FFJ - 2 - Contract Violation

“You said he was dead.”

“Well, he was.”

A sputtering Betty lamp cast Knight Commander Baldrick's claustrophobic broom closet of an office in an unearned warm glow unfit the cold glower on his face. My chair was wedged between the wall and oak slab the man had requisitioned as a desk. A metal bracket joined its two halves together, so large it had to be sawed in half and put back together inside. But that’s the kind of man Baldrick was. He got shit done in the most direct, inefficient manner. The God King, forever may he bless us, liked men like him. Men that had all the finesse of a dying fish.

“You were contracted to kill him.”

“I did kill him.”

“And yet he walked away.”

“You sure as fuck didn’t pay me enough to kill him twice.”

Baldrick tutted and shuffled a stack of yellowing parchment. A hefty wooden stamp bearing a laughing skeleton lay canted off its holder, dried red splotches from flaking ink — the God King’s sigil. I’d earned that stamp on just about every kill mission the oaf before me had signed off on. I had a veritable horde of successful contracts, but loyalty meant nothing these days. You swear your fealty, kneel before the soul-razing blade of Thel’un’door, bear witness to the screams of the damned, and it doesn’t mean a damn thing. 

“I’m afraid this is going to affect your score,” Baldrick said, fat-fingering an abacus of small white skulls, whispering to himself with an all-too-soft voice underscored with a wheeze, “Yes. This does drop your satisfaction rating below 99%, which means you will be placed on a performance improvement plan.”

“You’re fucking joking.”

“No, sir. The God King’s unerring, necrotic manifestation’s efficiency have resulted in a reevaluation in our productivity guidelines. The war of souls-”

“...can only be won through efficient slaughter. Yes, I know. I know.”

“Then you understand, my hands are tied. You are a star performer as far as our mortal department goes. I am sure you will bounce back. But, we all have to do our jobs here, and I cannot overlook this inefficiency.”

“At least let me explain what happened.”

“The contract and its expectations were quite clear.”

“Kill Admund De-Vlair, rumored enemy to the God King, dissenter of his profane arts. Yes, I can still read it there in front of you.”

“Then-”

“Come on, just give me a minute.”

“I really-”

“Baldrick. Come on.”

“Fine.”

“I killed De-Vlair as the contract specified,” I leaned forward, tapping the paper for good measure, “Dagger right to the heart, from behind. The blade had the company-standard blackmire poison. He fell, dead, as they usually do. Then something burst in red flame, and a magical artefact swathed the fellow in crimson power. He rose for the dead, plucked the blade from his chest, gave me a nod, and went on with his stroll through the dark alley. How was I to expect a dissenter of the necrotic shroud would employ its power to continue? And, well, I had killed him. I thought it could be a mark against me to kill him twice.”

“You thought completing your contract would be a mark against you.” 

“The contracts are awfully specific about these things.”

Baldrick shook his head, “Section 4, subsection B of the God King’s standards of flesh clearly states that a contract must be completed, regardless of intervention of the holy, the hells, the abyss, or the unknown. I understand you do not wish to lose points, but this is insufficient cause for a contract forfeiture.”

“But I-”

“You are dismissed.”

“You can’t be-”

“Need I remind you that employment under the God King, may souls wail in his presence, is at-will.”

“...yes, sir. Thank you.”