Meanwhile in Nat-Lam the Sorting continues in the Halls of Sorting as usual of course, several hundred drone humanoids ensuring that Everything is in its Right Place, led by SortMasters with monocles, top hats & cracking whips occasionally, shouting above the humdrum of hands moving voices speaking, click clack of objects thrown into trays on conveyor belts, a lone voice shouts from a podium in the centre of the room, booming his self-importance with every word through a megaphone.
"Differentiate the Product from the Brand & enstate the Brand above the Product & divide the products ad infinitum," shouts a fat purple lipped mouth below a golden ringed eye (of brown proportions), "Ensure the delivery of The Service to ensure that WE get The Job DONE!"
after sporadic cheers from isolated groups of semi-motivated Junior sorters, he lowers his megaphone & strokes his bulbous belly, smug like his father's father before him. The Taskmaster walked off of his dais & walked down the sorting lines, grinning under a swollen nose at the Juniors telling their ghetto stories.
"I once saw a crack addict in pain on the subway. He was hard on the powder & talking to himself like, all crazy-stranger on subway guy, then he pulls out this knife & stabs himself in the thigh! Then he like grabs his leg in pain with both hands and starts shaking about, howling. Like i said, i once saw a crack addict on the subway in pain."
"what happened next?"
"dunno, i got off at the next stop. He was still howling like a goose"
A SortMaster cracks his whip at the junior as the Taskmaster leaves the room.
