The woman was impossible. “Ma’am, I really need to get to this meeting. Are you actively trying to disrupt global trade?” She had him by the ear and was dragging him through the corridor. “Do you want money? Notoriety? What’s the point of this?”

She pulled him unceremoniously into a small storage room. “That’s enough of that, Alfred. Stop making such a fuss. Now, you are going to go into that room, and you are going to talk to those recruits, and then you are going to do it tomorrow, and on Friday as well. Do you understand?” She sounded disconcertingly like his mother.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said in spite of himself. He flushed slightly. He had lots of authority, oodles of it. He was up to his ears, practically swimming in authority… and yet when someone spoke in that firm tone his mother always took with him, he obediently complied.

Sighing, he straightened up (he needed every height advantage he could get over this woman) and walked out into the hallway with a confident step (apparently that made him look older, and he did not need to be mothered again on top of all his other problems). She followed, fluorescent ringlets bouncing on her head. Orange and thoroughly disgusting, her wig resembled nothing more than an incredibly pampered hamster painted to blend in with the traffic cones.

“There are some perks to an officer’s job,” she said in an attempt to placate him. “All the coffee you can drink at the cafeteria, free haircuts and the authority to yell at people with very little provocation, just to name a few.”

“Coffee is nice, but I don’t need an old man haircut, and I don’t like-”

“Yelling at people, I know. I suspect it stems from some latent paternal issues.”

He paused just outside the door to Room DG12, turning back to face her. Something about that last comment was very off. “How did you know that?”

“Educated guess. You said your father was a sergeant - sergeants yell. We’ll speak again later today.” She disappeared around the corner in a suspicious way that he wished he could pay attention to. There was something she wasn’t telling him.

Unfortunately, he now had a batch of troublesome recruits to deal with.

* * *

Amelia let the woman in the… fascinating… 3D glasses lead her back to the elevator and press the button for the top floor. Apparently as the head of Armada, she was entitled to the building’s entire penthouse as her office. There were all kinds of perks - everything from the ridiculous salary to her dictatorial control of everything and everyone in the company to her own private bathroom. Despite her horror, the idea was intoxicating.

She stepped out into the penthouse, and the view was beautiful. She could see the entire city spread out before her through enormous picture windows which took up three walls of the large room. Her desk - Alfie’s desk, she forced herself to remember - was enormous and allowed her to see everything. It made her feel like some kind of evil dictator. She did have a lot of power. She could disrupt global commerce whenever she wanted, start a trade war, speed up all the deliveries she wanted…

Actually, that last one wasn’t a bad idea. She had been waiting on that set of IKEA drawers for pretty much forever.

Focus! Amelia had never thought of herself as power-hungry - in fact, she had prided herself on being controlled and balanced, contenting herself as a follower… But the knowledge that all this power was at her fingertips? That would be hard to resist.

* * *

One of the bolder recruits raised its hand (what was this, nursery school?) and said, “Mis- Sergeant Frank… aren’t we going to do phonics?”

“Why would we be doing that? Give me 20 burpees and then I’ll teach you how to use a gun.”

It blinked a few times. “But… Miss Fra- sir, um… why would we need guns?”

“This is war, cadet! Of course we need guns!”

“And will we do phonics after?”

“No! Now give me 10 more burpees.”

* * *

Amelia basked in the glow of the setting sun in her luxurious penthouse office, feet propped up on the IKEA chest of drawers she had just finished assembling. A small part of her mind was screaming that it was wrong to be basking like this, that she hadn't earned any of this authority.

But the truth was, she had always been jealous of Alfie's success. While she had struggled for years in her circus career, he had risen through the ranks at his company with very little apparent effort. Honestly, how could he complain about doing any work at all when the perks were this nice? She continued sipping her cocktail.

* * *

"DROP! AND! GIVE! ME! FIFTY!"

The recruits groaned in pain. "Sir, our ears!"

"I'LL MAKE IT A HUNDRED THEN! TOUGHEN UP!"

They were dissenters. All of them, dissenters. HE WOULD SHOW THEM! He was their sergeant! HIS AUTHORITY WAS ABSOLUTE! HOW DARE THEY DEFY HIM!

"ACTUALLY, MAKE THAT TWO HUNDRED PUSH-UPS! THREE HUNDRED!"

* * *