Interdimensional space flight and signing employment contracts with a tyrannical fascist might have seemed like the most novel events to fill her day at the outset, but as Jam stood at the far end of what might as well have been an assembly line for people, a heavy feeling of foreboding told her that the day was yet still young at Eggman's Robo-Organic Resource Center.

The EROR Center in itself seemed normal enough on the surface -- perhaps as though it may have been some sort of re-purposed employee service center for some legitimate company not too long ago. It was an unremarkable, albeit large building with dark, mirrored glass windows, and surprisingly understated, light-backed signage bearing a single, tastefully sized Egg Logo. The lobby on the inside looked sleek, modern, and utterly mundane, save for the robotic receptionist at the receiving desk. "She" ignored them as they walked in, buzzing in an irritatingly cliche voice into a phone handset that looked to actually be part of her head. Without looking at any of them, she vaguely gestured to a small, but informative directory prefacing the quad of elevators on her left.

The facilities were large; apparently, there was a credit union on the third floor, a cafeteria on the seventh, a branch of the company store on the fourth, and health services on the first, while wardrobe and equipment shared the first basement level with the gym. Additionally, there seemed to be a Chaobucks on at least every other floor.

The more intact of the two primates had left the other at health services, while she and their robotic associate went forth in search of "outfitting," as described by her new hire packet, though it was sufficiently vague on the process so as to leave her wondering whether or not she was in the right place upon arrival to the basement.

It was a rather disconcertingly barren-looking area, with several parallel moving sidewalk-like escalators, that seemed to stretch on endlessly in a long, jarringly white room. The ceiling tiles were all metal, and seams ran through them in odd, disjointed patterns, but it was probably the most noteworthy thing about the place.There was a small desk near the entrance, where a small, navy-colored robot of unusual model sat with its little feet up, indifferently thumbing through a thick paperback.

Jam, uncertain of what to do, glanced briefly at Tau, before returning her expectant gaze back on the smaller robot, and clearing her throat.

The sound of dry paper ruffling resounded with astonishing volume in the long room as the outfitterbot turned a page. "Step onto the platform," it instructed in a bored drone, with all the enthusiasm of selling eye drops, still not so much as lifting its head. "When issuing has commenced, exit to your left, and have an Egg-ceptional day."

The obscenely red simian glowered reproachfully at the unhelpful robot in silence for a moment, before anxiously edging forward to the mouth of the belt, and gingerly stepping onto it. With a metal clank dulled by her rubber soles, she immediately noticed the belt was grated, but didn't have time to ponder it before a cool, female voice suddenly boomed in ridiculous surround sound,

"New hire process initiated. Beginning decontamination."

And before Jam could blurt an alarmed, "What?!," a trio of nozzles descended from the ceiling and pressure washed her amid a gurgling chorus of indiscernible obscenities.

"What the f--"

"Decontamination complete. New hire, state your name."

"What?"

"Confirmed. Your name is, "What?"," repeated the automation. "If this is correct, say 'Correct.' If incorrect, state your name."

"Jam!," blurted the dripping wet primate, very much irritated and slightly tenderized, but also very much wanting to not be "What? the Monkey."

There was a harsh, skull-rattling buzzer, not unlike ones employed in quiz game shows, only about forty or fifty decibels louder. "Invalid entry," it said unhelpfully. "State your name."

"Layla Bostwick," groused the girl, glaring very intently, but she wasn't quite certain at what, and kept defaulting to the ceiling. "Now can--"

"State your age."

"Fourteen, but--"

"Birthdate."

"January third. Is this--"

"Bloodtype."

Jam actually balked at that one, furrowing her brows as she crassly told the ceiling, "I don't know -- what does it even matt--"

"Commencing bloodtyping test." The machine stated impassively, as a pair of metal arms descended on one of Jam's. One seized hold of her wrist eliciting a startled, "Hey, what--", while the other, tipped with a lancet, jabbed indifferently into her bicep ("SONOFABI--"). "Bloodtyping complete. Begin physical profile data assembly."

Surely, much to Jam's delight, a pervasive, three-dimensional scanner dropped from above, projecting green, gridded lines across and around her from head to toe to tail tip. A quaint little chime sounded, as the scanner retreated, and the machine narrated, "Scan complete. Results logged. Height: One hundred-twelve centimeters. Weight: Thirty-one kilograms." Jam grimaced, and rubbed sullenly at her posterior, which she frowned at over her shoulder. "Measuremen"

"WHY THE F**K DO YOU NEED TO KNOW?!" she bellowed over the voice, which continued, entirely unaffected; "ty-six centimeters."

"Known allergies?"

"How the hell should I know?"

Evidently an unacceptable answer, an army of needles on long, spidery metallic arms shot out of the ceiling headed straight for Jam. "Commencing allergy tests," it said, while its target hurled herself to the grated belt, screaming, "SHELLFISH! FOR GOD'S SAKE, I'M ALLERGIC TO SHELLFISH!"

And, while that wasn't entirely or even remotely true, it stopped the needles, which were promptly recalled to the ceiling amid a very conspicuous sigh.

And so it continued in that way, filling up the better part of what felt like a week with impertinent, weird, and what Jam considered heedlessly stupid questions until at long last, the chime sounded once more, and,

"Physical profile complete."

The monkey visibly deflated with an overtaxed breath.

"Prepare for uniform and equipment disbursement."

Her head whipped up as her pupils shrank instantaneously to pinpoints. "Prep-- Wha-- How?!"

Just as the end of the conveyor belt was coming into view, a gigantic cannon-like barrel descended from the ceiling pointed straight at the monkey. Without missing a beat, it exploded with a flash and a muted, *p'toom!*, pelting the strawberry-hued simian head-on with a once neatly-folded set of clothes, a pair of boots, a stun baton, an ugly pair of goggles and gloves, and a particularly gaudy belt.

Jam, beneath her heaps of stuff, lay groaning on the moving walkway, which deposited her unceremoniously onto the floor at its end.

"Printing ID badge." Another, smaller cannon lowered from the ceiling, and leveled its muzzle at the monkey's forehead. *p'toom!*

"New hire process complete. Have an Egg-ceptional Day."

It was hard to tell with the clanking and clattering of the resetting machinery, but Jam may very well have been whimpering.

searchindextag
chapter4search

Tau was able to observe Jam's processing for several moments until his view of the pink hued simian was obstructed by a midsized hovering drone which had arrived from elsewhere in the room. The drone hovered in front of Tau as it initiated a quick scan of the A.I.'s robotic body. While it wasn't likely to still be valid, Tau transmitted the original identification of the Egg Gunner upon the start of the scan; much of his chassis components had originated from the drone.

"Error; identification outdated," The drone responded, hovered silent in place a moment when it received the identification, noted it, then dismissed the outdated information.

"Issuing new identification."

The drone fell silent another few seconds as it transmitted a new identification code to Tau and registered said identification with the proper channels.

"Identification confirmed. Inorganics are required to report to equipment maintenance. Proceed to the designated robotics processing chamber."

The drone transmitted further instructions on where Tau was to proceed to next prior to darting off to perform other tasks.

It was about this time a familiar voice was shouting “What?” in the background followed a moment later by “Jam!”, which stirred a momentary glanced from the A.I. directed towards the source of the voice before heading off toward the designated 'robotics processing chamber', which was located along one of the far side walls.

Upon stepping onto the platform, the tube above quickly descended and locked to the platform with a loud click as the hum of pumps and motors began to echoing from above the chamber. Moments later,a semitransparent blue fluid was rapidly pumped into the tank until it was several inches above Tau's head and remained at that level for a few seconds, before the bottom of the chamber opened up and quickly removed both the liquid and the robot.

Tau hadn’t fallen too far upon being ejected from the chamber, roughly a single story, before he found himself on another similar, tubeless platform in a dimly lit room. Moments after his arrival, a large egg-shaped metallic sphere attached to a rail near by on the ceiling positioned itself above the platform Tau now found himself on.

"Initializing maintenance procedures." It was another monotone voice, almost identical to the drones. It was followed moments later by Muzak Why Muzak? Well... Who knew. As it spoke, several robotic limbs, each equipped with assorted task specific equipment, unfolded from panels along the sides of the sphere as it scanned the robot below for damage. Concluding its scan, the maintenance egg's quickly went to work preforming assorted maintenance duties, of which included the removal and fabrication of replacements of previously damaged shoulder components.

Once the maintenance tasks had been completed the voice boomed over the muzak again.

"Error — Color scheme incorrect. Initializing paint stripping."

Not content in allowing the 'distasteful' modification of his exterior, this course of action was rather hastily 'corrected' by Tau by a quick remote hack of the equipment above, which resulted in a pause of the muzak and verbal response.

"Er. . ro..r," the voice struggled to speak as its limbs paused for a moment, before both it and the muzak resumed operation ". . . Unit color scheme accepted. Aborting repainting sequence.”

There was another momentary pause before the voice spoke again.

"Maintenance complete. Commencing exterior detailing."

Several of the maintenance equipments limbs quickly exchanged maintenance attachments with buffing equipment as several nozzles began to coat Tau's exterior in a fine wax mist followed by the buffing attachments going to work.

"This week's chosen scent is Pine Fresh."

The entire maintenance and detailing ordeal was rather quick, and upon completion, the platform Tau was standing upon was moved below another nearby tube along the room's ceiling, where he then proceeded to rise through the tube, and exit roughly near where the pink simian now found herself.