Skit 12: Your Documents, Now

| Your Documents, Now. |


You creak your eyes open, taking in the dim room beyond. It was spartan, but neat, clean, with furniture and accessories that you truly needed. A couple of big, green leather chairs sat together, mostly unused; company never being an issue for someone as low as you. A clock with red numbers told you it was between early and late morning, their vibrancy stabbing minutely at your eyes. A nimble hand, flawless in perfection, reached up to turn the lamp on, wincing as you do so. Cheap, thick drapes kept the day's burgeoning light out.

The company issued vodka you drank last night was horrible, but the memories, dreams, were even worse. Haunting your every step, giggling maniacally under every red stamp you pressed down on each and every hopeful looking face, you brought yourself that much closer to despising yourself. That party you held for yourself, with only yourself, brought your spirits up only a decimal point, in other words, kept the status quo of self-loathing. You often wonder why you hadn't killed yourself yet, and today you just fucking woke up. You broke your record, shattering both the morning's peacefulness and your optimism for the day.

Bright as a neon star, a plain envelope waited for you on your night table. You immediately knew who it was from; they were the only ones who sent you anything these days.

You opened it, bringing the letter out to be read.

It read:

Hail comrade, glory to the Ninth.

You have won our lottery and are now responsible for regulating employee flow into our new R&D base in Siberia! Full information will be disclosed at your new post. Your transport is waiting for you at HQ, don't be late.

Sincerely,
Comrade Sectretary Tomoe

P.S. Please don't go on another drinking spree like the one last night. You have friends who care for you, and pushing them away only hurts you and them.

Brown bottle nausea sneaked into your throat, challenging you to an impromptu wrestling match. You honestly couldn't remember where you held the party, but weren't surprised to have found out that the HQ was one of possibly many places.

Feeling able to stand up without throwing up, you readied yourself for the trip.

***

You were an hour and a half late, Kyubey scolded you for your tardiness while a disappointed Mami watched. You felt bad for disappointing Mami, but a side of you saw that everyone knew this would happen. Kyubey wasn't putting much venom into correcting you, and Mami had acceptance in her eyes, already prepared for this situation. As if you earned a certain reputation.

You told Kyubey you were ready, and Kyubey told you to get going before the replacement gets overrun.

***

On the way there, you checked your phone, and saw that you missed a few calls, all during the time you slept your hangover off.

Smirking, then frowning, you realized you had earned a less than human reputation, one that spoke on how unreliable you were. Once again you questioned why you haven't retired yourself yet.

***

You arrived at your guard post at one PM. R&D base a mere five minutes away, you exhaled, white smoke fading away with the bitter wind. Siberia was cold, cold with the snow crunching under your heels, cold with the bitter, almost relentless wind in your face, biting down to your dead bones; a cold place for even colder people. Two guards with rifles and greatcoats and those furry russian hats kept an eye on the guard post and anyone walking by, giving you the eye as you walked by too.

Grumbling, you crossed paths with two bundled up girls making their way to the base, whispering about how cold it was here.

At your post, in the entrance you noticed a girl standing there, looking annoyed. She didn't look at you as you made for the inspector door, opening it to find yet another girl, this one a few steps above the previous, hunched over her desk, speaking into a microphone.

"P-papers, p-p-please."

"Here. I been in line for four hours. Can I now go in and do job?"

"Ah, senior comrade! F-f-finally you arrive! Please t-take over after I'm done with this girl."

The girl began to examine the Officio Card given to her, you slipping in behind her, peeking over her shoulder. Her finger scanned it, murmuring to herself about this looking good, about that meeting protocols, and with everything checking green, she reached for the approval stamp. With an icy grip you stop her from making a mistake.

"W-why, Senior Comrade?!" The girl peeped, concern etched into her rookie face.

You pointed her mistake out; the Officio ID card didn't have the Ninth's emblem on it AND misspelled Kyubey's name, and that she hadn't given her work form. Faster than she could react, you stamped it in red and shot it back out to the girl.

"Ow! Why?!"

You grumbled out your reply, glaring at her from behind your protective screen.

"Bullshit!" She stomped out.

"T-thank you, Comrade!" The girl - Kumatora - was relieved, obviously shaken by the half day's work. You nodded, telling her she was lucky that mistake was corrected, that no grief seed would be penalized, and that she should go now; you take over.

She thanked you until you closed the door after her, letting out a sigh. You just got here and already you wanted back in your bed. The day wasn't looking good. Turning around, you steeled yourself.

Next! the blowhorn above you mechanically ordered, with the line outside moving one person closer.

***

A biker walked in, with no flesh exposed to the world.

"Documents, now."

With gloved hand she proffered her Officio ID card and two pieces of paper, pushing them through the slot.

"Is that you, Comrade?"

"Yes." You brought the three items to your front, scanning them for any and all wrongs. Her picture matched her current appearance, with emblem, rank, and branch all checking out.

"Atleast this base won't fall with you guarding it, Comrade. Too many have fallen, security should be very good. You won't fail, will you?"

"No, I won't." Work form checked out. You stamped approval on papers and shot them back.

"The Warmaster is right behind me. Just let her through, alright? She will leave a nice surprise outside your door. Glory to the Ninth."

"Glory to the Ninth."

Next!

***

The Warmaster stepped through, scoring the highest height you will record on any day, with a cocky grin on her face, and a bottle clutched in her abnormal hand.

"Documents, now." Your headache worsened.

She rose the bottle, nearly empty, so that you could see it, nodding. "Let me through, da?"

"Look, you require your documents to get past - and what happened to my bottle?"

"I had need of it. A blonde, you see, twins... If I give Officio Card, that'd be enough?" In slid her card, with a mini-likeness grinning shark teeth up at you. You ferreted your stained, old, worn rulebook out, flipping to the rules page.

"I need your work form and diplomatic papers, too, or you will not get through."

"I am Warmaster."

"Warmaster or no, documents, now." This time you put more force than you normally would into your voice, going from a broken concrete mixer to someone not to be messed with.

The Warmaster sighed. "Malal had them, she does all paperwork! Officio Card enough for Warmaster! Let me through!"

In an instant she was denied and been given her card back. A scowl replaced her grin. "I'll have your skull, Comrade!"

Shattering the bottle against the one thing protecting you, she stomped out, seething. With the glass shards and what was left of the booze scattering throughout your station, you were calling in the next person.

Next!

***

A green haired, red eyed girl entered, worry lines faint on her face, deep between her brow.

"Documents, now."

The girl sidestepped the broken bottle on the ground to enter her three documents, stepping back with equal care.

Her picture matches her current appearance. She hailed from the Eigth Officio, as a... diplomat? Her diplomatic paper had the correct emblem for the Eighth, and was up to date for today. The blinking clock to your bottom left told you you should hurry up, alot more people to get through today, and time was all but up.

Right, everything checked out. You stamped approval and looked at her while pushing the papers through the slot. She looked to have a lot on her mind, too much maybe; something was strange about her, you couldn't pinpoint what, though.

"Cause no trouble." She took her papers and departed.

The Ninth welcomes you!

Damnit.

Next!!

***

You observed her walking, noting how... scared, and slow, it was. She walked like someone with a lot to live for going to their execution.

"Yo, Comrade." You turned your gaze to see a red ponytail girl eating pocky, grin keeping it in place, nonchalantly passing her Officio card.

You taped the rule in your book loudly. "I need your work form."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, was gettin' to that." She rummaged through her suit. You spent the time checking her card out, making sure it was correct. Picture matched her appearance, down to the pocky stick - was it the same one, you wondered. You gazed at her stick, then shook your head when realization dawned; couldn't be, this one was longer.

"Your appearance does not match up with card."

"Wha? How?" She stopped rummaging, looking at you puzzled.

"The pocky stick in your mouth is longer than the one in card."

"Oh, hahah, you funny, Comrade. Stick would be several years old if same!"

"FOR THE EIGHTH!"

"What is happening?" The redhead asked. You looked to see the previous girl... witching out.

Instantly your hand slammed against the big red shiny button, a magical bubble morphing around the guard post and actual base. A rift in time and space fluxed out blinding light, sucking the girl and the two guards up into it, disappearing just as quickly; only to leave a scar every magical girl could see.

Cleanup was going to suck.

***

A couple squads took care of the incident, and you went to bed without your present from the Warmaster.

You woke up the next morning with the same chip on your shoulder, dragging your rotting carcuss to the guard post.

It was 6AM, far too early in the morning for you or anyone else, with the sun just barely visible on the horizon. On your table were a few Officio sheets, detailing what happened, and the new security measures. All Eighth magical girls will be denied entrance, and security will be enforced. You sighted five new guards, all sporting ugly instruments. Already a line was outside, each one a potential hazard, a potential employee. It was your job to sort it out in a timely, efficient manner.

You sighed, and brought your shutters up.

Next!