Does it even work?!

Imperceptibly, his left zygomaticus tensed, revealed only by the screen’s raking light on his skin. One could easily mistake this for the premise of a smile, but as his lower lip started contracting too, he realised: his entire jaw was clenching.

Mathea, Appraiser General of the Bureau in Irritation Distribution typed the needlessly long command again, making sure no words were missing, no letter out of place, pressed the send key, and again, the sur-amplified error blare startled him almost out of his seat. The line disappeared. Error code 50. Insults, swear words and slurs scrambled in his brain, none he could utter out loud. His most precious resource was seeping out of him with every second: his patience.

He glanced sideways, the meek devop still looking at her feet, trembling in fear. This day, these customs had been taxing to her. The immense bodyguards standing between him and her, vigilant, caught his peek and tensed ever so slightly. For a second, rising with his annoyance, he felt a glint of admiration. How was she so good?! He breathed deeply, adjusted his seat, and tried, slowly, methodically, typing the command again. Send key. Blare. Error code 50.

He knew her tricks, he could see what she was doing… In fact, he even knew the amount of effort and resources the Sanguinary Utnapishtim had expanded to get her here… To help her create what stood in front of him. Yet her dark magic still held sway over him. He had been at it, at his mission to evaluate her work for 10 minutes, and he did not know if he could take 10 more.

One of the best devops in the sector, kidnapped, persuaded, put to work for months, all… For this. Oh, he could feel her efficacy trembling in him, his nostrils spasmodically twitching as it boiled in his guts. The red veil was coming. The point of no return.

The muffled sound of a drop falling on the carpet helped him refocus. The bodyguards’ hands, covered in blood, dripped to the floor, to the mound of bare flesh at his feet: the three previous appraisers, beaten to a pulp, melded as one body. Single-mindedness would save him, he remembered. All he had to do was survive this ordeal and he would be promoted. He would get their salary. A new office. Focus! Another deep breath, an admission of defeat. This experiment was working too well.

He closed his eyes and repeated to himself: “We brought her to this planet. We paid her to develop everyday objects and interactions that would make anyone constantly enraged, but her spell cannot work on you, you’re too smart, focus!”.

They said he could change task if he wanted, and the command prompt was obviously pushing him too close to the brim. So, slowly, as to not startle the bodyguard, he rose from his chair and turned to the table to his right. The previous appraiser had failed this, but Borgond had always been a stupid shnuk. An easy task, get a Kaf from a Kafkayan machine.

Twenty minutes he held it in. Twenty harrowing, interminable minutes of trying to get the horrendous machinery to work. He held the buttons down, twisted them, moved the cup around, to no avail. He turned, felt the bodyguard ready himself as his failures continued. The metappraisers looked at Matea from behind the glass, taking notes. He turned back to the machine and tried once more. Then once again. It was unpredictable, erratic, always failing in new, different way. Come on, one more time, he thought. He was beginning to shake.

He moved the cup to the exact position in which the machine had almost worked, pressed the button twice, then held it. It let out a slow groan. Was it working? Water was moving inside. Had he done it? The grinding started too, it was… It all stopped abruptly. He pressed the button again. Again. Again. AGAIN AGAINAGAINAGAINAGAIN. He fucking punched the machine with all his strength, all his rage exploding the plasteen enclosure. He took it with both hands, ripping its cord from the wall, and with a strength he could not possess, he crushed the whole thing with his fingers, plasteen shards piercing his skin. He smashed it, against the table, roaring, punching the machine’s husk with his bare fists, gurgling his fury at the lifeless appliance.

The red veil had taken him, consumed him. He felt strong, irresistible, he was going to make her pay, batter her with her own hellish creation. Taking the machine’s broken body, he turned to her, fangs bared. She had seen this thrice before: proof she was unmatched in her unique skill: creating insufferable, intolerable machines that could make worlds entire boil in rage. But admiration, even fleeting, had no place in the inferno that raged in Matea’s body. He lunged at her, unstoppable.

The khornite giant moved like thunder, stopping the scrawny appraiser general effortlessly with one hand, bringing his other fist to bear on his fragile skull. Emotionless. The devop chirped in fear as Mathea’s head cracked in a low crunch. He fell to the floor, obviously sufficiently dead by all accounts, but the giant felt the need, or the urge to stomp his body in a firework of blood splatters. The Bureau in Irritation Distribution's carpet drank his every fluid gluttonously.

The metappraisers finished taking their notes, the Kafkayan machine was replaced, the terminal reset, and the next appraiser walked in with a smile. He walked towards the food distributor.