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Above the proud spires of Imperial Center, a TIE wing screeches through the smog-filled air. Deep in the hallowed halls of the Imperial Palace, The Emperor himself sips on a cup of Boss Nass Light Roast Naboo Decaf, madly laughing at the sight of the victory parade; victory over yet another "rebel stronghold" in the outer rim. Never before has a Galactic Empire of the Sith stood ascendant, its grip like an iron hand around the throat of the petulant masses! Never before has the sinful stemch of Decaf defiled the highest offices of state!
But an Empire must be built on the common infrastructure of sentient beings. Droids chirp in ceaseless binary and sentients puzzle over incomprehensible combinations of Aurebesh submitted to their datapad inboxes. One such individual finds himself lodged in a traffic jam - courtesy of the 501st Legion Air Wing 'Death Squadron'.
Glup Shitto, Project Manager, yelped in pain as his searing caf (with room for blue cream) fell out of his cupholder, directly onto his fresh-pressed white uniform. He clenched his fist in rage as Death Squadron screamed over the stopped speeder traffic, ion wash rocking his (used) T-16 skyhopper enough to send a second wave of mustafar-molten caf across his toned calves. "Join the academy, they said. Get off of Sandwhorl, they said," he groaned. Suddenly his T-16 emitted a strange chime, shortly before a parade-issue celebratory proton torpedo detonated above in a lovely rain of 'Kenobi Ultramarine' sparks.
"E chu ta!" he shouted, mouth frothing in rage. "You have violated my commute for the last time, Death Squadron!" Seething with a black aura, Glup Shitto, Project Manager squeezed his fist towards the lead TIE. He liked to believe that he saw the tailfin bend, but it was really just the wind. His comm beeped - it was his boss. Glupp was currently on contract with the ISB, and once again, he was late. Steeling himself, Glup put on the affectation of a humanoid suffering a head cold, and stared across the vistas of the Imperial Center with the dead eyes of a clone fresh off the battlefront. He inhaled. He exhaled. He tapped the comm, ready to lie to save his ailing career.
"Hey, sub-commander Benweenis," he coughed twice, and stifled a moan of very real, caf-fueled pain - "Sorry im late - seems like I caught that bug going around..."
The Emperor, far away, summoned Executive Assistant with a wave of a gnarled, pale hand. "Bring me Lord Vader. I sense a disturbance in the force...those...fire-works...should have been 'Dooku Deep Crimson'. See to it that ISB takes special care to root out the traitors in our midst." The Red Guard (unfortunately hailing from a planet where corporate titles had become heriditary names) merely bowed, and silently set off to do his duty.
----
"Let me see your identification."
Glup Shitto, Project Manager, glowered through the (illegal) tint on his (used) T-16 skyhopper. "For the last time, you dont NEED to see my identification!" He waved his six fingered hand threateningly. "I am Glup Shitto, Project Manager. I have clearance on level 5127, as you can clearly read on my chain code, if you would JUST SCAN IT!"
The stormtrooper frowned beneath his bone-white helm. Glup didnt know how he knew. He just knew these things sometimes. "Ill just scan it. Yeah, I'll just scan it." He scanned it. The reader read affirmative. The trooper looked at the obsidian monument that was the ISB central office, and waved Glup forth. "Move along, move along." "Thank you, TROOPER," Glup enounciated with barely-restrained glee. "Youll be hearing from me. I have a holo dashcam and your Ident number, and you will suffer my wrath - for you have just wrongfully detained a Project Manager of the Galactic Empire - on contract!"
"W2 or 1099 Independent," said the trooper.
Glup gulped. "Erm...external contract-to-hire..." A bark of laughter barked from the trooper's vox. "Sure thing, buddy. And they said joining the Corp was a short-term career..." Glup flipped the trooper the bird and gunned his T-16, suddenly very self-conscious about his employment status through Star Card Consultants, inc, as well as the whine of his failing power converter - for he knew very well that the humble TK he had mocked had far superior benefits and higher total compensation than he did.
----
Deep in the bowels of ISB Central Offices, COMPNOR's top minds toil to ensure a terror apparatus of star-spanning scale churns across the galactic sea without end.
Level 313, conference room Atravis, 1:30pm Imperial Standard Time. Level 313 conference room Atravis, 1:30pm Imperial Standard Time. Glup held this information in his mind, heart beating to this mundane mantra as he rushed through the byzantine warren that was the ISB Central Offices. But the mouse droid he had queued was too slow, the lift doors ahead closing beyond the final stretches of oblong-ovular white light installations the Imperial Architecture Bureau held so dear.
Fear and terror struck Glup like a bolt of sith lightning.
'I cant fail now,' said Glup. 'My KPI's are exceeding params, and all my team's tasks are green! I just need this presentation to go well, and ill bag that conversion before my next review!' Within Glup, a seed of hatred screamed, and a new strength carried him like a divine wind over the poor mouse droid, past stunned interns and the disapproving glances of the officers born into genteel core nobility.
His hand caught the lift door before it closed. More accurately, his fingers were mildly bruised before the sensor array forced the doors open again. But nonetheless, Glup Shitto, Project Manager, dragged himself into the lift. "Sorry, sorry. Couldnt miss this lift. Can you hit the button for 313?"
A chill struck Glup, the hair on the back of his neck standing upright. Rancor bumps erupted across his arms. He suddenly felt the urge to wer his already-souled uniform. Nevertheless, the sound of a button-press and the jingle of the lift signified that his request had been heeded.
But the black gaunlet he spied pressing the control array was unmistakeable.
A low hiss, in-out, in-out, dominated the lift. "Apology Accepted, Manager Shitto." Glup gulped, and slowly turned around to face none other than Darth Vader.
'Kark my life...'
----
"Moving On To Item Two: As Such, The Emperor Sees Fit To Replace All Proton Torpedoes, Celebration Edition, Of Kenobi Ultramarine With A Patriotic Dooku Deep Crimson."
Glup Shitto, Project Manager, was trapped in the deepest Sith Hell. Lord Vader, Sith Lord (Founder Firing Immunity 1099-NEC with Signing Bonus, as he had learned during their elevator chat), was currently puncuating his presentation with some kind of overgrown laser-pointer.
Everyone and their mother knew "light sabers" were republic propaganda. This guy was clearly a total poser, some kind of washed-up upper management type stuck in the pre-imperial age of ignorance - but damn if he didnt know how to fix that power convertor whine in just seven steps! The guy was a real speederhead. He had a passion for machines Glup only wished he had for anything in life at all.
"Lord Vader, I must digress," ruffled ISB sub-commander Beenis Benweenis. "You see, in my last informal with, ahem, Director Isard, we outlined in the project documentation that employment of dissident symbolism linked to the former confederacy, amongst other democratic movements, is not aligned with the mission and vision of the ISB, and hence are to be shelved until we can circle back and hold a deep dive discovery session as a collaborative with our counterparts at Imperial Intelligence."
Vader held a stare. Or maybe he zoned out. Glup couldnt blame the guy - sub-commander Benweenis had a way of hypnotizing even the most staunch rebel into total compliance during routine interrogations with his voice alone.
"Admiral Director Colonel Yularen, I shll pass the baton to you."
Wolff Yularen jumped, clearly asleep. "Just so, Beenis. Listen here, Skywa- that is, Vader. We shall revisit item two, after addressing the failure of applying lean methodologies to crustbusting logistical operations in the Bright Jewel oversector..."
----
133 minutes of soul-crushing buzzwords later, Glup Shitto, Project Manager, gulped. He had never seen sub-commander Benweenis lose his head like that in a meeting before.
Said head rolled to a stop at his feet.
"Project Manager Shitto," boomed Lord Vader from his place at the podium, "Please Join Me To Discuss Your Findings On Expedient Cost Reduction In The Field Of TIE Wing Parades. It Seems Commander Benweenis Has...Lost His Head."
Admiral Director Colonel Yularen actually laughed, before descending into hurried coughs.
Glup gulped again, and strode forth, caf-stained pants and bruised digits forgotten. He drew upon his joy at the death of his loathed direct report, who had written him up many times for the many late roll-ins he had never been able to control (due to entirely external factors.)
There, on the left, was the nepo-baby, Ysanne Isard. He winked at Ysanne. She wrinkled her nose at him. One day soon, she would see - that as a contract-to-hire (for now), there was no barrier to going in a date with Glup to dex's diner! But he couldnt risk another meeting with HR. On the right, Agent Kallus. How he hated Kallus and his can-do attitude, his narrow thinking. His obvious hold over Ysanne! Kallus would have to die for this.
And there was Partagaz, and there, Director Versio, and behind him Krennic. All men who could aid his conversion to FTE. All men who Lord Vader had put him in front of. He almost wanted to bend the knee and declare his undying allegiance to the man.
Glup Shitto was a weak, craven, self-loathing man, so he drew upon his lust, his hate, his fear, and he felt the world sharpen around him. He knew Lord Vader was smiling beneath that mask - he didnt know how he knew. He just did.
"Thank you, Lord Vader. What a zinger! Lets screw our heads back on with a quick icebreaker session - pair off and tell your partner wether you prefer Nerd Burger, or Bantha Steak, and how that related to your role..."
----
HyperKanban Board, Datapad of Darth Vader
Daily Backlog
-ensure fireworks remain Kenobi Ultramarine (X)
note: kill benweenis.
note: Complete courtesy of Glup Sharto PM (Starkiller consulting (?))
Task Details: remind Piett to change task name back to "remain Dooku Deep Crimson" before next reporting cycle w/sheev
-reduce senior staff overhead by 1.2%( ) (card 7356 days overdue)
note: killed benweenis, saved org 356,000 credits annually.
Task Details: TechnoUnion AutoCalc AddOn 9,977,762,729,929,828 credits remain. Your free trial has expired.
-locate new apprentice (X) (card 7525 days overdue)
note: A sandstorm rages in the heart of young Glup Shitto. The dark side of the force is strong in him. @PiettF run background check and transfer to Executor immediately.
Task Details: Must be former jedi or equivalent experience (10+ years preferred)
----
Later that evening, Glup arrived back home with scarcely enough time to watch a some GalacTikToks before getting to bed. What are the odds, he mused from between his high-thread count Nexu fur sheets, that Lord Vader ALSO hated Sandwhorl? It was good to deepen that relationship with a big boss at ISB after the meeting, but the speech about sand was so extra. After all, Sandwhorl wasn't a sandworld at all, but an entirely ocean-covered planet - name unrelated.