The idea of the Foundation having a Human Resources Department seemed kind of stupid.
It wasn't like the establishment was well known for reducing casualties; the health care was, ironically, incredible. People, depending on the job, were given different benefits, sick times, maternity leave and health coverage.
The Human Resources and Communications Department were the poor bastards that had to deal with the people that nobody else wanted to.
The words 'pay raise' are banned.

"For the last time, Dr Karson, you cannot take sick leave because of a 'suspected infection of an anti-memetic virus'. I may not be directly involved in containment or analysis, but I have seen more than my fair share of reports to know that anti-memes do not work like that, nor would you be able to report them. And if you did, Dr Karson, it'd be considered an infohazardous breach and you'd be detained."
Osiris Wentworth heaved a heavy sigh as he placed the phone back onto the receiver, rubbing his eyes as the fan on his desk continued to blow mildly cold air back into his face. Damn thing never managed to blow perfectly cold air, just room temperature, not that Wentworth could complain at all. Room temperature was better than an insanely hot office. Why'd they even build an office underground when they knew damn well that the ventilation shafts periodically broke down around here?
Of all the things in his life, working as a consultant for the Foundation's HR&C Department was not one of the things that even crossed his mind. He couldn't even remember how he got here, just vague memories of a lockdown at his old workplace, an interview and then being sat at orientation. Then again, his long- and short-term memory were absolutely garbage, so it was entirely possible that he'd just forgotten how he'd gotten here in the first place.
A few minutes passed uneventfully, silence smothering the tapping of keys as Wentworth tried to prepare himself for the swathe of emails that he was about to get. Dr. Karson was one of the most annoying and persistent 'clients' - to put it nicely - that they had to deal with. Wentworth shook his head clear of thoughts as he continued typing; As long as he had his fan to keep his room cool, he was alright.

His fan broke.
Wentworth stared, mortified, at his sputtering and smoking fan. Three years on the job and the longest running fan so far; it had a post-it note stuck onto it that read 'Kyle the Third - 02/02/12'. Guess that'd have to be rewritten when he got the next fan in from that slightly shady Chinese business. 'Kyle the Fourth' didn't sound quite right in his head. Then again, he'd seen 'Kyle the Third' every day for the past three years.
Offering a small salute to the third fallen soldier that had fallen prey to 15-hour work days and weak wiring, Wentworth stood from his desk and wiped away a few beads of sweat around his forehead that had quickly taken form. Jesus Christ, this entire department block was an HR nightmare in itself. He made a mental note to bring up the ventilation to Lohan, a few offices down. Maybe he could stick that on his fourth soldier too, somewhere near the name. Not to close, though - nothing could ever come near it.
Osiris' office door groaned open, the rushing smell of slightly musty carpet meeting him at the door, shaking his hand and promptly punching him in the face. He took a small step forward, just enough that he wasn't in the doorway; The smell staved off just a little as he glanced around the somewhat darkened corridor of HR&C. It must have been later than he originally thought as there wasn't a soul around. Wentworth couldn't blame them - god knows he didn't want to be in this corridor any more than the next guy.
"Samson? Do you have Karson's file in your office? I might need it in the next five minutes?"
Wentworth knew how annoying his incessant knocking was, but if Samson was this insistent on not responding to him then she could deal with it. After around three minutes of knocking intermittently with timed blocks of silence, Wentworth rested his hand on the door and gave it a gentle push.
"Samson, I'm really not in the mood for—"
Click. Unlocked.
Suspicion rose in his mind as he stared around the interior of the office. They all looked the same anyway, but this office just felt a little more same-y than the rest of them. There weren't even any recognizable family photos, posters from summers long passed or a calendar on the wall that counted down to the next vacation day. Just a fairly blank office with his nameplate on the desk.
Wentworth stared for what felt like an hour. His nameplate. Last time he checked, his nameplate was back on his desk, in his office, which was behind him in the corridor that he just came from. Wentworth took a staggered step into the office, checking over his shoulder a few times to check to see if his original office was still there. Clear as day, there it was, with Kyle the Third still somewhat in view.
The desk held his valuables too, if not slightly altered. The family photo that he usually kept in his second drawer was on his third, his nameplate read 'Dr. Osiran Wentsworth' which not only wasn't his name, wasn't the correct designation. Wentworth had to admit, though, that being a doctor was pretty cool. His mother's phone number was stuck to the top of a desktop computer. His mother was dead. At least, she was the last time that he checked, which admittedly wasn't for a few years.
On the far corner of the desk, however, stood the trophy of his extra-dimensional office. A beautiful white, plastic office fan that had 'Kyle the Fourth 03/03/12' posted onto it, still blowing air out into an empty room. The handwriting was even his own, just as illegible as he remembered it.
It was still technically his fan, right?

"It's official, Osiris, you're a fucking genius."
Wentworth stepped back to look at his actual desk, a smug grin on his face. His fourth soldier in a row; the mystical Kyle the Fourth. Not only was it not made in China - Made in Vancouver - it produced cold air. A part of him wondered if another version of him was pissed off that his fan was now missing.
Wentworth sat back down at his office chair, spinning in it a few times before turning back to face his computer. The dim screen lit up again, this time displaying a red massage that contrasted the standard work background.

Re: Sick Leave - Dr Karson. From: ten.pics|nosrakd#ten.pics|nosrakd

Osiris Wentworth slammed his head on the desk.