Free Beaver2416 (Reviler's Affray) by Jeremy M. Thayer Page B

I will be there.” Beaver said nodding with a level of seriousness. He didn’t have to guess as to whatever it was.
    The advisor’s group stood idly by, waiting for some form of entertainment. It was much like a child, which anticipates the curtain drawing up, to reveal a puppeteer’s mirth and skill behind it. There was still a small level of celebrity attached to Beaver, that he tried at all times to keep hidden. It was obvious that this older group of Elites knew the child star, which he used to be. As well as, they have kept their following of all of the minor advertisements and random interviews that he has done for Perpetua. Beaver, knowing their true agenda; put on an instant fake persona and flashed a beaming smile at the group. He followed up with a wink, as he walked away towards his small office. The group swooned under the spell of Beaver’s celebrity, as they watched him leave. Knowing now, that he was at a safe distance away, all Beaver could do is roll his eyes in disgust.
    “ Heathen ” he muttered under his breath.
    His small office was something of mockery and jest among the Elites. Before the Great Conflict, most of the Perpetua motors’ building was a factory for janitorial and industrial cleaning supplies. Because of this, Beaver’s office was located where in the former factory; there was a small test lab for mid-ancient products like paper towels and toilet paper. So, among the childish Elites, his office was affectionately known as rear end . And with it, there were constant lame jokes about wiping and scratching one’s posterior when making reference to Beaver’s office. He didn’t mind it though, because this was a cause for most of them to stay away; desiring not to be socially tainted.
    As he entered, the electrical pulses from the screen glimmered through the picture window.
    “ 12 …” Beaver uttered vocally. Upon sight, he would make a guess as to how many people he would throw into the screen each day.
    “Welcome Beaver2416!” his sect-bot proclaimed. There was no real reason for having a sect-bot (or an office for that matter) but he would greet it just the same.
    “Good light to you … do I have any postscripts?” Beaver asked inquisitively, even though he would never receive any.
    “No postscripts received …” the sect-bot said, as it seemingly went back to android sleep. Beaver equally relaxed and sat quietly in his high-backed Lev-throne. He was only afforded such luxury, because Mercurial had thrown it out for a new model.  Beaver was usually the recipient of the office Elite’s expensive hand-me-downs; however he never had much time to bask in their splendor.
    Soon, the progscreen in his quaint office would illuminate and the G.M.’s brief work your all garbage would be the starting bell at Perpetua.  In the meantime, he sat looking at all his swag on the walls, as well as the floor. There were trinkets and baubles, as well as paintings and other collectables seemingly everywhere. He knew never to refuse a handout from the Elites, because they would be greatly offended. To the rest of New Judah, this rear end was certainly a place of thousands of GP’s in valuables; a literal museum of discarded treasures. However, to Beaver it was absolutely meaningless. He would always gaze in wonder as to why people would be willing to give their lives for such miscellanea. As he browsed the walls, he thought hard if there was truly anything in this life worth dying for.
    As expected, he sighed and stood to his feet as the progscreen came on with its usual regalia. The sect-bot also awoke and stood to attention, with its arms raise in salute.
    “Good light, my faithful subjects.” The G.M. pandered. He then, gave a brief speech reminiscent of a mid-ancient sport coach, proclaiming win one for the team . Beaver always thought that this address was so stupid and unnecessary. People were going to work or not, regardless of any words from the potentate. He could almost