Cleo

My name is Cleo. It was not my choice to risk my life for this job, I was born into the Office, into the Squad of Managers, and it is where I belong. At times, I am very afraid of the death that is coming for me, in the Meeting Room, if one day my luck leaves me and I am chosen as the Sacrificial Manager. I also have a fear of flying objects, those that fly on their own, smashing into the glass of the office windows (birds, bats, insects) and those that my Squad members throw through the air in the Office (papers, staplers, computers), either out of frustration or with the intention to maim or kill.

In twenty years, if I'm so lucky as to be alive, I hope that I will have ascended to the Executive Suite with permissions to operate the Photocopier and the Server (and therefore: to control our Information), as well as other essential machinery like the Coffee Maker and the Water Cooler. In that case, I would also have the permission to implement KPIs. As a member of the Executive Suite, I can even dream of ascending to the Inner Circle and therefore having permission to choose the Sacrificial Manager.

At the same time, I dream of being free of the Office and living a life beyond my Squad, of belonging to another Squad, maybe one unrelated to Offices and Office Management. I guess I can have conflicting desires; both the possible: to dominate my Squad in the Office and the impossible: to transcend it by leaving the Office and going Outside.

My god is the Chief Executive. It sits on the wall above the All Important Clock, watching my every movement, eyes open, unblinking, mouth closed, silent. Once a quarter, upon the sacfice of the Sacrificial Manager in the Meeting Room, it will open its mouth (something we Managers do not do, even when speaking) and squawk the KPIs. The KPIs are then implemented by the Executive Suite, who must see Results before the next quarter's Sacrifice.

When someone throws an object at me, something I greatly fear, I used to respond with equal or greater throwing. But now I have realised that I can deter such attacks by wheeling around a very large shield, which I have created out of a discarded computer monitor and a desk chair. I also have a spear that I have created from a broken table leg and a jagged piece of glass; it strikes fear into the hearts of my fellow Manager Squad members.

In my opinion it is ok to kill only under two circumstances:

1. When attacked in such a way that it implies my attacking Squad member wants to kill me (hasn't happened since I made my spear)
2. During the annual Manager Sacrifice, when we all gather in the Meeting Room to maim and kill the chosen executive to appease the Chief Executive.

I do have a limp from once being struck on the left knee cap with a keyboard that my fellow manager Mark was swinging in a circle, by its cord, maliciously. I speak like any executive: without opening my lips. Only the Chief Executive, once a quarter, opens its Mouth.