I've been played.
The Arbitration Bureau was brightly lit. Even late at night, people were still working there, some staying all night without going home. It wasn't because the bureau's staff were particularly hardworking, but because their workload had become so heavy lately that, unless they stayed up processing it, they probably wouldn't finish in time to submit it to their superiors the next day.
That was life as a clerk at the Arbitration Bureau: mediocre pay, overtime every day, and excuses whenever you asked about overtime pay. They'd even tell you there were plenty of people willing to take your place if you didn't want the job. Complain a little, and it was, "What, got a problem with that?"
The Psionic squads had it better, with special allowances, but even those came at the cost of risking their lives.
"I'm exhausted. What the hell's gotten into the higher-ups lately? Are they sick in the head? Dumping all this work on us-what, clerks aren't people?"
At a desk, an Arbitration Bureau clerk hammered away at his keyboard, his brows knitted together. The exhaustion on his face was obvious, the dark circles under his eyes already pronounced. Coffee and assorted energy drinks were practically piled into a mountain on his desk.
Over the past few days, the higher-ups had been handing down work like maniacs, forcing them to work overtime nonstop. They couldn't even get any rest, and there was no overtime pay either. Who could put up with that?
"Count your blessings. At least they give us free energy drinks. Do you know what's happening to the people in records? They don't even dare drink anything. They've been frantically digging through files with portable cardiac resuscitation devices strapped to their chests. If they're about to drop dead, they get resuscitated