . ."

Laurence inspected the heavy wooden door. As with all doors in his Cathedral, it had an elegant cross carved into the wood, providing the only decoration. Below the cross was taped a small yet tasteful notice: HELPDESK X9999: READ THE MANUAL FIRST AND DO NOT DISTURB THE SYSTEM OPERATOR UNLESS ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY, FOR EFFICIENCY.

"And," he inquired of the Seraph coiled next to him, "you tell me that he deleted all your files of sword-wielding angelic art because they were "clogging up the server"?"

The Seraph shrugged virtuously. "I only asked him for more color ink for the printer because I wasn't getting proper flesh tones."

"He does do his best to be helpful and efficient," stated a Malakite, trying to look disinterested.

"Yes, he organizes those online battle net things for you, doesn't he?" asked the Seraph.

"Absolutely. Very useful," murmured the Malakite, radiating innocence, as did several other Malakim near him. Behind him, his monitor chimed, and an elderly man's voice droned, "Stay a while, and listen!"

"Leaving all this beside," Laurence said enthusiastically, "I believe that I have a plan which will increase our server support, and will let our friend from Jean behind that door have the spare time he needs to assist on the helpdesk. I have a source of potential recruits, and one which the forces of Hell will never think of . . ."

All right. We have a holiday camp full of ex-dotcommers. We have two separate recruiting teams (one Laurencian, one Baalite) approaching from different directions, with no idea that the other will be there. We have holiday camp activities ongoing. And does anyone really think that Jean and Vapula won't have agents there, or that Jean and Vapula won't be a touch less than happy about Baal and Laurence trying to get round the exclusive service contracts?

Not to mention the high likelihood of Doom, Quake, or Diablo ethereals forming spontaneously in such a neighborhood . . .


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