S.A.M.L.A.R.B Spectral Aquisitons of Material Lands And Resources Bureau

>Sam: Try to calm down and stop only to fail miserably and and curl into a ball muttering about Action Sam

You are Lady Blaze.

The man is curling into a ball now, weeping softly. Still talking about Action Man. It's a bit beyond your time, but you've been led to understand that Action man was a kind of children's toy from the twenty first century in England. You don't see what bearing this has on the situation. This man is clearly deranged or just...deeply deeply sad. The man shuffles his weeping carcass into the far corner.

>Lady Blaze: Put him in a headlock,let him feel your eternal pain...even if only briefly

An idea strikes you about how best to calm this squealing loon. Put him in a headlock. You've been taught that such things have been known to calm and soothe the standard Englishman, and in no way make him thrash and become violent. You attempt to get out of your chair in order to give him a soothing, loving lock of the head, only to find that your seat has melted and fused with your flesh. What a bother.

>Lady Blaze: Fail to react strongly in any sense. This happens about every applicant. There are contingencies for this. Press The Button.

>Lady Blaze: Fail to react strongly in any sense. This happens about every applicant. There are contingencies for this. Press The Button.

>Seconding this course of action.

>Lady Blaze: Fail to react strongly in any sense. This happens about every applicant. There are contingencies for this. Press The Button.

> Tripled (Or thirded, whatever the trm is for this) The Buttonis the only answer here.

You really don't have time for this. People are dying all the time, and their souls are flooding in from every reach of the known universe, and from every possible timeline and alternate dimension. You've got a lot of cases to go through before you can get some one to pry you out of your chair. This man is wasting your time, and his own. He's being unproductive. Granted it's no skin off of your nose, largely because the last time you had a nose was nineteen aught six, but there are rules for this. Protocol. You must useThe Button in this instance. Yes..The Button is the only answer. You reach under your desk and paw around at the gum-riddled underside of the steel metaphorical cage. You begin to wonder how gum gets there. You don';t chew gum, and this is your office. You wonder if the cleaning staff have their own protocol about minimum grotty gum levels per desk. It wouldn't surprise you. Most of the cleaning staff drowned, and drowners are downers as they say in the Hellfire Club. You find The Button and give it a good hard press. March of the gladiators plays as a small blue and orange light descends from the ceiling. Confetti fires out of the walls. You bounce a little in your chair. This is exciting. You open a small box you have beneath your chair to find a pair of party-hats, and a pair of noise-makers. You place one hat upon your constantly melting head, and throw the other at the weeping pile of smelliness in the corner. You then rattle the noise-maker, while tossing the other one at your client as well. It hits him in the eye, catching on the shard of glass. Ten points, the young miss wins a prize, anything from the top shelf.

The door bursts open, and a horse wanders in, screaming obscenities. Stitched to the top of a horse is a cowboy who won't stop gibbering about Pilgrims. The horse bites your client's arse and drags him out of the room, now muffling obscenities. He leaves crying. Once they're gone, the music stops. You take your party hat from your head and put it, and the noise-maker, back in the box. You're alone with your pain again. You burst into steaming tears.

You are Samuel Larbawitz.

You are Action Sam. You are Action Sam. You are Action Sam. You are Action Sam. You are Action Sam. You are being dragged by the arse, by a horse, back through the cubicles you walked through before. Ohgodohgodohgodohgo- …Did you call yourself Sammy boy a few updates ago?

You are Samuel Larbawitz. You are weeping, screaming about Action Sam, and being dragged through an office complex with your lower cheeks in the mouth of a horse. What do you do?

Inventory:

SpoilerShow

Shard of glass embedded in head.
Blood (Hands)
A sense of smug self-righteousness
Mango Cat Tape

Nightmare Chest:

SpoilerShow

An Office Complex in a sea of screaming faces and stars
The Concept of Eternity in an Office Job
Being Called Sammy Boy
Lady Blaze's Bloody Horrible Appearance
Small Fruit
Everything about your current situation