Mr. Moseby walked through the front door and beheld his lobby.
And it was good.
'Good' was perhaps a relative term that did not fully account for the decor. Screamingly garish shades of neon green and dark purple clashed in a way that made the 70s look as if they had never left, razzle-dazzle geometric patterns giving way to more mundane purple wallpaper and a tasteful assortment of ficuses around the edges. The centerpiece of the room was a three-tiered fountain with a massive marble statue of Dr. Doofenshmirtz in a rather unflattering pose, spitting water into the basin below.
While he was sad to leave the Tipton behind, Mr. Tipton's increasingly hands-on policy had eventually driven him to seek new pastures; pastures that provided adequate dental packages. Whatever the eccentricities of his new employer, he could appreciate a good lobby to call his domain. As he settled in behind his desk, he viewed here a rotating door gently gilded, there a futon softly upholstered, there a tent neatly erected by the water fountains…
…what?
Mr. Moseby stalked out from behind his desk to confirm that his eyes were not deceiving him. Indeed, someone had assembled a tent to the side of his new lobby. If he had to hazard a guess, it would probably be the four people in ninja costumes clustered around a fire pit and listening to what appeared to be a homeless man in a black cloak.
"Ok so tell us again:" One of the ninja asked. "The guy with the giant train was the skyscraper lady's nephew?"
The homeless man, who Moseby could smell from halfway across the atrium, shook his head violently. "No, no, it was her brother! …or maybe some sort of cousin. I never could understand how those thirds and seconds worked."
"And what about the octopus?"
The horrendous man opened his mouth, then paused with a slack-jawed look of uncertainty slowly working its way across his face.
"...you know nobody ever did explain the octopus."
Sheer disbelief was finally overtaken by outrage in Mr. Moseby's heart. "What is going on here?!?" He demanded.
The odious creature spun around like a startled wading bird. "Eh? Oh, I was just telling my new friends about That Boy's awful family, so that they will be better prepared to-"
He was overtaken by one of the ninja, who slapped his gloved hand over his mouth before he could finish the sentence.
"No, sensei Goob! Your wisdom is not meant for lesser ears!"
"And your visage is not meant for common eyes!" Another declared. "Quickly, back into the boiler room!"
"But I thought we were leavin-"
"Soon!" The first ninja responded, shoving the man through a door. "Just as soon as we've dealt with the interloper."
A few seconds later the door slammed shut, and Moseby was alone with a smaller proportion of the madness.
"...I take it you're the lobby ninja, then?" Mr. Moseby asked, voice holding some desperate, sad measure of hope that he would be wrong.
"Indeed!" The leader declared. "I am the great ninja Tobe, and this is my partner Jing-Jing!" the female ninja of the group swooned slightly. "Together with my mystical advisor Jumong, our ninja clown Binggure, and an assortment of generic mooks, we are the Vagabond Ninja!"
The four then struck a pose, a fact which Moseby chose to ignore. "...clown ninja?"
"Clowns are a vital part of any covert operation."
"Right." Moseby said, meaning that it was wrong. "You know, when I was informed there were 'lobby ninja', I had held out hope that it was some sort of hitherto unclear metaphor. For clever solicitors, perhaps, or a pest problem. I did not expect LITERAL NINJA to have invaded my lobby!"
"Buddy, if you think this is bad you are about to have a heck of a first day." Jumong said.
"Your lobby?" Tobe asked, affronted. "And who exactly are you?"
Mr Moseby straightened himself up. "I am Doofenshmirtz… Evil Incorporated's new Director of Operations. Mr. Marion Moseby."
The four ninja immediately began snickering.
"And just what is so funny?" Moseby asked with a glare.
"Marion. That's a girl's name!" Binggure said.
"Wh-it is a perfectly acceptable masculine appellation."
"I called myself Mary once!" A muffled voice declared from the other side of the boiler room door. "It was a brilliant tactical deception."
"I'm sure you did sensei." Jing-Jing replied, patting the door gently.
Mr Moseby sighed. "Oh, nevermind. What matters is that I find out why on earth you have begun a camping ground here of all places!"
"Easy access to water." Jumong replied, pointing at the water fountain.
"And fuel!" Binggure added, carrying a stack of tourist pamphlets from a nearby wall rack and throwing them onto the center of the firepit. A moment later he knelt down and began rubbing two chair legs together to generate friction. "If only Mirage had left us some more books…"
"No!" Moseby declared, rushing forward and halting the clown. "No, absolutely not! I will not allow you to create a fire hazard in the lobby, especially not on my first day of work!"
"Denying us the heat we need to survive in this hostile environment?!? That is the last straw!" Tobe said, standing up to his own full height.
"I think there's more in the break room." Binggure replied.
"You come in here, ignorant of our ninja ways, and think you can command us?" Tobe shifted into a martial stance. "Then prepare to meet your doom! HoooaAAAAA-"
"What are you doing?" Mr. Moseby asked calmly.
"Preparing to duel you in honorable combat?" Tobe said uncertainly.
"You can't fight in here." Moseby replied. "This is the lobby! This is the first thing visitors to our company see when they walk in our door, the impression that will define the rest of their visit. We cannot have hooligans starting fights like this is Good Luck Alley!"
Tobe pulled the rest of the Vagabonds into a group huddle. "What's he doing?" Tobe asked.
"I think he's fighting us." Jumong replied.
"What?!"
"With societal convention!" Jumong declared.
"THE FIEND!!!" Tobe screamed to the heavens. "What do we do?"
"I suggest… a tactical retreat." Jumong said.
"What's that?"
"It's like running away, but ninja."
"Oooh, can we do the log thing?" Binggure asked. "I love doing the log thing."
Jing-Jing looked at him. "Last time you tried to do the log thing, you left behind a live tree."
"It's harder than it looks, ok?!?"
"Enough!" Tobe declared, breaking the huddle and turning back to an incredulous Moseby. "You may have won this clash, Marion, but mark my words! I recognize the unique threat you pose, the challenge you represent to my power! Our conflict will continue until the end of time itself!"
With that, three of the ninja ninja-ran for the lobby doors. The last threw down a bag of powder that exploded into smoke. When it cleared, there was a fully grown pumpkin in its place.
"Dang it!" a far-off voice complained.
There was a brief moment of silence, and then Tobe sheepishly poked his head back in. "Hey Sensei Goob! You can come out now!"
The boiler door immediately burst open to reveal the tangle of pale limbs that constituted Goob, who immediately set off after the others, cheerfully rambling to himself as he left through the doors.
"Oh excellent, excellent, I'm so excited to be off! …where are we going?"
"Time travel agency." Tobe responded bluntly.
"Will they have anything to drink? I forgot to pack a thermos."
"I hope you like orange soda."
A longer period of silence occurred. Mr. Moseby waited to ensure it would last. When the coast seemed clear, he allowed himself to blink.
"Did that actually just happen?" He asked himself.
"Afraid so."
"Aaagh!" Moseby jumped.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."
Moseby turned to regard a young man with thick-rimmed glasses and flat ginger hair. Standing next to him was a dognosed teenager who looked like he wanted to say something, but was beaten to the punch.
"You're not another one of the… lobby ninja, are you? Perhaps some sort of pirate accountant?"
"Don't be ridiculous. No, I'm Karl. I'm an intern! And I thought I would come by and greet our newest hire! How are you acclimatizing?"
"Oh, acclimatizing, fine, fine." Moseby said with a slightly manic grin. "Nothing to be concerned about beyond the lobby being turned into a hiker's dojo."
"Well that's good!" Carl said.
"I'm Max." Max said, deciding to move in before the conversation continued. The dog-nose had been assigned to 'job shadow' today, which as far as he was concerned meant slacking off near other people. "How did you uh… do that?"
"Do what?" Moseby asked.
"Get them to stop."
"Oh. Well it was just a matter of firm leadership, clear authority, and-"
"You acted important and they stopped asking questions."
"Yes, pretty much."
"I think I'm going to like you." Max replied.
"We're all happy to have you!" Karl agreed cheerily. "Have you got your first assignment yet?"
Moseby blinked. "First assignment?"
"Yeah, your first big job! Dr. Doofenshmirtz likes to hand them out in two month intervals, usually."
"Well, no. In point of fact I will not be having a meeting with him until this afternoon."
"Oooh, exciting! It could be almost anything!"
"...anything?" Moseby asked after a moment.
"Yup! My first job was helping fix a nationwide famine! Not what I expected to put on my resume, buuut… I'll take it."
"Doofenshmirtz… put an intern in charge of that?" Moseby asked in disbelief.
"Welll, technically it was my boss. He should be entering the scene any… second now…"
"Hello!" Monogram declared, shuffling into the lobby with a pile of clothes hangers taller than he was. "Sorry I'm late, the wife asked me to pick up her dry cleaning."
"Oh, let me help you with that!" Moseby said, rushing over to take a few of the loads off of Monogram, whose squashed and reddened face soon became visible from amidst the mountain.
"Ah, that's better. I was beginning to lose circulation."
"Marion Moseby. Good to meet you." Moseby said, extending a hand.
"Francis Monogram." Monogram replied, extending a hatbox.
"Francis, isn't that a woma-" Moseby cut himself off. "Nevermind. That is…"
"We and Mr. Moseby were just discussing Doctor Doofenshmirtz' unusual staffing directives." Carl said.
"Oh! You mean like that time he put Vanessa in charge of reviving the dinosaurs. Or how he's asked me to help repair the sentient robot."
"Sir, I'm pretty sure he doesn't want you anywhere near Sinatron."
"Don't crush my dreams, Carl!" Monogram replied.
"So this is… common." Moseby half-asked.
"Our first job was performing a tarot reading seance." Tobe said.
"WILL YOU GET OUT OF HERE!?!!" Moseby bellowed.
"Sheesh. I just forgot my thermos."
"What about you?" Moseby asked, turning to Max. "Surely not everyone here has a mad tale to tell."
"I mean I don't like to complain." Max said modestly.
"Well-"
"Ok if you insist. It was awful!" Max groaned. "You just barely started working here?"
"Yes?"
"I'm so sorry."
Moseby blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"No, he's sorry." Monogram said.
Max sighed. "When I first started working here, Doof sent me to a hick suburb to, and I quote, 'poke around'. I ended up being tormented for hours on end by the most sadistic devil girl I have ever had the misfortune to suffer under-"
"Hi Max."
"Hi Janna."
"Talkin' about me?"
"Yeah."
"Cool."
Max shook his head once Janna passed. "And then, I was sent on a two-month expedition to the other side of the world! Twice!"
Moseby balked. "Well I should hope your parents had something to say about that!"
"Yeah, Dad decided to come with me!" Max grumbled. "Is it really that much to ask that things just stay quiet for a little while?"
Moseby appraised the boy. "You know, I don't think I've ever heard a teenager say that before."
"You're not going to hear that many adults saying it around here either."
"I was afraid of that." Moseby said with a grimace and a slight tilt of the head. "I should get going, I have a meeting with my supervisor. I will admit, this is beginning to concern me slightly."
"Do you want some words of reassurance?"
"That would be helpful."
"I'll tell you if I think of any."
Mr Moseby frowned.
"Thanks." He said. He then attempted a rally. "But at least I can be sure that there are reasonable individuals like yourselves working here as well."
"Absolutely!" Monogram replied. "If you ever need help, just talk to one of the fedora-wearing animals. Those are mine."
"...what?"
===
"Everything seems to be in order, Mr. Lee. Though I will admit to being just a bit concerned about this whole 'first assignment' business. It sounds rather infamous."
"Ah yes." Janus replied. "When I first joined, Doofenshmirtz had me contacting Drakktech for some preliminary collaboration work."
"Well. That seems reasonable given your role as Financial Officer."
"My firm was acquired for its genetics research."
"...Ah."
===
You sit behind your desk, hands folded in front of you. "So, Mr. Moseby. You are the new hire I have heard so much about.
Moseby sat in front of your desk, sweat stains visible across his white pressed shirt.
"Yes sir! Good to meet you sir!"
"Are you all right, Mr. Moseby? You seem a bit tense."
"I'M FINE." Moseby screamed. "Just… eagerly anticipating my first assignment."
"Ahhhh yes." you say, pulling a folder out from your desk. "I've thought long and hard about what to begin your employment with, Mr. Moseby. A task of monumental importance and complexity, a task even I would shudder to take on directly."
Mr. Moseby made a vaguely eeplike noise, closed his eyes, and braced.
"I want you to buy a food chain for me!"
Mr. Moseby blinked. "Hubba-whah?"
"Yeah, you know Doc Hoppers? The frog legs? Man, the famine sure did weird things to our national palette, didn't it? Anyway, I need someone to manage the acquisition. Negotiate rates, sign contracts, project earnings. And other things Mirage wrote down for me to say!" You say, holding up your cue cards.
"I uh… I see."
"Oh no, do you not like it?" You ask. "I knew I should have offered the Interdimensional Portal project-"
"No! Nope! Nonono!" Mr. Moseby leapt forward, arms flailing above your desk. "No no, this is perfectly fine, thank you!"
"Huh. Well, if you're sure. Mind the hall of traps! I just had it painted, and they charge extra for that for some reason."
"Right, yes!" Moseby said, clearly elated. "Thank you, sir! You can rely on me!"
===
And indeed you could. Under Moseby's experienced direction the deal was over quickly and without a hitch. His no-nonsense attitude and hospitality experience were exactly what was needed to soothe any lingering doubts in Doc Hopper's mind about selling to the DEI umbrella. On the day of the merger Mr Moseby smiled as he shook Hopper's hand for the cameras.
"Mr. Hopper, it has been a pleasure working with you."
"Likewise, likewise. When I got into this business years ago I said 'I'll do anything to get frog legs on America's plate' and well, I did. To be honest, things have been getting a bit hot for me in the industry. Needed someone who can handle things in ma absence. I leave them in your capable hands."
"The frog legs?" Moseby asked.
"Yep! Would you like to see them?"
"...the frog legs?" Moseby asked again, confusion spreading across his plate like spilled milk.
"Yes indeedy, the secret to my success!" Doc Hopper said, not-quite dragging Moseby along with him. "America needed the right face to shift their culinary appetites. …in addition to the nationwide food shortage, I mean. Kermit! Your new boss is here!"
Moseby entered to see a green frog waiting quietly in a chair.
"Oh, hello." the frog said. "I'm Kermit."
"Mmm." Moseby enunciated. "I…"
Pause.
He tried again. "I… hope I'm not being rude." He began, "But are you a… frog?" He nearly squeaked the last word.
Kermit's mouth rumpled. "Well, yes." He said. "I'm Kermit the Frog."
"Ah." He said.
"So you've bought Doc Hoppers, huh?" Kermit asked, carefully.
"Yes, that's right. On behalf of my… employer." Moseby said, still concerned about the 'Evil' on the business card.
"Does this mean I can stop being a spokesman now?"
"Well… I would presume so, yes. Do you not like being a spokesman?"
"Well, I didn't really have much choice."
Moseby clucked sympathetically. "Poor labor market?"
"Oh no, I was kidnapped. And imprisoned. And then kidnapped again."
"It may have taken the fall of communism, Kermit, but I got you in the end." Hopper chuckled.
"I'm sorry, did you just admit to a crime?" Moseby asked.
"No idea what you're talking about."
"Can we leave now?" Kermit asked. "If I can uh, come with you, please. I'd very much prefer to not be here."
Mr. Moseby pursed his lips. "Yes. Right. Very well. Come along… Kermit."
"Oh thank goodness." Kermit said.
"So, Mr. The Frog." Moseby said as they vacated the fry oil-scented building. "Assuming you are interested in continuing employment, what else are you good at?"
"Hrm." Kermit thought. "Well, I can play the banjo."
===
Kermit's spirits were raised considerably by the time he arrived at DEI. He walked through the front doors with trepidation, yes, but also a growing hint of curiosity. "Gee. I don't think I've ever seen a lobby like this before."
"Yes well, it is a bit eccentric." Moseby allowed as he strode through the doors. "But the important thing is that everything is in it's pla-
"WHY IS THERE A CAR IN MY LOBBY?!??!" Moseby screamed at the neatly parked 1974 AMC Gremlin.
Inside the car was a wooden corkboard covered in pegs and red string, connecting points labeled things such as 'DRAGON' and 'ICE', the latter of which had a small doodle of Doofenshmirtz frozen in a glacier. Two pictures of sheep were pasted on the wall, with a series of arrows and question marks labeled 'Dream? Which one???????'. A pair of strings spiraled around an old polaroid of sunglasses, itself labeled 'Double-O O?'
In neat lettering at the very bottom was the word 'KRONOS' handwritten in a completely different hand to the chicken scratch. It was adjacent to a white string that hung off the board and seemed to connect to nothing.
"What is the meaning of all this?!?!?!" Mr. Moseby said.
Kermit, who was beginning to grow fond of the man, patted his arm. "Don't worry, Mr. Moseby. I'm sure it'll all be explained."
"WHEN?!?!?" Moseby demanded.
===
To be Continued in Interlude: Find Fantastic Part 2: So That's What It Feels Like
===
Kermit the Frog has joined as a hero unit!
Max's Stewardship has increased by 1! Tooned Out progress does not increase. Max feels like something just isn't in the right spot…
The restaurant industry has been a hotbed of competition lately, and the surprising purchase of Doc Hopper's seems to have kicked things into overdrive. The Franchise Wars have begun!
Major players, including several CEOs, have begun fighting tooth and nail for control of the lucrative fast food industry! The Franchise Wars present an opportunity for massive profits… and massive losses as well. If we do not keep up with our competitors, we can expect to fade into irrelevance- but outmaneuvering the competition could cement our position as head of the industry! In this new day and age, a lot more than simple food is necessary to come out ahead- we should be developing new secret recipes, finding the perfect spokesperson, embracing or shunning recent trends… or perhaps even a touch of industrial sabotage to remind our competitors that we mean business. They'll no doubt be doing the same to us, so we had best not rest easy.
Or not. With the market heating up, it wouldn't be too hard to find someone to sell to should you choose to focus our attention elsewhere…
New national actions have been unlocked!
