Goldbaker-Reinz: A Day in the Balance - SCP Foundation

For as long as he remembered, Khalil wanted power. And for Khalil , power meant money. His mother had been an anartist, a deadbeat. What a waste of a way to use the arcane. For as long as he remembered, Khalil had a different dream. A dream… of anomalous financial services. A dream of climbing to the top of the cryptic corporate ladder.

The phone rang. He answered.

"Good Afternoon, you're through to Goldbaker-Reinz Insurance Customer Support. My name's Khalil and I'll be assisting you today, how can I be of service?"

Some dreams are meant to stay just that.

A twisting, broken cacophony erupted from his headset. The unmistakable vocalisations of an Abaddon demon. Khalil recoiled, as a steady trickle of blood began to drip from his right nostril. He paid it no mind — health insurance was included as standard.

A moment later, and the translation module kicked in. The fractured squealing was replaced by the smooth, dulcet tones of an American accent. "Greetings Khalil. May I begin by giving you my account number?"

"Please do." came Khalil's reply, and his fingers soon darted over the modified keyboard in front of him, their volley striking a series of letters, numbers, and ancient glyphs. "Okay, I have your account details in front of me. What can I do for you?"

"My relationship with Goldbaker has been extant for many years now, and past interactions have been fruitful, but, momentarily ago, I received my premiums for the coming century and I am aghast. As a consequence of reading, my jaws are on the floor. How can you justify such an increase, is this a mistake?"

Khalil's eyes scanned the holographic screen flickering in front of him. No mistake. A few quick button presses, and a boilerplate script appeared in front of him. "Goldbaker-Reinz's premiums are calculated on a variety of factors, both specific to you and reflective of the wider external environment. Quotes for all our customers have recently been re-examined to better reflect several macro trends at play. Please be assured our models accurately reflect the risk you face." Khalil closed the script, returning his view to the demon's account. Something caught his eye. "I can also see here that you lost your no claims bonus three months ago. That will have increased your quote."

An explosion of ancient, vitriolic curse words greeted this information. Khalil suddenly missed the nose-bleeding discord the call commenced with. "You lowly swine! You worm! Pox of the worst kind upon your ilk! It was made manifestly clear to the agent I spoke to that I WAS NOT AT FAULT. And now, like carrion birds, you extort me of deserved treasure? Lout! Skamelar!"

"I'm just reading the information in front of me Sir, there's no need to take that tone." Leaning back in his chair, Khalil's gaze turned to the PVC panelled ceiling above him. Maybe his mother had the right idea after all.

Silence on the line.

"I request to be transferred to your superior."

Khalil couldn't help but let a sigh escape.

"Please hold."

"Okay. And if we can proceed to the next slide please. Next slide please. David, next slide!" Irene Claverly-Hutz tried her hardest not to bark the last sentence but it was no good, her annoyance was clear. The hapless intern — was there any other kind? — returned a muffled, grovelling apology as he clicked his mouse. The presentation illuminating the meeting room from the large display screen shifted. The room was on level 18 of the Goldbaker-Reinz Building, far above the call centre nestled in the basement. It was easy to say where the meeting room was located in the building. It was harder to say where the building itself was. Sometimes it was hardest to say when the building was.

"Thank you, David." Irene repainted an everlasting smile upon her face. In both anomalous and mundane workplaces, there was nothing worse than being known as an angry woman. "So on this slide we have key risks and issues. The contract repapering programme is still tracking amber." A large, orange box, emblazoned with the word 'AMBER' in a slightly darker orange, reinforced this point. "The first century AD contract tranche is presenting significant risk of slippage. Due to excess scabbing, a large proportion of the blood contracts are illegible, key data elements among them. We've initiated outreach to the counterparties, but responses are expectedly slow." It was difficult to regain lost time when the parties you needed urgent correspondence from included gastropods, earth elementals, and abstract concepts. "There's also the issue that a significant proportion of all contracts, 7%, are missing."

"Missing?" Was that a question snarled by the nameless1 stakeholder in the corner of the room? Irene was unsure, but reiterated her point nonetheless.

"Missing."

"Well how the bloody hell can a contract be missing?"

I don't know, Irene thought, you pricks brought me in six weeks ago to try and turn this failing project around. You, you personally, used the contracts as toilet paper for all I'm aware. Irene smiled. "Human error most likely. These things happen. We've logged a ticket with the Service Desk for an Obtain Enchantment to be cast for the contracts, but there's currently a two week wait until they can address it. Any further questions on this matter?"

Silence.

"Moving on. We have the issue of Libor to discuss-"

The teleconferencing hub situated in the middle of the table lit up, and a voice emerged from the crackling static.

"Hi Eileen, Konrad Korby here, Legal, Three Portlands office. We completed our LIBOR transition last year, all active contracts have switched over to new benchmarks, most are now on SOFR, TONAR, or TOIDR2. Gene- is Gene on the call? Gene, if you're on the call am I correct in that assertion?"

Static. Then, another voice: "Ja."

"Yeah. Thanks Gene. So Aileen I don't know quite-"

"Thanks Konrad." She interrupted. She couldn't help it. "You're correct that Goldbaker have transitioned away from the London Interbank Overnight Rate. We are, however, still looking to repaper several hundred contracts we hold with Libor, God of storms and fishing, a minor deity in the Iripseyes Pantheon. It's all explained on the next slide…"

The presentation stayed uniform.

"Next slide please."

The presentation stayed uniform.

"Next slide."

The presentation stayed uniform.

"David!"

Johan Nielsen, Head of BR, strode down the stone corridor at such a pace that his diminutive, nameless3 assistant had to run to keep up with it. His voice echoed off the ancient walls surrounding him as he yelled into his mobile. "It's ridiculous, Akshay, ridiculous! Totally baseless."

Goldbaker-Reinz does not have a Human Resources Department. Goldbaker-Reinz recognises that all entities, human or otherwise, have value and their diversity should be celebrated. Goldbaker-Reinz has a Being Resources Department, to help you Be yourself at work. Nielsen came up with this line; he also ridiculed it in private.

"Look, this needs to go away, and it needs to go away- ungh," Nielsen grunted as he pushed open the large, golden door at the end of the hallway, "and it needs to go away stat. Get Legal to pull their finger out." The door was not held for his assistant. The room entered was already occupied by four other individuals, all nameless.4

Nielsen shrugged his coat off one arm, switched the hand he held his phone in, and removed the other arm. The coat was flung at his assistant, who caught it aptly — she had practice at things being thrown at her.

"No, I'm not at a farmyard. Don't worry about what you can hear in the background, worry about what I'm telling- does the accusation have merit? Does the, Akshay, for the love of Chri-" The four nameless individuals turned towards Nielsen, who halted midword — and rolled his eyes. "For the love of some unspecified and unnamed deity, he was rejected from the job because he wasn't qualified."

"Yeah. Uh huh. Huh. Yeah." As he bombarded Akshay with platitudes, Nielsen replaced his winter coat with a black, silk robe, complete with hood. "Okay, Akshay: The man was a fucking centaur. You know what that means right? Half-fucking horse! Think about the fees to retrofit the office to suit him. Think of the toilets! He couldn't fit in the cubicles, he couldn't get near the urinals!"

The room was larger and hollower than the corridor. Yet, curiously, none of Nielsen's words echoed. It was rare his words were so quickly taken by the silence. "Look Akshay, I've got to go, but give me a call tonight with an update. Yeah. Yeah. Thanks." Walking to the centre of the room, he pocketed his phone, and addressed his nameless colleagues. "Sorry about that, team. This job, huh? Sucks the life from you. Speaking of…"

An incapacitated, yet still living and bleating, goat was laid upon a large stone slab in the room's centre. Myriad symbols, runes, and forbidden words were drawn upon its skin.

"Shall we get down to business?"

"I understand your frustration but I- yes I can quite imagine it's an upsetting situation." Khalil stared at the clock. Goldbaker-Reinz were responsible for ensuring an employee's contracted hours were not affected by chronological disruption, but time sometimes moved so slowly in the call centre Khalil doubted this was being upheld. "I'm aware he handled your financial matters, and I am sorry to hear he was recently exorcised, but I… hello?" The line was dead. Not even a dial tone.

The confused faces of his co-workers indicated Khalil was not alone in encountering difficulties. Before he had a chance to speak to any of them, a female voice rang through the room.

"This is the emergency alarm. Please make your way calmly and slowly towards your nearest refuge point. This is the emergency alarm. Please make your way calmly and slowly towards your nearest refuge point."

Not a fire alarm. Not an emergency alarm. The emergency alarm.

This is it, Khalil thought, this is the big one.

The crowd moved as one, and it moved silently. Out of the call centre, into the corridor, into the stairwell, into the sub-basement. The call centre operatives diffused amongst the rest of Goldbaker's employees. Underwriters, brokers, auditors, cleaners, consultants, and demonologists all moving as one.

"No David." From the corner of his eye, Khalil spotted a woman grabbing a man by the arm and pulling him swiftly towards her. "That's the wrong way." She sighed. "Stick with me."

Through it all, the voice continued its announcement and through it all, Khalil was impressed by the resoluteness of those around him. Their manner was solemn yet dignified, helping each other when needed, not giving in to fear, making sure that- "MOVE!" The cry came from behind Khalil, and was accompanied soon after by a hand pushing against his back, knocking him over. A man in a black robe stained with the blood of a freshly sacrificed goat, jostled his way through the crowd, shouting as he did.

Panic spread like a virus. The crowd surged forwards towards the refuge point. The nomenclature undersold it — a massive vault situated beneath the Goldbaker-Reinz Building, thaumaturgically enhanced and designed to withstand all manner of threats and reality restructures. Pushed forward into the vault, Khalil was one of the last to enter. Behind him, Security rolled the many layers of doors closed, and sealed them. The announcement had ceased. No-one spoke. It felt like no-one drew breath. An otherworldly hum, source unknown, perforated the silence.

Khalil felt he had been in the vault for hours. It had actually been just two minutes.

Ding dong ding. A jingle rang out overhead, followed by the return of the announcer. Her words were different though: "Thank you for your cooperation. This concludes the annual apocalypse drill. It is safe to return to your workstations."

The groan of the metal doors opening was nothing in comparison to the groan from the vault's occupants. Johan Nielsen's face was redder than the blood upon his robe.

With the unexpected intermission from the workday over, the employees filed out of the sub-basement, into the stairwell, into the corridor, and back to their work. As he trudged back to his cubicle, Khalil overheard the conversations of others. "I know it was frightening, David, but no, it's not a legitimate reason for a day off. I need you to see if we can get the Three Portlands reps back on the calls. I know. Trust me, I want to speak to them even less than you do."

Khalil reached the call centre, then reached his desk. He imprisoned his head in the headset once more and prepared for the inevitable.

The phone rang. He answered.

"Good Afternoon, you're through to Goldbaker-Reinz Insurance Customer Support. My name's Khalil and I'll be assisting you today, how can I be of service?"

Maybe an Apocalypse wouldn't be so bad after all.

Footnotes

1. Not in an anomalous sense. The man was just quite indistinct.

2. Tartarean Overcentury Interdemon Rate.

3. The assistant was also not nameless in an anomalous sense, but she was far from indistinct. She had a name. Nielsen just never bothered to learn it.

4. This time, in the anomalous sense.