[used:)]

Sorry for being a bit of an ass beofre, anyway here's the next chapter and sorry if it's a little confusing between Executives and executives, Executives are the species, exucitves are the business people in general.

Chapter 2: The Lach Consortium
The far flung industrial empire headed by the Lach Consortium Grand Masters was almost like an actual being. The veins were the land routes taken by the giant juggernaughts called Thugnaughts; the executives were its blood; and above all else, the Lach Consortium proudly sat as the heart of this beuracratic being.

But there was never a single industrial race dominating the entire conglomerate. The races that had started these ancient businesses boldly protected their titles and heir’s to their thrones.

The Skajako Plant, was staffed by Executives, short and stubby in appearance, and timorous and worrying in nature. They were considered one of the more lowly species of the industrial family and had the lowest executive jobs in the Lach Consortium (such as endless paper work and salesmanship), only partially controlling a single factory. Once the CEO’s predecessor had passed away, he had taken the lead roll. With a little help from Desiro. Desiro promised the CEO he would make him the head honcho of the plant if he gave Desiro total employee administrative functions and an attractive office on the highest level. With these terms stated, it would be difficult to carry out this action: the Skajako CEO at the time was far too young to die and business was booming. The CEO didn’t survive well in the corporate world, so it seemed like a good opportunity that he couldn’t afford to pass. With all things considered, Desiro managed to bring these fruits of business to the CEO.

Not only was this deal mysterious, but so was Desiro. He didn’t have the looks of an Executive nor the looks of any of the industrial races. But he had such a high role in business that none of the people on his level could challenge him.

***

Lok was doing his daily rounds around the Executive Offices, collecting dirty laundry in his cart that carried the same miasma as yesterday. He had just collected Hakkup’s clothes and was coming up on Lumoks, the biggest most stressed out of executives. So his suits normally smelled like a dead rodent that had been stuffed into a toilet and had been rotting there for sixty years.

He knocked on the door and Lumoks burst out yelling, “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?”
“Laundry call,” replied Lok.
“Here, take it, you stupid little slave!”

Lumoks threw his horrible smelling suit at Lok slammed his metal door. Lok boringly said, “Have a nice day, sir.”

Lok was continuing his aroma filled adventure when he saw something that was most peculiar. Desiro was standing in front of the Executives Offices entrance. Not brown nosing the CEO, not burning out a cigarette on a Rekati’s head, not even doing his usual prancing about the plant looking for problems to whine about. Just standing there, like he was waiting for something.

Desiro never seemed like this before. Lok knew something important was about to happen, he could sense it. He developed this trait from the years of hearing executives bicthing and moaning about the littlest of problems.

Lok soon discovered the source of Desiro’s actions. The elevator came up to the level and stopped. Lok gazed in curiosity as eminent looking executives stepped out.

“Greetings!” said Desiro, “I understand you have an inspection of the--”

His sentence was cut short when one of the masters said, “Excuse me? Who are you? Why are you here? We wish to speak with the CEO of this plant right now! Bring him to us, servant!”

Desiro had an expression that was a mixture of anger and shock. He looked like he had just soiled himself and was about to burst into tears or rage. Lok struggled to keep himself from laughing. He couldn’t believe what he had seen, “servant?” It felt like his rib cage was about to explode. And with that, Desiro stormed down to the CEO Office angrily muttering to himself. Before Lok could marvel at this event anylonger, two chattering Beelzubs were strolling down the corridor. And Lok knew the trouble he would face if he lingered. He resumed his work thinking of the story the would get to tell to the others. “Servant?”

At lunch, Lok and Zhelin, along with the rest of the Rekati, had lost the contents of their stomachs due to a lost Beelzub getting himself mixed in with that day’s soup in the grinder. Because of this mess, all of the Rekati were made to stay at the Employee Lounge and clean up the vomit under the supervision of the lost Beelzubs best friends. It was not an encouraging time, the supervisors were constantly beating the Rekati with the claim that they were ones responsible for his death. They even had the chef help clean up the mess. And the Beelzubs abused him the most because of his condition.

Before the chef had taken his roll in the kitchen, he worked in the processing area, in the intense heat. The Rekati that worked in that department were often burned and the hatred against the executives was in the largest quantities there. The chef couldn’t take it any longer. He attempted to escape by running across the train bridge which was the only way out of the plant. He was half way across when he was shot down by a Beelzub. The executives decided that he needed “therapy” and sent him to the clinic. After he was through, he had a smile on his face and a scar on his cranium. With his marbles lost, the executives saw no point in sending him back to processing so they stuffed him away in the kitchen.

After hours and hours of scrubbing the puke away, the exhausted workers were finally allowed to retire.

“That sucked!” “I can’t believe they made us work for that long!” “Damn Beelzubs!” “I hate this plant!” “I’m going to murder those executives someday!” “It wasn’t even our fault!” “I wish we were free” “I want to see those worms called executives do this work!” “I just want to die!” “I hope they all die!” “I wonder what’s for lunch tomorrow”

Lok couldn’t speak. He was far too exhausted and even angrier. He and Zhelin walked up the staircase to their beds (the elevator was restricted to the Rekati). They had carried the same expressions on their faces: open mouth and half shut eyes. They had reached their level when Blug came to them and said, “Lok, Zhelin! You have shifts in the pumps tomorrow. Orders from the top!”

Their visages stayed the same, but inside fear was clawing at their bowls.