Work Text:
Fishing a token out of the jar, Ryan gives the coin a flip despite the lack of heads or tails.
He’s got his own methods, and when he looks down at the token in his palm, he can see the little nick on the circumference of the coin is pointed left.
“What are you doing?”
Ryan curses, looking over to see Kareem S standing beside the vending machine, a token in hand and a bemused expression on his face. Fucking Department E creeps. “Picking my snack. Don’t rush me, okay?”
“There are sixteen choices,” Kareem begins.
“I know.”
“The same sixteen choices we’re given everyday.” He’s not about to stop anytime soon.
Ryan gives his token another toss and determines the nick to be pointing up. A2 it is. He slots his coin and presses the buttons. “Maybe I like to spice things up,” he mutters, watching the metal coil on the vending machine shelf unfurl, releasing his peanuts to the collection gutter.
Kareem snorts, stepping forward after Ryan grabs his snack to slot in his own token. He presses his choice without deliberation, swooping down to grab his raisins. “Or maybe you lack conviction,” he says as he straightens up. There’s that cocky look on his face, which is as perfectly punchable as every other face in Department E—hell, every face on the Severed floor, besides those in Ryan’s department.
“Whatever keeps all the hot air stable in there, pal,” Ryan retorts, swirling a finger around his ear as he heads back to Department A.
It’s a long, brightly lit concrete walk back, the departments spread out but clearly not spread out enough, with the way he still manages to run into the other fuckers on the Severed floor.
“Yo, we gotta do something about Department E,” Ryan announces as he strides into A. They’ve got a good office—good, beige carpet and cream walls, well-lit and clean. The six-person workstation in the center of the room is at a perfect distance between the kitchen doorway, the bathroom doorway, the water cooler, and the back wall—probably the best design of any department on the Severed floor. From what Ryan’s heard, the likes of Kareem work out of a dungeon. He hopes it’s cold there. “We gotta make sure they don’t reach their quota this quarter or—”
“Ryan,” says Tobias, pushing away from his desk with a frown. “You’re suggesting we sabotage a fellow Department? Really?”
He blinks. Huh. So he had been saying that. Suggesting it. Whatever.
“We fuck up Department E, we fuck up our own work,” Enrique’s voice trails from behind all the raised workstation dividers. “Not very time cost effective.”
Over from the kitchen, Miguel and Carmen are gabbing away at the coffee pot, no say on the topic—too bad; Carmen would back Ryan up, for the hell of it, at the very least. Raoul definitely would’ve agreed, if he was still around. “Whatever,” Ryan declares, stomping over to his desk and dropping into his chair. It rolls back a little from the force and he opens his peanut package with a scowl. Pushing back farther from his desk so he can look around Miguel’s empty one to where Tobias sits on the other side, Ryan says, “You know Kareem S? Saw him at the vending machine just now. Too much attitude these days, if you ask me.”
Tobias shakes his head, taking off his glasses for a moment to clean them on his tie. “Kareem’s a nice guy,” he says. “And he’s an excellent Department Chief.”
“He said our department lacks conviction,” Ryan says. “Says that’s why we never reach target numbers. He’s a total dick.”
Schlack!
Bob’s wall divider slides down, revealing his bespectacled face. “Perhaps there’s another reason we don’t meet our quota?” he says dryly.
Ryan leans back in his office chair and tosses a handful of peanuts into his mouth. “Yeah? What’s that?”
“A little less talking, a little more clicking,” the floor supervisor’s voice booms from the doorway.
Schlack!
Bob’s face disappears from sight again and Ryan sees Miguel and Carmen strolling unhurriedly back out of the kitchen with coffees in hand, looking real innocent under Murphy’s watchful eye, and not like they weren’t just screwing off again.
Sitting up in his own chair, Ryan stuffs his empty peanut package in his pocket and cracks his knuckles, in no rush to take a trip to the Hole.
With everyone settling back down and turning their attention to the consoles, Ryan senses Murphy’s presence retreat from the doorway again. He forces himself to concentrate on sorting a couple of the wiggling green numbers in front of him for a while. He likes the comforting call of the Category Three numbers, and tends to search those ones out first on the spreadsheet, but he can’t close any files without sorting the other bins, too.
“Ryan,” a voice hisses.
He peeks past his console screen, through the wall dividers to where he can see Enrique right across from him.
“Kareem S really disrespected us like that?” he asks, brow furrowed.
No, a voice in his mind says. Ryan nods, though, because doing that gets him the response he wants—an affronted scowl from Enrique on all their behalfs.
Maybe the next time Enrique spots Kareem in the long hallways, he’ll remember what was said. Maybe he’ll do something about it. Maybe it’ll turn things in Department A’s favor—in Ryan’s favor.
It’s a lot of what-ifs and maybes, but Ryan’s always been drawn to those questions and figuring out how to poke the answer into a way that’s advantageous to him… It’s the same reason Category 2 numbers—the ones that feel lost—are so easy for him to round up. This trait? Must be intrinsic to him. He’s not just going to ignore it—not when his Outie probably works the world around him in the same way. A better way, with more freedoms.
Besides, there’s something fun about it—getting a ball moving and seeing where it goes, that is. And God knows there’s not much about the Severed floor that can be described as fun.
Yeah.
Ryan sighs out through his nose, eyes turning back to the numbers on his console.
It’s his Outie that’s out there living it up while he’s stuck at work for life. Bob can frown about it all he wants—and Murphy can try to throw him in the Hole, but if Ryan can stir the pot against the other Departments from time to time, then… he guesses he’ll always take that chance.
At least it’ll be fucking interesting.
*
“Did you remember anything today, Ryan?” Cyril asks as he trails him back up to their pod.
He huffs out a laugh. “Nah. Not today. But hey, guess what?” He holds out a hand, nudging the wrapper into Cyril’s.
“Peanuts,” Cyril says with wonder.
“Yeah. Must’ve saved them for you.”
That makes Cyril laugh. “It’s empty, Ryan! You ate them all.”
They reach their pod and Ryan pulls open the door, turning on his heel to grin as he walks in backwards. “Yeah, I probably got hungry. Sorry.”
Cyril wrinkles his nose and shakes his head, looking over the bland, unremarkable green wrapper again before pressing it carefully flat and going over to his foot locker to place it with the other weird packages Ryan’s brought back from the Severed floor.
Of course, the wrappers don’t really say much outside of the fact that his Innie clearly has snacks to keep his dumb mouth busy. Sucks Ryan can’t actually remember eating some of the treats, though. He would’ve liked to have tried the Brazil nuts. He’s never had one before on the outside.
As Ryan removes his work uniform, Cyril puts away his wrapper scrapbook and goes over to sit on the lower bunk in their pod, patiently waiting for the dinner buzzer. He’s on his good behavior today, Ryan observes, tugging on a jersey.
He narrows his eyes. “Anything happen while I was gone?”
Cyril gives a quick shake of his head.
Goddammit!
Ryan gives their pod a cursory once over, searching for anything that looks out of place or rifled through. “Are you sure, Cyril, man? ‘Cause you know, if you don’t tell me, I’ll…”
“Mom came to visit while you were at work,” Cyril blurts in a rush, eyes growing wide.
Blinking, Ryan feels the suspicion that had been growing in his mind—making his thoughts race in calculation—evaporate. “Oh. That’s cool.” He hasn’t seen Suzanne in a hot minute himself, but her coming around just to see Cyril is… He doesn’t know what he thinks about it, actually—if he’s jealous or annoyed or—“Did you have fun?”
“She brought Babe Ruths,” Cyril says eagerly, before looking down, the obvious current lack of Babe Ruths in the pod exposing the true heart of his guilty behavior.
“Bet those were tasty,” Ryan says.
“Sorry…”
Ryan rubs a hand over his head. “Nah, Cyril. It’s good she’s keeping you company. I’m glad. C’mon,” he adds, peeking down through the side of their pod. He can see that most of the Severed floor employees are back from work detail now, which means dinner will be soon. Miss Sally’s Schoolyard will be on for another fifteen minutes before then. “Let’s watch some TV for a little while, okay? You can tell me about mom when we lockdown.”
The routine and the putting things off for the five hours before lights out always helps—Cyril doesn’t get restless when he’s talking, so it’s always been best to get him talking to his heart’s content after the pod doors lock. Letting him jaw before then is just asking for a bored Cyril later, which is the last thing Ryan needs or wants.
As he and Cyril sat a seat in front of the TVs, that old thought crosses Ryan’s mind: his Innie’s never thought for one second of the day what to do about Cyril. How to manage him. How to explain anything to him. His Innie doesn’t even know he has a brother, for better or for worse.
And yeah, so Ryan’s a piece of shit; there are days when he envies his Innie—when Cyril’s freaking out in the morning or being stubborn or just not being… Cyril, his old self, when Ryan thinks how nice it must be to be stupid and ignorant like his Innie, knowing nothing about the world except that he’s got fucking work to do.
Of course, Ryan hates work.
And office work, judging by their uniforms?
Pure torture.
Freak-outs aside, too, Cyril’s his fucking blood, his brother—Ryan wouldn’t trade his ass for the fucking world. In a way, he’s actually got it best, not having to remember the bland existence of his Innie, and purely getting to hang out with Cyril instead. And as much as the Severance Procedure is meant to curtail the amount of time inmates have for thinking up ways to get into trouble, Ryan still manages to keep shit interesting, no problem.
As an alarm blares through the unit, Cyril is first to jump out of his seat, the chocolate from Suzanne earlier clearly having had no effect on his appetite. “Let’s go, Ryan!” he says excitedly.
Yeah, the Outie existence isn’t bad, all things considered.
Ryan stands up and follows his brother to dinner.