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Human Resource Incidents. A Guerrilla Literature Collaboration with Metaphysical Builder, 6/10/26.

Jun 11, 2026

The first is an image of three clerks typing.

“Hush little baby don’t you cry.”

Silence, perfect but for the typing.

SUDDENLY. The double door flies off from the wall of the office turned stage, the crowd roaring at the outskirts. The clerks run off like rollicking Sims NPCs into the backstage, as the DECKCHAIR CONCUSSOR arrives before suplexing an industrial grade printer. Indeed, Playstation 1 would have had trouble rendering his sprite, for this beast’s mesh muscles had a voxel-count upwards of thirty thousand tetrahedrons. He was doing his entrance, involving a sort of cocky dance, involving moves from a Zelda ripoff, as he walked past the office refuse towards the wrestling ring. NPCs in the crowd were dry heaving, starstruck, waving deckchair signs, and sometimes waving their deckchairs. Some were silent, apparently baracking for the other guy.

The themesong was playing: “He’s the show, he’s the concussor. Just when you thought you could sit down for a brief holiday. That deckchair. The chair. He consusses you with it! DECK - CH - CH - CHAIR CONCUSSOR.”

He is gyrating next to the stairs that lead up to the ring, in his red and green spandex outfit. Then the music distorts into static, smoke filters into the stadium.

“And next up, the one and only...”

The contour of his beard is the first thing to appear after the announcement. But the vikking beard is thrown across the whole floor setup, for he is being lowered from the ceiling, rotating on a special rotary harness, lights spiralling out from behind his huge form. He looks like the spitting image of Chris Hemsworth’s Thor from the MCU. The crowd roar louder than before, but there is booing aswell from the DECKCHAIR CONCUSSOR supporters. He lands in the middle of the ring, in full view.

“Ladies and gentlemen, KERR M-MARTIN!!”

“Don’t stutter, announcer friend.” KERR reassured, “I am a right honorable man.”

The DECKCHAIR CONCUSSOR points aggressively.

“You’ll get a bunch of fives and a swift little kick in your exposed liver area if you’re not careful, KERR.”

The crowd erupted, they had never heard such smack talk before. KERR MARTIN nodded thoughtfully. Then he delivered a headbutt, Glaswegian kiss style. Quite the traditional move for someone like KERR MARTIN who just so happens to be Scotch. Not specifically Glasgow Scotch but from the general country. The impact echoed throughout the arena and three rows of spectators were immediately diagnosed with second-hand concussion. The DECKCHAIR CONCUSSOR staggers backwards, clutching his face. Blood. Printer Ink. CJ’s bike and the remnants of Grove Street.

The crowd smelled opportunity and stilton cheese.

“Hush little baby don’t you cry.” they chanted, over and over, as the typing of clerical keys returned and became amplified.

“Yes,” whispered KERR MARTIN. “Culturally appropriate if you catch my drift.”

The CONCUSSOR attempted to stand but that was a fatal error. The world froze, the crowd stopped moving, the clerks stopped typing. Even the music cut out, which was disappointing, as everyone had been enjoying the smooth jazz beats of Buckley Bumble.

The arena became silent and a small green crystal rotated in the top corner of the screen.

L o a d i n g . . .

The camera clipped directly through KERR MARTIN’s chest cavity before correcting itself, DECKCHAIR CONCUSSOR looked around nervously.

“What is this buffoonery KERR? Are you trying to do a cheat?”

KERR MARTIN spun like a helicopter and posed.

“No, now it’s time for a cutscene, you polygonal nightmare.”

The camera zoomed directly into KERR’s beard so closely that individual textures became visible. The audience could see the stitching holding reality together. They screamed, The CONCUSSOR screamed too, and it looped twice because the audio file was too short. It made some of the crowd barf hard.

“No!” shouted DECKCHAIR CONCUSSOR, “You can’t activate a cutscene during active gameplay! You were doing a cheat!”

“I can and I have,” boasted KERR.

The camera angle changed again and now the audience were viewing both men from somewhere near the ceiling fan. Top down mode activated.

The clerks suddenly appeared behind them. They weren’t typing anymore.

“Hush little baby don’t you cry.” erupted in unison from the spectacled squadron. One stepped forward and a nameplate appeared above his head.

CLERK #1

He spoke slowly.
“As foretold by company policy.”

The second clerk stepped forward.

CLERK #2

“The quarterly reckoning is upon us.”

The third clerk removed his glasses and the crowd gasped. Nobody had ever seen his eyes before and it made it clear who he was, just like Superman, Buckley Bumble himself.

CLERK #3 (BUCKLEY BUMBLE)

“You must pay taxes on pus-filled pugilism and pageantry.”

The arena lights exploded and DECKCHAIR CONCUSSOR fell backwards in terror.
“Impossible.” he gasped as KERR MARTIN folded his arms. The camera zoomed in on KERR’s face, then it zoomed in further, then further still until only a single pixel occupied the entire screen.

The pixel cleared its throat.

“In this scene, Final Fantasy X’s Wakka was supposed to make a cameo appearance and force The DECKCHAIR CONCUSSOR to complete his back taxes.”

The crowd remained silent and the pixel stayed perfectly still.

“Unfortunately, due to copyright disputes with SquareSoft, you all have to look at my pretty pixel face instead.”

The DECKCHAIR CONCUSSOR was horrified, all his turkeys were coming home to roost.

“N-no, I haven’t filed for the last three financial years.”

PRESS X TO ACKNOWLEDGE TAX OBLIGATIONS.

Suddenly a disturbance moved through the crowd. The sort of disturbance usually reserved for tax audits, incoming Space Chads, or the unexpected arrival of STUMBLECUMPIN the Captivating Troglodyte. He was DECKCHAIR CONCUSSOR’s favorite pasta chef and right hand man, famed for making an exquisite carbonara. The fact that these were the first two credentials listed on his résumé told you everything you needed to know about STUMBLECUMPIN.

Smoke filled the arena and a clerk coughed before they returned to their desks and started typing again. The audience recoiled in fear, they were worried but indeed captivated by the Captivating Troglodyte. The music of Buckley Bumble kicked back in and DECKCHAIR CONCUSSOR embraced STUMBLECUMPIN.

Two vs one, a real handicapped affair, would this be the end for KERR MARTIN?

Find out next week in SubSmack StackDown Wrestling sponsored by Metaphysical Muscle Milk and WageStock™

^{The network does not guarantee there will be a next week for SubSmack StackDown Wrestling.}

I want to thank Metaphysical Builder for this absolute insanity, I was compelled to finish the story he’d set up and take part in the chaos, though in doing so it left me a little short on time for June’s daily writing challenge. This legend worked with me on a pseudo-collaboration that came out of nowhere and fulfilled my goal of publishing a new piece of writing every day. Please, subscribe to Metaphysical Builder, you couldn’t ask for a better friend and member of this community. The note that sparked it all is linked below.