Uncle Bobo's Funcouncil Ranks

Employee

Not even initiated. These men and women are blissfully unaware of Uncle Bobo's agenda, and are fully convinced they are just working another minimum wage summer job. Standard work uniform: blue button-down shirt and grey slacks.

Initiated

Lowest possible rank. No cult uniform, except a small smiley button pin on their work shirt. Not too bright, usually. Tend to get sent on the errands the big boys don't want to do.

Acolyte

Red work shirt, black slacks. Human enough, I suppose. Most cultists never go beyond this rank. Unarmed, like the ranks before them, though they have basic knowledge of flanking tactics and are prone to using everyday items as slugging instruments.

Speaker

Black work shirt, black slacks. Red jacket. Leads small groups of acolytes during group “activities” and “teambuilding exercises”. Tend to be more shrewd, though still not that bright. Might hold a sermon or two, if the manager is sick that day. Sends Acolytes after anything that's bothering them, but if they get too close, has a small switchblade to defend themselves with.

Manager

White work shirt, Dark blue tie, dark blue pinstripe slacks. The real deal. Bosses everyone around, from the speakers to the employees. Trained in hand-to-hand combat, armed with an easily concealable stun baton, and prioritizing self preservation. If they manage to get a target down, they are dragged off. These people are not often seen again. We once captured one of them by surprise, and got them in for questioning. Patted him down and everything. During the interrogation, he took off his glasses, chewed on the stems of his glasses, and immediately died of cyanide poisoning. These guys don't fuck around.

Negotiator

No uniform. Walks around town, recruiting gullible teens and depressed adults into working for Bobo's nefarious organization. Tend to target your self-esteem. Notably, they seem to have a more intricate knowledge of the people they are interviewing than they let on at first. Possibly, they get fed this information from Gazers that have been shadowing potential recruits.

Ascetic

Seldom seen in the field, these men and women have withdrawn from society to pursue a life in one of Uncle Bobo's many warehouses, doing god-knows-what. Our only proof of these members even existing is the fact that often times, a raid on a warehouse shows the field agents that there are small sleeping cabins reserved for these folks. The Ascetics themselves always get away before agents can swoop in.

Gazer

White work shirt. White pants. Blindfold. Seem to be a branch of the main cult, as they tend to follow their own agenda in the field. Creeps me the fuck out. Unarmed, but they sometimes point at you and hiss. Seem to work as intelligence agents of sorts, scouting out locations and keeping tabs on “problem customers”.

Seer

Black work shirt. Top two buttons are missing. Black pants. White blindfold, adorned with two buttons where the eyes should be. These guys are bad news. Don't know how they do the thing where black fluid drips out from under the blindfold, but I'm not a fan of it. Seem to be messengers for Bobo himself. After attempting to capture one for questioning, it bit down on its thumb and gurgled. Subject was declared dead after twenty seconds. The letter it was holding was found to be blank.

Fanatic

Black robes. Armed with handguns, knowledgeable about simple squad tactics, and wearing bulletproof vests underneath those robes. These motherfuckers are responsible for quite a lot of casualties on our end. Shoot on sight, they won't hesitate to do the same.

Zealot

Dark red robes. Holes in said robes stitched up with pages from the Uncle Bobo employee's manual. Armed with automatic rifles. Found leading squads of Fanatics around. Often makes themselves known by screaming out verses from their insane little book they carry with them. Deadly. Avoid at all costs.

Prophet

What the fuck is this thing? Some sort of horrid amalgamation of flesh and nightmares, it only looks like a human being if you are blind, senile or severely mentally handicapped. Meaty flaps cover its face, with rows upon rows of serrated teeth on the inside. Not sure if there's only one, or if it's multiple and they just look the same. Moves around by levitating, and communicates with creepy clicking noises.

Worm

Torn work shirt and pants. Black fluid seeping out of black, soulless eyes. Permanent euphoric grin. These boys are in deep, and no amount of interrogation is going to pull them out. Vomits all over the place. Huge hassle to keep in the facilities, better just shoot them in the field and be done with it.

Voidborn

Just another teenager at first glance. Wears a crappy cape on his work outfit. Same black soulless eyes. Rarely seen outside of its pocket dimension, and if it's outside, prepare for pain. Seems to be able to alter reality in any way it seems fit, within Uncle Bobo's guidelines ofcourse. Smells like cheetos. Shooting it doesn't help, the fucker just thinks really hard about not being shot. Just run.