11-26-2016, 12:50 AM
As it turned out, the PepsiCo HQ occupied the top one-hundred floors of a seven-hundred-story pale-blue obelisk. It wasn't the largest tower on Tier-Two, but it was still very impressive, and it was the only one with a giant soda-can on the top.
Concessions had been made to Coruscant's overall civic brand: the HQ's color matched the rest of the building, and the corporate iconography was little more than a watermark two hundred meters across, but that didn't change the fact that the top of the tower was a one-hundred-story blue cylinder with a Pepsi logo stenciled on the side. In Kelly's estimation, it was undeniably a soda-can, and anybody who said otherwise was probably a lawyer.
There was a four-lane entrance smack in the middle of the pale, wavy stripe that separated the two hemispheres of the Pepsi-globe. Johan broke from the sparse upper-level traffic of the city and plunged into the far left lane, gliding deftly down a twisting corridor and coming to a stop in a broad, ivy-lined interior tunnel. On Kelly's side, just beyond the curb, there was a wide, grassy terrace. A red marble walk bridged it, beyond which stood a pair of sliding, mirrored-glass doors emblazoned with the same familiar red-and-blue logo that adorned the side of the building. They were set deep into the wall, framed by the ivy, and in addition to being reflective, their glass was tinted a dark amber.
"Welcome to PepsiCo HQ!" said Johan. "I hope you have enjoyed your trip with Tier Two Transport Skycab Synthetic Services, Mister Mayhew, and wish you the best of luck with your business!"
Kelly thanked the taxi and got out, adjusting his tie as he stepped onto the curb. He'd gone with a blue so dark it was almost black. It coordinated with his boots, and set off his eyes to best effect.
The walk to the doors was flanked by carefully manicured topiary. All of the plants were cut in the shape of Pepsi-products. The traveler was impressed in spite of himself - he had had no idea you could trim a bush to look like a bag of Doritos. He crossed at a brisk pace, pausing for a moment at the half-way mark to check his reflection in the doors.
The suit had turned out well. It emphasized his broad shoulders, impressive height and athletic build. His hair was even behaving for once, probably because of some faint lingering dampness from his trip through the frozen fields. Not a strand out of place.
Satisfied with his impending first impression, Kelly strode forward, and the doors slid open in front of him with a whoosh of climate-controlled air that smelled of tin and corn-syrup. As he stepped past them, he couldn't help noting the unusual thickness of the panes.
Unless I miss my guess, that's re-enforced glass. Bulletproof at least, and given the tech-level around here it's probably much tougher than that.
Interesting.
He walked through a short entry-hall with a mosaic floor - the Pepsi logo, of course - before emerging into a large, circular lobby.
The room was spacious, almost sixty meters across, with shining sliver walls rising up through the center portion of the top half of the HQ, and a floor made of what looked like actual amber with a plastic finish - a combination clearly intended to give the illusion one was truly inside of a Pepsi-can. There was a reception desk opposite the main entrance, a smooth blue semicircle - Pepsi branded, of course - with a tired looking young man in a Pepsi t-shirt sitting behind it at one of several holographic consoles. On a red marble pedestal in the center of the room was a twelve-foot tall chrome statue of a completely featureless humanoid figure with Pepsi-themed highlights on his torso and legs. The figure had one arm in a golden sling, and one foot in a golden cast. There was a Pepsi-can in his good hand, raised to the heavens in defiance, or possibly just brand-loyalty.
There was a plaque. It read simply, "Pepsiman: Our Crisp, Refreshing, Flavour Saviour".
That was all. No other people, no elevators. No potted plants. Just lots of chrome, lots of amber, one bored receptionist, an uncomfortable amount of empty space, and the statue.
Okay... There were four traffic lanes coming in, and only one led here. Multiple entrances for different business, maybe? I guess this is the 'unknown and unaffiliated with Pepsi' desk.
Kelly crossed the lobby, skirted around the statue, and approached the reception desk. At swift walking-pace, it took around half a minute.
"Welcome to PepsiCo Omniverse Headquarters," said the receptionist, who had straightened up, fixed his hair, put on a suit-jacket and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes in the time it took the traveler to arrive. "How can I help you, sir?"
Kelly smiled. "My name is Alan Mayhew. I'm here to see Pepsiman," he said.
The receptionist fiddled with his console, and frowned. "You don't seem to have an appointment, Mr. Mayhew. Not just anyone can see Pepsiman, so unless you have other business I'm afraid you're going to have to leave."
The traveler's smile flattened out. "I'm here about the industrial counter-intelligence job? The listing said to apply in person."
The recpetionist jumped, looking embarrassed and hiding it quickly. "Oh! You should have said." He manipulated an icon floating above the desk, and the shining metal of the wall nearby rippled and flowed, revealing an open elevator door.
"Go on up. It's the top floor, executive suite. I've pre-programmed the elevator, so don't mess with the controls or it'll lock you out."
"Thank you very much," said Kelly, nodding his acknowledgement and striding into the elevator.
"Good luck!" called the receptionist, as the doors slid silently shut.
Kelly waited. Nothing happened. Just when he was starting to wonder if he was stuck in here, lured here and captured for some kind of devious cola-related experimentation, the door slid open again. He hadn't felt the elevator move, but the scene which greeted the traveler now was very different than the lobby he had just left.
It was shockingly mundane, for one: a well-lit, spacious executive office with plush tan carpeting and mahogany-paneled walls hung with framed pictures of various Pepsi products. There were potted plants in the corners, ficuses and ferns, which lent the place the pleasant scent of chlorophyll. There were chairs, for visitors, and an expensive-looking leather sofa. One wall, opposite the elevator, was composed entirely of a single curved pane of amber-tinted crystal, offering a beautiful panoramic view from on-high of Tier-Two.
And finally, seated at an extravagant wooden desk in front of the window, which must have been cut whole from a section of the trunk of a truly enormous tree, was Pepsiman himself.
The statue in the lobby was only partially accurate. Pepsiman was indeed featureless, with no eyes, or ears, nose or mouth - just a chrome bulb on top of his neck shaped vaguely like a human head. He was truly built like a veritable Adonis, even taller and broader than Kelly, though still within the normal human range rather than the twelve-foot titan depicted in the sculpture. However, this Pepsiman was uninjured, and instead of gadding about in nothing but a Pepsi-logo and the the silvery skin his syrupy gods gave him, with a single red stripe down the middle of his torso and inner thighs, he wore a quite tasteful business suit with matching slacks.
Double breasted tweed. Why do I know so much about men's fashion?
The traveler ground his teeth.
Focus.
Kelly stepped out of the elevator. Pepsiman rose from his chair and clasped his metallic hands behind his back.
"Pepsiman?" said Kelly, approaching the desk, "My name is Alan Mayhew. I'm here about the counter-intelligence contract."
The chromed executive didn't say anything, but gestured to a nearby chair, upholstered in brown leather. The traveler sat, steepled his hands in his lap and crossed his legs.
Suddenly, Pepsiman exploded into action!
He whipped his hands from behind his back, pointing one at Kelly, and a mouth appeared on the formerly featureless metal face, a black oval of seemingly infinite depth. A hissing, bubbling, liquid cacophony filled the air.
"SLUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!"
Kelly sprang to his feet, his vision tunneling as the world slowed down. He juked to one side, out of the perceived line of fire as psychokinetic force rippled through his fingertips. He'd thought this all seemed far too strange, and now -
"Pop!"
A can of ice-cold Pepsi appeared in Kelly's hand. Pepsiman's mouth disappeared, and he sat back down.
Kelly stared, his heart hammering in his chest. He looked at the can, which was to all appearances perfectly mundane, then looked at Pepsiman, who gestured, calm once more, at the chair Kelly had just vacated.
What just happened?
Thoroughly confused, and determined not to let it show, the traveler sat. Pepsiman folded his hands on the desk, evidently waiting for something. He had yet to say a single word. Cautiously, Kelly popped the tab, and took a drink. It was crisp and refreshing. He couldn't remember ever having had a better soda, though in his case that meant quite literally nothing.
Roll with it.
"Thank you," he said, "it's delicious." Pepsiman shrugged, conveying satisfaction with a job well done.
"Now, about that job?"
Pepsiman nodded, and reached under his desk. There was the sound of a drawer opening and closing. He brought out a tan file-folder with a pen clipped to the jacket and slid it across to Kelly, who put down his Pepsi and opened it. It was a non-disclosure agreement.
Kelly read the document carefully.
'...Bounty upon signatory's life and/or banishment to be posted through corporate and Imperial channels if PepsiCo ™ proprietary information, including the contents of any and all discussion with Pepsiman ™ is released by signatory without prior PepsiCo approval and written consent of legal PepsiCo representative'? That seems harsh, but these people obviously take their cola very seriously...
He signed Alan Mayhew's name, and placed the document back in the folder. Then he finished his Pepsi, placing the empty can on the arm of his chair. Pepsiman returned the folder to the drawer, and replaced it with another, slightly thicker folder marked 'Secret'. Kelly picked up the folder, and began to read.
The folder contained information on 'Project NukaPepsi'. The abstract described it as "a revolutionary effort to combine the crisp, refreshing taste of Pepsi Cola with the unlimited power of the sun!"
Kelly looked up at Pepsiman, but saw nothing in that chrome face except for his own slightly incredulous reflection. He turned his eyes back to the folder kept reading.
Somehow, PepsiCo food-physicists had successfully developed a formula for NukaPepsi that tested amazingly well with focus-groups, outperforming normal Pepsi by almost two-hundred percent. It was also superior to early NukaPepsi prototypes in that it didn't immediately burn through its container, and could actually be consumed by a secondary without causing long-term health issues, so long as they read the warning label and took the anti-radiation drugs that came packaged with every can. PepsiCo had already begun an aggressive ad campaign hyping their new mystery-product, and their stock-price was through the roof on projected sales alone.
Kelly skimmed over several pages of chemical formulas and isotopic breakdowns, mildly fascinated by the bizarre chemistry, until he reached a stack of internal memos bordered by legalese to the effect of 'if you talk about this, we own your soul'.
Aha... So that's what this is about!
PepsiCo had been robbed. An unknown competitor had hired a group of mercenaries to infiltrate the NukaPepsi labs. They'd wiped the servers, killed the head of the project plus the two other leading scientists, and made off with thirteen liters of actual NukaPepsi. However, apparently their lack of subtlety had scared off their employer, because word had reached PepsiCo's corporate intelligence division that the thieves were putting the word out on the black market down on Tier-Four, trying to find a new buyer for their ill-gotten soft-drink.
Kelly almost wondered why nobody had notified the authorities, but then he remembered the stock-projections.
If word of this spreads, it will crater their price-per-share. No wonder they're playing it so close to the vest - but this is clearly time sensitive. They practically had to contract out because these people have been in their servers - if the thieves have any brains at all they'll be checking potential buyers against a roster of known PepsiCo employees... but why pay peanuts for something so important?
The traveler turned the last page of the folder, and he understood. They weren't paying peanuts after all. Some of what he'd just gone through must have been a test, including his willingness to respond to the ad in the first place.
Taped in the back of the folder, on a page marked "In Return for Justice", was a red-white-and-blue chip-ID card. It had a space for a photo and no name - yet. The card read, "PepsiCo VIP: Executive Access" in serious-looking black letters. Provided this was what it looked like, it was far more valuable to Kelly than mere currency.
They ARE serious about this.
Kelly looked up at his prospective employer. The amber light streaming in the window reflected off Pepsiman's gleaming, bulbous head as he raised a tightly clenched fist and stared facelessly into Kelly's eyes. Tears of dark amber liquid streamed down his shiny cheeks. It was remarkable how much hot-blooded yen for thirst-quenching Justice the superhero-turned-executive managed to project without any words or actual facial features being involved.
Now the strange job listing made sense. Pepsiman didn't want to hire a corporate mercenary - he had been deeply, personally wounded by this crime, and wanted someone who was willing to punish these soda-thieves for Justice, and for crisp, refreshing Pepsi.To such a paragon, who would come here with ideals so like his own, he would even offer access to his carbonated corporate empire.
Kelly closed the folder, nodded, and slid it back across the desk. The truth, was, he wasn't the man Pepsiman was looking for - he didn't feel a burning passion for Pepsi in his heart, and he knew his views on Justice were probably less black and white than those of a man who wore a symbol on his chest. Also, he thought the idea of NukaPepsi was frankly insane. These thieves, however, whoever they were, appeared to be just the right mixture of competent and incompetent to cause a lot of damage. They needed to be taken out of circulation, and the prospect of access to conglomerate-level information-gathering resources was far too good to pass up.
Pepsiman put the folder away, and slid Kelly a stack of paper on corporate letterhead. It was the actual legal agreement to do the work, spelling the relationship out between Kelly and PepsiCo, and the conditions by which both sides would abide. The traveler read it through twice.
... Payment upon completion ... VIP access in perpetuity barring malicious abuse of said access harming interests of PepsiCo, image of PepsiCo, or PepsiCo personnel... PepsiCo will cover all legal costs related to fulfillment of contract provided below conditions are met...
... no collateral damage... no drinking Coca-Cola products? ... return of PepsiCo property...Administer Justice...
Dead or Alive.
This is a bounty-hunting contract. Fine. These people need taking down. I can live with that.
Kelly signed, giving Alan Mayhew's agreement to abide by the contract's terms. Pepsiman countersigned.
"I'll need all the additional information you have on the robbery," Kelly said, standing, "and whatever you've got on the thieves' current whereabouts. "
Pepsiman nodded emphatically, walked around to the front of the desk to shake his hand, and gave him a Pepsi.
Concessions had been made to Coruscant's overall civic brand: the HQ's color matched the rest of the building, and the corporate iconography was little more than a watermark two hundred meters across, but that didn't change the fact that the top of the tower was a one-hundred-story blue cylinder with a Pepsi logo stenciled on the side. In Kelly's estimation, it was undeniably a soda-can, and anybody who said otherwise was probably a lawyer.
There was a four-lane entrance smack in the middle of the pale, wavy stripe that separated the two hemispheres of the Pepsi-globe. Johan broke from the sparse upper-level traffic of the city and plunged into the far left lane, gliding deftly down a twisting corridor and coming to a stop in a broad, ivy-lined interior tunnel. On Kelly's side, just beyond the curb, there was a wide, grassy terrace. A red marble walk bridged it, beyond which stood a pair of sliding, mirrored-glass doors emblazoned with the same familiar red-and-blue logo that adorned the side of the building. They were set deep into the wall, framed by the ivy, and in addition to being reflective, their glass was tinted a dark amber.
"Welcome to PepsiCo HQ!" said Johan. "I hope you have enjoyed your trip with Tier Two Transport Skycab Synthetic Services, Mister Mayhew, and wish you the best of luck with your business!"
Kelly thanked the taxi and got out, adjusting his tie as he stepped onto the curb. He'd gone with a blue so dark it was almost black. It coordinated with his boots, and set off his eyes to best effect.
The walk to the doors was flanked by carefully manicured topiary. All of the plants were cut in the shape of Pepsi-products. The traveler was impressed in spite of himself - he had had no idea you could trim a bush to look like a bag of Doritos. He crossed at a brisk pace, pausing for a moment at the half-way mark to check his reflection in the doors.
The suit had turned out well. It emphasized his broad shoulders, impressive height and athletic build. His hair was even behaving for once, probably because of some faint lingering dampness from his trip through the frozen fields. Not a strand out of place.
Satisfied with his impending first impression, Kelly strode forward, and the doors slid open in front of him with a whoosh of climate-controlled air that smelled of tin and corn-syrup. As he stepped past them, he couldn't help noting the unusual thickness of the panes.
Unless I miss my guess, that's re-enforced glass. Bulletproof at least, and given the tech-level around here it's probably much tougher than that.
Interesting.
He walked through a short entry-hall with a mosaic floor - the Pepsi logo, of course - before emerging into a large, circular lobby.
The room was spacious, almost sixty meters across, with shining sliver walls rising up through the center portion of the top half of the HQ, and a floor made of what looked like actual amber with a plastic finish - a combination clearly intended to give the illusion one was truly inside of a Pepsi-can. There was a reception desk opposite the main entrance, a smooth blue semicircle - Pepsi branded, of course - with a tired looking young man in a Pepsi t-shirt sitting behind it at one of several holographic consoles. On a red marble pedestal in the center of the room was a twelve-foot tall chrome statue of a completely featureless humanoid figure with Pepsi-themed highlights on his torso and legs. The figure had one arm in a golden sling, and one foot in a golden cast. There was a Pepsi-can in his good hand, raised to the heavens in defiance, or possibly just brand-loyalty.
There was a plaque. It read simply, "Pepsiman: Our Crisp, Refreshing, Flavour Saviour".
That was all. No other people, no elevators. No potted plants. Just lots of chrome, lots of amber, one bored receptionist, an uncomfortable amount of empty space, and the statue.
Okay... There were four traffic lanes coming in, and only one led here. Multiple entrances for different business, maybe? I guess this is the 'unknown and unaffiliated with Pepsi' desk.
Kelly crossed the lobby, skirted around the statue, and approached the reception desk. At swift walking-pace, it took around half a minute.
"Welcome to PepsiCo Omniverse Headquarters," said the receptionist, who had straightened up, fixed his hair, put on a suit-jacket and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes in the time it took the traveler to arrive. "How can I help you, sir?"
Kelly smiled. "My name is Alan Mayhew. I'm here to see Pepsiman," he said.
The receptionist fiddled with his console, and frowned. "You don't seem to have an appointment, Mr. Mayhew. Not just anyone can see Pepsiman, so unless you have other business I'm afraid you're going to have to leave."
The traveler's smile flattened out. "I'm here about the industrial counter-intelligence job? The listing said to apply in person."
The recpetionist jumped, looking embarrassed and hiding it quickly. "Oh! You should have said." He manipulated an icon floating above the desk, and the shining metal of the wall nearby rippled and flowed, revealing an open elevator door.
"Go on up. It's the top floor, executive suite. I've pre-programmed the elevator, so don't mess with the controls or it'll lock you out."
"Thank you very much," said Kelly, nodding his acknowledgement and striding into the elevator.
"Good luck!" called the receptionist, as the doors slid silently shut.
Kelly waited. Nothing happened. Just when he was starting to wonder if he was stuck in here, lured here and captured for some kind of devious cola-related experimentation, the door slid open again. He hadn't felt the elevator move, but the scene which greeted the traveler now was very different than the lobby he had just left.
It was shockingly mundane, for one: a well-lit, spacious executive office with plush tan carpeting and mahogany-paneled walls hung with framed pictures of various Pepsi products. There were potted plants in the corners, ficuses and ferns, which lent the place the pleasant scent of chlorophyll. There were chairs, for visitors, and an expensive-looking leather sofa. One wall, opposite the elevator, was composed entirely of a single curved pane of amber-tinted crystal, offering a beautiful panoramic view from on-high of Tier-Two.
And finally, seated at an extravagant wooden desk in front of the window, which must have been cut whole from a section of the trunk of a truly enormous tree, was Pepsiman himself.
The statue in the lobby was only partially accurate. Pepsiman was indeed featureless, with no eyes, or ears, nose or mouth - just a chrome bulb on top of his neck shaped vaguely like a human head. He was truly built like a veritable Adonis, even taller and broader than Kelly, though still within the normal human range rather than the twelve-foot titan depicted in the sculpture. However, this Pepsiman was uninjured, and instead of gadding about in nothing but a Pepsi-logo and the the silvery skin his syrupy gods gave him, with a single red stripe down the middle of his torso and inner thighs, he wore a quite tasteful business suit with matching slacks.
Double breasted tweed. Why do I know so much about men's fashion?
The traveler ground his teeth.
Focus.
Kelly stepped out of the elevator. Pepsiman rose from his chair and clasped his metallic hands behind his back.
"Pepsiman?" said Kelly, approaching the desk, "My name is Alan Mayhew. I'm here about the counter-intelligence contract."
The chromed executive didn't say anything, but gestured to a nearby chair, upholstered in brown leather. The traveler sat, steepled his hands in his lap and crossed his legs.
Suddenly, Pepsiman exploded into action!
He whipped his hands from behind his back, pointing one at Kelly, and a mouth appeared on the formerly featureless metal face, a black oval of seemingly infinite depth. A hissing, bubbling, liquid cacophony filled the air.
"SLUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!"
Kelly sprang to his feet, his vision tunneling as the world slowed down. He juked to one side, out of the perceived line of fire as psychokinetic force rippled through his fingertips. He'd thought this all seemed far too strange, and now -
"Pop!"
A can of ice-cold Pepsi appeared in Kelly's hand. Pepsiman's mouth disappeared, and he sat back down.
Kelly stared, his heart hammering in his chest. He looked at the can, which was to all appearances perfectly mundane, then looked at Pepsiman, who gestured, calm once more, at the chair Kelly had just vacated.
What just happened?
Thoroughly confused, and determined not to let it show, the traveler sat. Pepsiman folded his hands on the desk, evidently waiting for something. He had yet to say a single word. Cautiously, Kelly popped the tab, and took a drink. It was crisp and refreshing. He couldn't remember ever having had a better soda, though in his case that meant quite literally nothing.
Roll with it.
"Thank you," he said, "it's delicious." Pepsiman shrugged, conveying satisfaction with a job well done.
"Now, about that job?"
Pepsiman nodded, and reached under his desk. There was the sound of a drawer opening and closing. He brought out a tan file-folder with a pen clipped to the jacket and slid it across to Kelly, who put down his Pepsi and opened it. It was a non-disclosure agreement.
Kelly read the document carefully.
'...Bounty upon signatory's life and/or banishment to be posted through corporate and Imperial channels if PepsiCo ™ proprietary information, including the contents of any and all discussion with Pepsiman ™ is released by signatory without prior PepsiCo approval and written consent of legal PepsiCo representative'? That seems harsh, but these people obviously take their cola very seriously...
He signed Alan Mayhew's name, and placed the document back in the folder. Then he finished his Pepsi, placing the empty can on the arm of his chair. Pepsiman returned the folder to the drawer, and replaced it with another, slightly thicker folder marked 'Secret'. Kelly picked up the folder, and began to read.
The folder contained information on 'Project NukaPepsi'. The abstract described it as "a revolutionary effort to combine the crisp, refreshing taste of Pepsi Cola with the unlimited power of the sun!"
Kelly looked up at Pepsiman, but saw nothing in that chrome face except for his own slightly incredulous reflection. He turned his eyes back to the folder kept reading.
Somehow, PepsiCo food-physicists had successfully developed a formula for NukaPepsi that tested amazingly well with focus-groups, outperforming normal Pepsi by almost two-hundred percent. It was also superior to early NukaPepsi prototypes in that it didn't immediately burn through its container, and could actually be consumed by a secondary without causing long-term health issues, so long as they read the warning label and took the anti-radiation drugs that came packaged with every can. PepsiCo had already begun an aggressive ad campaign hyping their new mystery-product, and their stock-price was through the roof on projected sales alone.
Kelly skimmed over several pages of chemical formulas and isotopic breakdowns, mildly fascinated by the bizarre chemistry, until he reached a stack of internal memos bordered by legalese to the effect of 'if you talk about this, we own your soul'.
Aha... So that's what this is about!
PepsiCo had been robbed. An unknown competitor had hired a group of mercenaries to infiltrate the NukaPepsi labs. They'd wiped the servers, killed the head of the project plus the two other leading scientists, and made off with thirteen liters of actual NukaPepsi. However, apparently their lack of subtlety had scared off their employer, because word had reached PepsiCo's corporate intelligence division that the thieves were putting the word out on the black market down on Tier-Four, trying to find a new buyer for their ill-gotten soft-drink.
Kelly almost wondered why nobody had notified the authorities, but then he remembered the stock-projections.
If word of this spreads, it will crater their price-per-share. No wonder they're playing it so close to the vest - but this is clearly time sensitive. They practically had to contract out because these people have been in their servers - if the thieves have any brains at all they'll be checking potential buyers against a roster of known PepsiCo employees... but why pay peanuts for something so important?
The traveler turned the last page of the folder, and he understood. They weren't paying peanuts after all. Some of what he'd just gone through must have been a test, including his willingness to respond to the ad in the first place.
Taped in the back of the folder, on a page marked "In Return for Justice", was a red-white-and-blue chip-ID card. It had a space for a photo and no name - yet. The card read, "PepsiCo VIP: Executive Access" in serious-looking black letters. Provided this was what it looked like, it was far more valuable to Kelly than mere currency.
They ARE serious about this.
Kelly looked up at his prospective employer. The amber light streaming in the window reflected off Pepsiman's gleaming, bulbous head as he raised a tightly clenched fist and stared facelessly into Kelly's eyes. Tears of dark amber liquid streamed down his shiny cheeks. It was remarkable how much hot-blooded yen for thirst-quenching Justice the superhero-turned-executive managed to project without any words or actual facial features being involved.
Now the strange job listing made sense. Pepsiman didn't want to hire a corporate mercenary - he had been deeply, personally wounded by this crime, and wanted someone who was willing to punish these soda-thieves for Justice, and for crisp, refreshing Pepsi.To such a paragon, who would come here with ideals so like his own, he would even offer access to his carbonated corporate empire.
Kelly closed the folder, nodded, and slid it back across the desk. The truth, was, he wasn't the man Pepsiman was looking for - he didn't feel a burning passion for Pepsi in his heart, and he knew his views on Justice were probably less black and white than those of a man who wore a symbol on his chest. Also, he thought the idea of NukaPepsi was frankly insane. These thieves, however, whoever they were, appeared to be just the right mixture of competent and incompetent to cause a lot of damage. They needed to be taken out of circulation, and the prospect of access to conglomerate-level information-gathering resources was far too good to pass up.
Pepsiman put the folder away, and slid Kelly a stack of paper on corporate letterhead. It was the actual legal agreement to do the work, spelling the relationship out between Kelly and PepsiCo, and the conditions by which both sides would abide. The traveler read it through twice.
... Payment upon completion ... VIP access in perpetuity barring malicious abuse of said access harming interests of PepsiCo, image of PepsiCo, or PepsiCo personnel... PepsiCo will cover all legal costs related to fulfillment of contract provided below conditions are met...
... no collateral damage... no drinking Coca-Cola products? ... return of PepsiCo property...Administer Justice...
Dead or Alive.
This is a bounty-hunting contract. Fine. These people need taking down. I can live with that.
Kelly signed, giving Alan Mayhew's agreement to abide by the contract's terms. Pepsiman countersigned.
"I'll need all the additional information you have on the robbery," Kelly said, standing, "and whatever you've got on the thieves' current whereabouts. "
Pepsiman nodded emphatically, walked around to the front of the desk to shake his hand, and gave him a Pepsi.
Quote:Third Post: 2621 words according to Wordcounter.net
3789 words total so far
Meet with Pepsiman at PepsiCo HQ on Tier 2 (fullfilled)