In Need of Assistance? (TF2)

Seventy-Four: League of Her Own

       Work's been rough. Been at it for a month now, and I'm struggling with keeping up this facade. I don't want anyone to find out I got fired from my job. Neuro used some careful language when introducing me to the headmaster like 'transferred' and 'switched jobs optionally.'

At first, I was sorely confused about how I was merely shoe-horned into the position. Apparently, stuff like this happens all the time. Next to no one here has a teaching degree and has killed at least ten people in their lifetime. How the government lets us get away with it? I'm sure I'll figure out that little tidbit later on down the line through casual conversation.

"Stop moving," Tuesday sighs as she attempts to tidy Salvador's tie under his sweater. Hallway buzz seeps in from under the armory door as Neuro and I stand at the front desk waiting for a student to sort out his papers.

I'm assuming a lot of the schools are as student-ran as Metalworks with a single adult supervising to make sure anarchy doesn't break. There are three boys working the gun lockers behind the chain-link fence that's also behind the shielded desk we stand at. It's tactical speak, namely about getting things fixed and how sorting happens. The boy in front of us chews on the end of his pen. "Sorry. Handling the new paperwork is hard. Uh... Sandra Humboldt, right?"

"Yeah," Neuro confirms. "And Mona Mwangi"

"So, two Astra A-6os and... What was it again, Miss Mwangi?"

I really know nothing relating to guns other than bullet ramblings from Dell. "I forget the name, but forty-four magnum...?"

"Auto Mag," he declares and goes off to store our weapons. I shrug at Neuro and look around the room. It's bare and clean to where it's unsettling me. Neuro snaps her fingers.

"A phone, that's what we're forgetting," she interrupts despite there being no talking. "We have to get you a phone to go along with your unnecessarily large binder."

"The binder actually has stuff in it," I counter.

She scoffs. "As if I didn't have to carry one. I know. They just make you look cool, I guess. And we also need to introduce you to returning staff and shit. Beware McKenzie Lowell, she's going to ride your ass because she's also a single mom by choice. The 'well, my child--' type, y'know?" I roll my eyes.

"Being economically challenged isn't a sport," I sigh. "Nor was it a choice."

"McKenzie and her son are full 'uh shit," Tuesday inputs as she pulls up her socks to her knees.

The boy comes back, crossing our names off of a list. "You're all set. Have a nice day."

"Thanks," Neuro rings.

"Oh, and are you all packed for this weekend, Harris?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Looking forward to hiking!"

Neuro gives a troubled smile when I smile. "That's not all we're doing. But we'll be doing a fair bit. Rest up."

We exit and follow the herd of red to the auditorium, but we're both pulled off to the side by Pilot. He's anxious as he waits for everyone to pass by, Neuro and I standing against a door waiting patiently to be informed on what's happening. His eyes scan the passing crowd, eyeing down a man that looks vaguely familiar.

"Bidwell, Bidwell, Bidwell..." Where have I seen his face before? A slender guy who can't be older than me. Dressed up in a misty blue suit. He spots us and heads over. Pilot straightens out, but he's still a nervous mess."Top of the day, Bidwell."