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field, these men and women have withdrawn from society to pursue a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.
