The Career Management Society

A horrible, grating melody filled the chamber. Each note rang sharp, raw, and agonized, arranged with purpose. The a cappella of human voices rose and fell like a symphony of torment, discordant and terrible at once.

At the grand piano sat Maralinda Solis, leader of the Career Management Society. Her gloved fingers slid over the ivory keys with grace and dignity. She swayed with the music of the screams, finding rhythm in the pain and putting it together. Each keystroke was the cause of this pain, sometimes high and shrill, other times deep and guttural. Together, they formed her sound.

The source of the cries was hidden within the polished black frame of the piano. The heads of the “performers” protruded from the back, their eyes wild and unfocused. Their mouths opened with every key plucked, unwilling voices forced into harmony. The rest of their bodies were housed inside of the instrument, restrained and repurposed. She called it her "Ball Piano."

Maralinda lifted her conductor's baton with her other hand, guiding the rhythm with sweeping motions. The screams shifted in pitch and cadence, shaped not only by the hammers slapping their stretched testicles but also by her job itself: Pain Conductor. She brought the song to a close as the pained screams quieted to a moan, then a hum, then silence. Her gloved hand rested lightly on the keys. The victims within whimpered softly, grateful even for a moment’s pause.

“Listen closely, my darlings,” she said, her voice as sweet as honey. “Do you hear it? This is the sound of the human will breaking. And from broken things, we craft perfection.”

Around her, the Career Management Society assembled. They numbered six generals and their chosen partners. They stood in reverent silence, not because they agreed with her methods, but because to interrupt Maralinda’s music was unthinkable.

Kael was still unconscious, held in the mouth of Elenore's briefcase. Haruto's hand looked as if it were reaching out of him, still in his shoulder. A muscular and well-dressed man pulled the hand from the socket, tending to the wound with a needle and thread.

Rodney Kerrington looped his needle delicately, as though he were mending fine silk rather than torn flesh. The light blue-green thread drew Kael’s wound closed with uncanny neatness, leaving an embroidered stitch in the shape of blooming flowers. His tall frame loomed over the unconscious general, his immaculate button-up shirt, vest, and bow tie untouched by a speck of blood.

General Delphine the Doll stood beside him, silent as ever, her porcelain mask reflecting the candlelight. She tilted her head slightly, watching her partner work, while the faint scuttle of her unseen puppets echoed in the shadows around her.

“Our boy will live,” Rodney said softly, his voice deep and warm behind his curly mustache. “But he’ll bear my design forever. A thread of mine is not so easily broken.”

"I wish I could say the same when I was using it." Elenore said, adjusting her glasses.

"What did you do to your outfit?" He asked, restoring her clothes to perfection in mere seconds.

"She was blown up." A small woman in a royal-looking cape and a monocle spoke up from the corner. "Am I correct?"

"Yes, Ms. Cortane, your appraisal is correct." Elenore said sourly.

Jessiloo Cortane sat with a sketchy, scruffy-looking man, General Vigo Cortane, the vendor. The siblings sat atop his wagon, items decorating the top, and tentacles sloughing out from the bottom. The demonic cart creaked, one tentacle lifting to polish a rack of wares no sane man would touch.

"At least Stibble was there to save the day, right?" Vigo hopped to the floor to pet Elenore's briefcase. "Ain't that right? She's a happy customer because you're a good boy!"

“The pain of failure is the greatest teacher. Kael will grow stronger from this.” Maralinda said, rising from the piano and sliding her baton into her ruffled sleeve. She walked to Haruto's hand, scooping it up to pluck at the fingers playfully. "I would very much like to meet the man that could survive you two."

She tossed the hand to Jessiloo. She adjusted her monocle, taking in every detail, from tip to bone. She saw in her mind spreadsheets and information of its old owner. She closed her eyes and pulled a blank sheet of parchment and a magnifying glass from the bag at her side. She held them at the ready, and as she opened her monocled eye to the lens of the magnifying glass, the picture in her mind burnt into the page.

"Haruto Ishikawa, age 33. Low physical attributes due to a sedentary lifestyle and malnutrition." Jessiloo said, reading from the page before it was snatched from her.

"Oh, he's cute!" Peeka Peep said, looking at the perfectly printed portrait on the page. "Can I have him? He's so my type. I'm, like, obsessed!"

"Keep it inside for now." Her partner, General Hasta Visto, said in a thick accent. He stood rigid, every muscle in his massive frame popped like a bodybuilder’s, and his eyes burned with the stubborn pride of a man who’d built greatness from nothing.

Peeka swooped past Jessiloo once more, replacing the hand with Haruto's profile. She interlocked her fingers with his, and her pale cheeks blushed pink. She quietly shuddered as she rubbed the fingers against her chest before Hasta walked over to her, picking her up like a kitten by the back of the collar.

General Belar the Bloat chuckled wetly, slime bubbling at the corners of his grotesquely wide mouth as he wiped his hands across his moldy chest. His partner, Josie Bubbles, the Cleaner, sneered at the disgusting sound and sight.

General Delmond Prist belched and lifted his flask in mock salute. His nose shone bright red against his unkempt dirty blonde beard. He slung one arm around his partner, a pig named Dog.

Maralinda clapped her hands once, a crisp sound that cut through the chatter like a whipcrack. The generals stilled. Their partners hushed. Even Belar’s bubbling chest seemed to quiet under her gaze.

“My family,” she said sweetly, her eyes wide and wild. “Haruto Ishikawa is only the latest of the System's bodyguards. He'll be added to the piano soon. For now, let us set our other stage. Belar?"

"I need more time." Belar hissed through rows of smiling teeth. "My children aren't yet ready to face the Warmongers. They need to look more Ellwish. Their pride will take care of the rest."

"How long?" she asked.

"Two weeks, milady." Belar said, as sincere as the smile on his face.

"Then it seems Haruto Ishikawa will have a small reprieve. Will you be ready in that time?" Maralinda asked sweetly.

Kael rolled from the mouth of the briefcase with a groan. He reached down, ripping the paperclip that cemented his loss from his knee. He removed the earring from his left ear, replacing it with the new trophy.

"Two weeks? No problem." Kael smiled up at Maralinda. "I can't wait to see him again."

Maralinda flicked her baton from her sleeve into her hand again and waved it through the air. “For now… let him rest. The humans' song of suffering will come to a close by our hand. The System he protects will lead us to the dawn of human rule.”