Bob went through the offices, trying different chairs. A Goldilocks parade through the executive suite and the offices of privilege. He limped around mahogany desks, reclining in plush leather seats. He stumbled through private labs and sat on stools.
"This one is too cushy, not enough support." He said maliciously, glaring at the soft chair.
"This one is too firm, not at all relaxing." He barked menacingly to the crowd following him.
In the elevator between floors he leaned on the wall, it was lightly padded, with a tufted, mottled gray fabric designed to hide stains. "Hey, this is pretty nice," He growled gently, leaned into the wall, and fell asleep.
His snoring echoed around the little car and I had to wait until we hit the 9th floor before I could call maintenance and have them remove the elevator wall and install it on a table in the laboratory 7. Where Jeff was laid low by a guerilla war for control of his left arm including the Deltoid and most of the Trapezius.
In a feat of maintenance heroics that hasn't been seen since the installation (and subsequent constant repair and parts replacement, of the soft serve ice cream machine in conference room C, and the addition of a concrete walkway to and from the machine*) they managed to get the wall to elevator down, and secured to a table top without waking Bob.
We waited for about an hour. Finally we decided to wake Bob, from a distance. We left a phone by the table went out to hallway and called him.
Bob leaped to his feet, threw the phone against the wall, and stumbled over the couch landing on his head. Cursing, he jumped to his feet, and glared around the room, holding his cane and looking for somebody to pummel.
Dr. Dawg walked in and said, "Oh hello, Bob. Are you ready to begin?" He was the master of cool.
Bob sat down, smiled at the doctor and said, "sure. What do I have to do?" Dawg could charm anyone. It is the source of many of our government contracts. The ol' Dawg magic.
"Just lay back and relax. We are going to place these little adhesive strips to your temples and right above your eyes. Then we are going to place these wires on the strips and hook them up to this computer."
"It will read the waves in your thoughts, and transfer them to a minute robot. Your experiences and personality will be copied on the circuits of our tiny friend, and he will become you, after a fashion. Then we will send him into Jeff to find and terminate the problem."
"Terminate the problem?" Bob asked.
"Terminate with extreme prejudice." Dr. Dawg said. His words sending a chill through the people who had started shuffle back in to the lab. They paused, looked at each other, and wondered what lay on the other side of the syringe.
*We had to hire a full time person just to keep the machine running. It was the most popular move the company ever made. But, when Diana from Records stabbed Brian from the service department over the last waffle cone we had to have it removed. Poor Johnathon still has scars from being dragged behind Diana's motorized wheel chair. Fortunately, for Brian, anyway, security stopped her before she could roll him down the fire escape.
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