Pre-Comment: No. I'm not dead yet. And stop looking so upset about that. I've been busy-thanksforasking.

Chapter Six: So You're a Psychopathic Stalker, Huh?

Name: Mao

Objective: To be able to sacrifice a lot of pizza to CC.

Skill sets: Mind reading. Being CC's #1 fan. Owning every CC plush, action figure, poster, bedding item, pillow, pillowcase, etc, and the world largest unofficial photo album. Making pizza. Stalking.

Past Employment: President of the CC Fanclub. Leader of CCC.

ooo

As soon as he saw him, Lydic instantly regretted handing screening duties over to Lydia to reduce the number of crazies that kept coming. It was as if they were all magically attracted here by some unknown force or something. He had given her strict instructions to defer them all to Dominoes, across the street, in hopes that they would internally destroy the competition and force them to relocate so maybe a nice Chinese restaurant could move in. And then Head Office would have no choice but to promote him so he could effectively attach the Pizza Hut logo to his ball and chain permanently.

What a terrifying thought.

"I can get you more than just a promotion."

Lydic blinked.

"Come again, son?"

"You want a promotion. I can get you one. Just hire me."

Wow.

It was either astounding confidence, astounding arrogance, astounding stupidity, or too many practice interviews and career counselling sessions gone horribly wrong.

He wasn't sure if he should be irritated or shocked with awe.

So he settled on a little of both.

But determinedly more of the former.

"Right. But my greatest hope and most terrifying nightmare isn't any of your concern. You got past my secretary, so there's got to be something special about you," he remarked, snapping the resume in his hand crisply to scan for any, ahem, areas of concern as mandated by the Pizza Hut Quality Guidelines Manual version 3.2.

And, no, he didn't want to know why they sent it only to him.

It didn't take much longer than looking past the name to find the first problem.

An eyebrow rose.

"Your objective is to 'sacrifice a lot of pizza to CC'?"

"Yes!" he replied happily, clapping his hands together in an expression Lydic could only describe as pure glee, "The kind with extra cheese and Tabasco of course."

"Right. Just who or what is a CC?"

And why did that name sound so familiar?

Mao gasped, truly shocked. "Only the best person in the entire world!"

Right.

Just how did this guy get past Lydia again? Exactly?

"She was smitten by my charm. And her name is Nakuru."

Lydic deadpanned.

There was something dementedly wrong about this guy.

He looked back down at the resume.

And then back up at Mao.

Yes.

Something very wrong.

And the fact that his resume stated him as the leader of a KKK equivalent for Pizza Hut was only the tip of the iceberg.

And then Lydic got to thinking—

Oh, good Lord.

Was it possible?

Was it a Pizza Hut cult?

And somehow, through all of this, Lydic realized that maybe it was time to go job-hunting again. Or maybe just go back home. Nakuru would have to come with him of course.

She was too hot and useful and somehow related to him (which made her off-limits) to be left here.

"It actually stands for CC Club. I'm currently the only member, but I'm open to applications!"

"Come again?"

"You were thinking about CCC!" he explained cheerfully, eyes all alight and tinged with red like he hadn't slept in days. Or was high on drugs.

Or both.

"It's actually a side-effect from my power. I can read minds."

Yeah. Probably both.

"Come again?"

"CC! She gave me this power. But then it got out of control and I couldn't turn it off and then she left me all alone!" he mourned sorrowfully. "But I really can read minds though! For instance, do you know your secretary has memorized over forty-one ways to kill someone and twelve of them make it look like an accident?"

Slowly, Lydic reached for his direct line to Nakuru and buzzed her.

"Nakuru, call the cops. And those people that put other people into strait-jackets."

The man in front of him quickly rose to his feet, causing the chair to fall and clatter on the ground, slamming both hands on the desk.

"I am not crazy!"

"And be quick about it, won't you?"

"Uh… right away, Sir."

It wasn't until a SWAT team arrived to detain the not-anymore potential new hire, as he kicked and screamed and struggled, yelling obscenities, death threats, and terrorist attempts, that Nakuru thought she might've found number forty-two was a pretty good addition to stop at.

And later that week, when she was cleaning out Lydic's desk of errant paperwork that needed to be done, she came across a resume and, out of curiosity, quickly looked it over until she came to—

"Stalking? What kind of skill is that?"

—before promptly shredding it.

Roughly two weeks later, Lydic got a letter in the mail that he promptly threw down the garbage disposal.

I know which room you sleep in and where you keep your knives.

Comment:

Alright, so I've decided to finally retire this one after giving the impressive lag between now and, well, the last update some careful consideration. The economic crisis and lack of unskilled/skilled labour positions ceases to be a source of amusement for me. I may pick up randoms and do those-which is pretty much what I've been doing for a while now, anyway. If there are any that you're just dying to see, you'll have to give me more motivation and suggestions/prompting than: PLOX TO DO [INSERT NAME HERE].

And I'm sure there's a rule on the Internet somewhere that allows me to spell it plox.

Plox R&R.

- Minute Maid

Beverage of Queens.

Now tapioca flavoured.

Wait. What?