Abaddon's Job Interview
“Name?” asked the buzzard-like old woman sitting at her cogitator. She spoke with a gravelly voice and an odd accent. An Iho stick was still smoking between her lips, sending wisps of smoke up past her horn rimmed glasses.
“Ezekyle A. Abaddon,” replied the hulking giant in black terminator armor sitting across the desk from her with a deep rumble. Glancing around quizzically, Abaddon tried to figure out how he had come to be here, or, for that matter, where here was.
“What’s the A. stand for?” she asked next.
“What business is it of yours?!” Abaddon roared, rising to his feet quickly.
“Look, hon, I don’t make the rules,” she said, looking directly at him for the first time over the top of her glasses. “I just ask the questions they give me. Do you want a job, or not?”
“Very well, but this does not leave this room, or I shall remove your head from your shoulders,” he said in as threatening a tone as ten millennia of serving chaos could muster. “It’s Alouicious.”
“What was that? You’re gonna have to speak up hon.”
“Alouicious!” Abaddon roared, his cheeks flushed. “How is it that I can not stop myself from answering you? You are but an insect of a mortal.”
“Do you go by any other names, nicknames, colloquialisms, titles, and/or genus?” she asked in a gravelly monotone, completely ignoring his last question. She spoke as if reading from an often used script. Apathy seemed to be the only emotion she was capable of expressing.
“The Despoiler, Ravager of Worlds, Commander of the Black Legion, Champion of Chaos Undivided, and the successor to Horus himself.” Abaddon responded with great pride, puffing his chest out slightly, and causing the wooden chair beneath him to creak in fear of its impending demise.
“Right. I can only fit twenty six characters on this line, so you’ll have to pick your two favorites, alright hon?” she said, flicking some ash into the ashtray beside her yellow-stained keyboard.
“What?! Um… I guess The Despoiler will be fine.” Abaddon said, with an irritated look on his face. “You still have not answered my question. Why am I forced to answer these questions? I will not answer even one more until you tell me what I wish to know!”
“Age?” came the next question.
Sticking his tongue out slightly and looking off into the depths of his forehead, he began counting on his fingers.
“What year is this again?” asked the Despoiler.
“It’s 013M42, sir,” responded the crone.
“I guess that would make it eleven thousand two hundred and… twenty-three,” Abaddon said finally.
“My, what a grown up boy we are,” remarked the crone dryly, typing away at her keyboard. “What species?”
“I am the son of the Primarch Horus, how can you ask me such a question? Can’t you see it with your own two eyes?!” Abaddon’s anger was starting to burn through whatever spell he was being held under. He grasped his hand into a fist and caused a crackle of lightning to arc its way up his claw.
Unfazed, the old woman looked at him and said “Species?”
“Primarch Clone,” he muttered. The lightning claw went out with a puff and he sat back in his chair, sulking slightly.
“I’ll try and speed this up a bit sir. You are obviously a male, and you already said your father was named Horus, so I’ll put those in for you. I do need your mother’s maiden name for the records, hon.” She seemed to be warming up to the subject now, typing away with a bit more enthusiasm, but still the same gravel monotone.
“What in the name of the Dark Gods of Chaos do you need that for?!” Abaddon rose to his feet and loomed menacingly over the crone.
“It’s on the form, hon. Now please sit down, you’re edging papers off my desk here.” Far from being afraid, she seemed slightly annoyed that her personal workspace was being violated. Some unseen force compelled Abaddon to return to his seat.
“I shall see your entrails hanging from a pike, vile harpy,” he muttered.
“What was that, dear?” she asked, piercing him with a gaze that was colder than any grave he had been in.
“I said ‘I see your nails really sparkle in this light quite sharply’,” Abaddon tried to cover, but was sure he failed miserably.
“Why thank you, deary, but save the small talk for after the questions please. Mother’s maiden name?”
“Helga Hossenfeffer.” The words were practically torn from his throat, and seemed to cause him great pain.
“I’ve got an Aunt Helga on my mother’s side,” she said. “Never did much care for her, she always had something negative to say about people. I always say that it’s none of my never mind, but she wouldn’t let it go. Had to say something about everyone. But she died a few centuries back, so it just goes to show.”
“Just goes to show what?” Asked Abaddon.
“What’s that, dear?” she asked, looking over her glasses at him again.
“You said it ‘just goes to show.’ I was wondering… never mind. Just get this over with. I have worlds to conquer and atrocities to commit.” Abaddon was decidedly uncomfortable with the whole situation and felt it easier to just finish the ordeal as quickly as possible. “How long have you worked here, anyhow?”
“Son, I sat down in this chair in nineteen sixty-seven and haven’t stood up since.”
“Nineteen… are you saying you’ve been here since the twentieth millennium?” Abaddon was incredulous that someone could possibly live for that long.
“You’re too kind, hon, but I’ve had bunions that were around before the twentieth millennium. I said nineteen sixty-seven, as in the second one. That was back when we had paper and pencil to do all this work. None of these new-fangled gizmos you’ve got today. The only two humans in the galaxy who have been around longer than me are the Emperor, praised be his name, and Earl down in accounts payable.” She looked him in the eye and Abaddon felt the weight of his vast age lift somewhat.
So the questions continued. After much threatening and anger on the part of the Despoiler, and several cigarettes on the part of the old woman, form after form was filled out and filled away for future use.
After what seemed like days of grueling combat, the interrogation was over and the information was sent off for job openings with his qualifications.
“Well, hon, it looks like you’re qualified to either be a mid level manager at a computer firm, or a part time ice cream truck driver. You’d have to wear a hair net with the ice cream truck, but it says here you can have the left over ice cream at the end of the week.” The crone read from the cogitator screen. “You just missed qualifying for gym teacher, but it says you aren’t evil enough for that job.”
“NOT EVIL ENOUGH?!” Abaddon felt his blood boil at this. I’ve defiled thousands of worlds, set my black mark on the galaxy for over ten thousand years. All who hear my name tremble in fear and awe! And you say I’m not EVIL ENOUGH?!”
“Hon, it takes a special something to be a gym teacher. Face it, deary, you just don’t have it.” The crone’s voice sounded like it was trying to be consoling, but failing miserably. “Maybe if you go out and drown a few kittens or something we can try to squeeze you in as an elementary school coach.”
“I refuse to be insulted like this. I am going back to the Dark Gods and asking for my old job back.” Abaddon stood and turned to leave.
“I’m sorry hon, but there are no openings at that firm any more. You’ve been replaced.” The words rang through his brain like a death knell.
“By whom?” The Despoiler’s voice turned ice cold.
“You wouldn’t know him, hon. His name’s Mark Wahlberg.”
1. Name: Ezekyle Alouicious Abaddon
2. Aliases: The Despoiler
3. Age: 11,219 Terran years
4. Species: Primarch Clone
5. Gender: Male
6. Place of Birth: Cthonia
7. Mother’s Maiden Name: Olga Hossenfeffer
8. Father’s Name: Horus
9. Current Mailing Address: 666 Paisley St. Eye of Terror
10. Hours willing to work: _X_ Full-Time __ Part-Time __ Temp __ Summer Job
11. Willing to Travel: _X_ Yes __ No.
12. If yes, what percentage of the time: __For Eternity__
13. Drivers License: __ Yes _X_ No 12. Drivers License Number: __N/A__
14. Geographic Preference (Be Specific): __Smoke filled battle fields, warp infested planets, bleak and desolate vestiges__
15. Have you ever committed a felony or been convicted of a felony charge?
_X_ Yes __ No
16. If yes, please explain in precise detail on a separate sheet of paper, giving the dates and the nature of the offense, the name and location of the court, and the disposition of the case: __See Administratum files Rel. “Horus Heresy”, “Abaddon the Despoiler”, “The Black Legion”, and all available references Rel. Black Crusades I – XIII. Case resulted in conviction in absentia. Sentence was eternal imprisonment in the fiery recesses of hell.__
17. Did you graduate High School or Receive a GED? _No_
18. Indicate Highest Grade Completed: 1 2 34 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Other: millennia
19. Name and Location of last school attended: Luna Wolves School for boys.
20. Licenses/Certificates of Qualification: Terminator armor qualification badge, level 4 qualification in power armor training
21. Special Skills/Training: Decapitation 101, 102, and 103, Fortress Assault Leader’s reactionary course, Imperial sanctity defilement 102.
22. How many words a minute do you type? _N/A_ note: lightning claws break keyboard
23. Sign Language qualified? _X_ Yes __ No note: battle signing certificate presented
24. Do you speak any languages fluently other than High and Low Gothic?_X_Yes __No
25. If yes, which? _Demonic Tongues, Cthonic, some Japanese_
26. Are you now, or have you ever been employed by the state of Texas? __ Yes __ No _X_ Where the heck is Texas?
27. Are you a Veteran? _X_Yes __No (If no, please skip to question ___)
28. If yes, list discharge status: _Deserter/currently serving_
29. List dates of service: _Imperial Space Marines: Luna Wolves/Sons of Horus – 1 July 718M30 – 2 August 612M31, Black Legion - 2 August 612M31 – present__
30. Are you a spouse of a veteran? __ Yes _X_ No
31. Are you a Surviving Orphan of a Veteran? _X_ Yes __ No
32. Name: Abaddon, Ezekyle Alouicious
33. Position Title: Black Legion Commander
34. Employer: Chaos Space Marines Inc.
35. Employer’s Mailing Address: 8 pointed star, Eye of Terror
36. Employer’s Phone Number: N/A
37. Supervisor’s Name: Dark Gods of Chaos
38. Supervisor’s Phone Number: Sacrifice a small child and ask for Slaanesh, Tzeentch, Korne, or Nurgle at the scream.
39. If in a supervisory role, number of employees you supervised: 9 full legions of chaos space marines ~10 thousand Marines each, Untold billions of demons and chaos cultists.
40. Average # of hours worked per week: 167 hrs.
41. Reason Left Position: _Removed from position for lack of upward mobility and inadequate job performance_
42. List all previous jobs held and length of employment: _1st Company Commander, Sons of Horus – 120 years; Terminator Assault Marine, Luna Wolves – 90 years; Toilet Scrubber and urinal cake replacer, Cthonia underhive municipal children’s work release program – 2 years_