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Nobody else seems bothered, though, as you round a wall of desks to find the trio and Richard. (Ray has opted to remain on his platform.) The little fort they've constructed behind the wall is, generously, sparse: there's two black spinning chairs and one crumpled jacket as seats, a litter of half-eaten kelp crisps as sustenance, and a pyramid of stained paper cups as decoration. You guess the finger-painting on the back of one of the desks adds a little bit of flair. "Sorry," the curly-haired man says awkwardly. "We're normally more, uh— you got us at a bad time, put it that way. <span class="mu-i">Bad</span> time. I can't believe they'd ship people out in the middle of Deathmatch..."
"Really, Glenn?" The other man of the trio flops into one of the spinning chairs. "You can't believe it? You can't believe the communication between departments is <span class="mu-i">so</span> dysfunctional—"
"It's <span class="mu-i">biannual!</span> It's not like it's difficult to— I'm sorry, folks, seriously. We're, uh, engaged in a teambuilding... did they explain teambuilding at Orientation?"
"Do you <span class="mu-i">remember</span> learning anything at Orientation, Glenn— the guy just said they explained shit. He just said that. Were you listening to the guy? You said that, right, guy— what's your name?"
"Martin," Richard says smoothly, and you work to hide your choking.
"Martin. Marty. Marty and Frances, nice. Since <span class="mu-i">Glenn</span> didn't bother with introductions, I'm Allan, and that's Glenn, and that's Iris, and Ray's on point up there... it's better he's up there, trust me. Wish he'd always be up there."
"Don't be a dick," Glenn says, as Iris says "At least <span class="mu-i">somebody's</span> keeping watch." Allan shrugs insouciantly and spins the chair around. "<span class="mu-i">Anyhow,</span> this isn't everybody. We're just the losers left behind to guard the flag, as I'm lazy, Iris is paranoid, Ray's a psycho, and Glenn claims his legs are shit, but everybody's seen him get around <span class="mu-i">fine,</span> Glenn—"
"I can't run," Glenn mutters. "Walking short distances is—"
"Gullshit. If you actually exercised your—"
"Gentlemen," says Richard, a fraction before you were going to say something ruder. "I'd be greatly obliged if you could tell us what 'Deathmatch' is."
"Yeah," you say, after a beat. "Um, you don't— do you kill people? ...With paint? How does that— does it get into their lungs? Or eyes? Is it poisoned?"
"See?" Iris says. "<span class="mu-i">She</span> thinks we should poison it. I'm <span class="mu-i">telling</span> you, all the other Zones are—"
"We're not poisoning the paintballs, Iris. We don't have poison. And if you tell me about your friend in Synth one more time, I—"
"I have a friend in Syntheticization," Iris says smugly.
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