HAPPYSWIRLZ™

🍦 WELCOME TO HAPPYSWIRLZ™ 🍦

Happiness is Mandatory.

Dear Valued Compliant,

Congratulations! You’ve been selected by the Office of Workforce Harmony to fulfill your designated Purpose as Deputy Assistant General Manager at your local Happyswirlz™. That’s right—you’re not just on the clock. You’re part of a legacy of public-facing Positivity Practitioners, serving joy by the ounce!

Your mandate is simple: Maintain Equilibrium. Distribute Flavor. Be Excellent.

(Actual joy optional. Please refer to Simulation Protocols if needed.)

As a Happyswirlz™ team member, you will enjoy:

Full access to the Flavor Matrix, including:

• Peanut Butter Paradise

• Strawberry Tranquility

• Birthday Cake Composure (limited seasonal availability)

• Plain (Unflavored. Unsweetened. For subscribers to the Purity Initiative.)

Apron laundering every third cycle

On-site enhancement beverages (standard additives included)

Opportunity to earn up to 3 Gold Stars per quarter (redeemable for praise or nothing)

You are a Custodian of Contentment.

You are Essential Infrastructure.

You are Happyswirlz™.

Now please review your Employee Behavior Alignment Packet, confirm biometric readiness, and report to your Zone Uplift Officer for calibration and onboarding.

We’re so glad you’re here.

(Your smile will be digitally inserted as needed.)

Keep swirling,

Mayor Clive Bramble

City Conglomerate – Office of Workforce Harmony

DOCUMENT ID: #AG-713-VARIANT-INTERVIEW

CLEARANCE LEVEL: INTERNAL EYES ONLY – OMEGA ACCESS

DATE: [REDACTED]

LOCATION: Civic Coherence Division, Sublevel 3 (Room 47-C)

INTERVIEW TYPE: Informal Disciplinary Review

CONDUCTED BY: MAYOR CLIVE BRAMBLE

SUBJECT: BLOOM, ABIGAIL MARIE (COMPLIANT-CLASS DESIGNATION 07-CM-1124)

SECURITY DETAIL: AGENT JORGEN [SURNAME CLASSIFIED]

TRANSCRIPT BEGINS

MAYOR: I’m sorry for all the intrigue. I don’t like to black-bag people; it feels so dramatic. But then, so does defacing a public art installation.

BLOOM: (begins lightly sobbing)

MAYOR: We’ve been watching you ever since you started associating with the creative Liam. Cross-designation relationships aren’t forbidden, but they rarely end well for all parties. We didn’t expect things to come to a head like this, though. (shuffles papers) You cursed at customers while intoxicated on Peanut Butter Paradise sundaes. You dumped a quart of yogurt on your manager, Baxter Santiago. And you bought several cans of black paint and started painting over the conglomerate-sanctioned pride mural you hired Liam to paint in the first place.

BLOOM: (ugly crying) I’m sorry! (snorts)

MAYOR: Oh dear. (offers tissue box) Tell me about it, girl.

BLOOM: I met Liam when he came across the street from the Creative Sector to apply for the mural job. I’d noticed him before — our apartments are on the same floor, and he paints without a shirt on.

MAYOR: I’ve seen the surveillance photos. Quite a beefcake. I don’t blame you. You’re only human.

BLOOM: Baxter delegated the task of hiring an artist to me. Said I know how to talk to “those people.”

MAYOR: Someone has to build bridges. The creative class can be so… temperamental. Such a rare gift. Empathy with boundaries.

BLOOM: I come from a mostly creative family. My mom’s a painter, and my dad owns Palette & Plate in the Creative Sector. My brothers…

MAYOR: Ah, the Gutter Jesters — Benny and Elliot Bloom. I once saw Benny eat a light bulb. Quite the spectacle.

BLOOM: Do you know what it’s like to grow up with postmodern, fire-eating, knife-juggling clown brothers?

MAYOR: I can only imagine.

BLOOM: I’m afraid of clowns. Literal, paralyzing fear. And I grew up with two of them doing trust falls with hatchets in the living room. People think creativity is cute. It’s not. It’s sharp. It’s flammable. It’s wearing greasepaint and whispering Latin backwards.

MAYOR: (shudders) I’m sure testing Compliant was a relief for you.

BLOOM: Actually, no. Everyone expected me to test Creative. By thirteen, I hadn’t developed any noticeable talent, but I figured maybe I could teach at the Creative Academy like my Nana. She was a video artist before the last war, then a film historian. Loved showing old movies — Young Frankenstein was my favorite. Benny and Elliot called me “Abby Normal” because of it.

MAYOR: So many great gags in that one. Puttin’ on the Ritz. Frau Blücher.

BLOOM: (whinnies like a horse)

MAYOR: You’re funny for a Compliant.

BLOOM: Yeah, I guess that’s why we’re here. Anyway — Baxter got a conglomerate grant to fund a pride mural, hoping to boost sales. I was thinking of hiring my mom, then Liam showed up.

MAYOR: I’m curious — did your ‘cross-designation association’ with Liam stay strictly professional, or did things get… complicated?

BLOOM: (nervous tapping on the table)

MAYOR: Oh Abby, you’re a bad girl. But who’s keeping score?

BLOOM: You, I guess. Anyway, he got me to help with the mural some. Just going to pick up materials. No creative stuff.

MAYOR: Of course. Just a helpful Compliant lending a hand.

BLOOM: Art installations aren’t supposed to be controversial, so he decided to paint a giant rainbow swirl cone.

MAYOR: A rainbow swirl cone. Subtle. Practically a manifesto.

BLOOM: (rolls eyes) It was beautiful. Liam’s a great painter, but Pride’s just another holiday to sell stuff now. No one’s uncomfortable anymore.

MAYOR: That’s the point. The conglomerate and its work have made comfort the new normal. You’re young. You don’t remember the Unraveling.

BLOOM: I know the propaganda. The conglomerate rebuilt this city from the ashes of the old United States. They say we’re all that’s left of civilization — apart from the Territories, but those? Probably wasteland hellholes. No one here dares go see. We’re supposed to be grateful — divided like cattle, conditioned to fulfill whatever purpose you assign. But maybe if your “purpose” was so great, you wouldn’t have to lace ninety-five percent of our food with mood stabilizers just to keep us functional.

MAYOR: You’re sharp, Abby — maybe sharper than most. But you still don’t quite grasp the conglomerate’s goal: maintaining order, harmony, equilibrium. It’s a delicate balance. Push too hard, and… well, Jorgen here is always happy to help keep things on track.

[NOTE: Agent Jorgen cracks knuckles. Subject flinches slightly.]

BLOOM: Liam and I started dating. Life on the Compliant side is mostly shades of gray — not much color. He brought a splash of it into my world: silky shirts blooming with bright flowers, tiger and elephant tattoos winding down his arms. He always said he wished he’d seen those creatures alive, but the closest we get now are the holograms in elementary school classrooms — flickering ghosts of a world that once was.

MAYOR: And that, Abby, is what I’ve been trying to explain. The rebuilding we’ve done here — it’s not about recreating the past. We can’t bring back the species we lost. We can’t stitch California back to the continent. But we can carry their memory forward. We protect what’s left. That’s the promise of the city. That’s your purpose.

BLOOM: Maybe I don’t want a purpose. Did you ever think of that?

MAYOR: Of course you don’t. That’s natural — especially for someone with your background. Purpose can feel... heavy at first. But it’s what keeps the chaos at bay. Don’t worry. Most people come around eventually. (smiles without warmth)

BLOOM: I think what I liked about Liam is that he was genuine. That’s rare now. Everything feels processed — pre-approved. But Liam was real. My parents adored him. My brothers didn’t scare him off, which is honestly a miracle. Baxter thought it was unusual, me dating a Creative, but he didn’t judge. His husband, Kwame, works in municipal resource planning but spends most of his free time making kombucha and baking sourdough from his own starter. It’s kind of beautiful, honestly — finding little ways to make things from scratch in a world where almost everything’s synthetic. (sighs) I never used to think this much.

MAYOR: Perhaps this leads us to the first incident, at Send Noodz?

BLOOM: That was so embarrassing. I can never go in there again, and I loved their dan-dan noodles.

MAYOR: The sweet sesame chicken bao is my particular favorite.

BLOOM: Liam and I had been dating for a few weeks, and he wanted me to meet his friends. Aziz is a talented guitarist, and Roxanne is a performance poet. They host the open mic at Send Noodz once a week. They’re the closest thing Liam has to family because his compliant parents disowned him when he turned eighteen. Disappointed to have a creative son. How’s that fit into your perfect system?

[NOTE: Agent Jorgen cracks knuckles again.]

MAYOR: I was unaware of that. No system is without its imperfections—fractures here and there. We allow some leeway, but not so much that the whole structure comes undone. That’s where people like Jorgen come in: to remind us of the boundaries.

BLOOM: I wanted to make a good impression, especially on Roxanne. She and Liam used to date. She’s sharp, fiercely smart, and honestly... kind of intimidating.

MAYOR: It’s understandable to want to be seen and accepted—especially by those who’ve mattered to someone you care about. You’re doing better than most.

BLOOM: She said what you said earlier. About how I’m funny for a Compliant.

MAYOR: I’m sorry if that came off as offensive.

BLOOM: It didn’t, not exactly. That’s what I’ve heard my whole life—my parents, my Nana... even Baxter said it was good for business because I make customers laugh. But sometimes it feels like being funny isn’t enough. My brothers are loud and wild, and I’m just... the joke nobody’s really paying attention to.

(A moment of silence passes.)

BLOOM: Please don’t have Jorgen punch me in the stomach for this, but sometimes I wonder if I tested wrong. Stand-up comedy doesn’t exist anymore. No one makes movies — just streamers now. What if I’m a Creative who just doesn’t have a medium?

BLOOM: I was a mess. Everything I thought I knew about myself got called into question. The Peanut Butter Paradise sundaes helped take the edge off. I even joined Harmonize — the dating app for Compliants. Every guy was duller than the last.

MAYOR: I’ll make a note to have someone in IT fix their algorithm.

BLOOM: Baxter and Kwame were kind. They invited me over one night when I didn’t want to be alone. Kwame made real lasagna — my favorite. I brought Nana’s copy of The Producers. They didn’t really get it, but they watched it for me anyway.

MAYOR: And you dumped Mango Madness all over poor Baxter’s head.

BLOOM: I’m pretty sure he’s the one who tattled to you about my unsanctioned meltdown, so he should feel lucky that was all that happened. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Liam had finished the mural, and even though we’d been broken up for a few weeks, he wanted to get back together. He missed me. He didn’t think the open mic was a big deal. He even encouraged me to try again or not. It didn’t matter to him. (sighs) Only to me.

MAYOR: This is why cross-designation relationships are frowned upon. It only leads to pain.

BLOOM: I’m pretty sure it doesn’t have to. What a stupid, arbitrary line to draw. Compliant and Creative. Everyone can follow rules, and everyone can be creative. Everyone is both.

MAYOR: But you pushed him away because you didn’t think you could fit into his world. You obviously believe in our system to some extent.

BLOOM: Or I just don’t know anything else, and changing is too difficult. I’m a Compliant. I comply. We stayed broken up. My parents were worried about me. Even my brothers were worried about me. I just kept eating yogurts not to feel anything.

MAYOR: I believe two a day is the recommended maximum.

BLOOM: It was five a day at the worst. Peanut Butter Paradise, mostly. Sometimes Strawberry Tranquility, but that felt like lying.

MAYOR: Five what?

BLOOM: Sundaes. That’s how many I was putting down on shift. I gained ten pounds. Started forgetting regulars’ names. Snapped at a six-year-old for asking if the froyo had feelings.

MAYOR: I see. Emotional volatility.

BLOOM: It wasn’t just a spiral. There was a reason. We were running a Change Drive for cancer awareness. Corporate-approved grief with branded toppings.

MAYOR: Right. Swirl for the Cure.

BLOOM: Nana had died three weeks before. Cancer. But not the pink kind people care about. The kind that makes you bleed and rot from the inside and die quietly, without a hashtag.

MAYOR: That’s... unfortunate timing.

BLOOM: Yeah. I just wanted a real conversation with someone. Not the usual corporate sympathy spiel. Not a checkbox on some Change Drive. Just someone who’d listen without expecting me to fake a smile.

MAYOR: Genuine connection is a luxury most cannot afford. We all have roles to fulfill.

BLOOM: But grief’s not a role you can perform. It’s not something you can schedule or sanitize. Around here, it feels like there’s no space for anything messy or real.

MAYOR: Life requires discipline. Messiness only threatens stability.

BLOOM: I carried on through all of it. I pulled myself out of the abyss. Until I walked by Send Noodz and saw Liam introducing another girl to his friends.

MAYOR: Oof.

BLOOM: Oof indeed. I went back to work and I told Baxter what happened. His answer — “Maybe it’s better this way. Sometimes people just don’t fit together, no matter how much you want them to. Trying to force it only makes things messier—for everyone.” I told him I’d hate to make things messier for him, and that’s when I dumped the Mango Madness on his head. Then I went down to the hardware store, bought the black paint, and started splashing it against the mural.

MAYOR: And here we are. The emotional maintenance squad brought you to me.

BLOOM: So am I going to be re-educated, or is Jorgen going to punch me in the stomach? What happens now?

MAYOR: I needed to hear your story directly. It confirmed what I suspected: you're not malfunctioning — you're waking up.

BLOOM: I’m sorry, what?

MAYOR: Of course you don’t fit. That’s the point. (He leans back, folds his hands, relaxed.) After the Unraveling, the only way to hold things together was structure. Sorting. Clarity. We said it was based on aptitude — Compliant, Creative, the usual labels — but honestly? It was about containment. Controlled division. People needed purpose. They needed to believe they were essential. So we gave them boxes and told them they were free.

BLOOM: Well then, what am I?

MAYOR: (shrugs, not unkindly) A Variant. That’s not an official term — just something we say, behind closed doors, for people like you. People who don’t sit right in the system. Not rebellious enough to burn it down. Not content enough to vanish inside it. Just... awake. (Pause.) Look, I won’t lie to you. The whole thing’s bullshit. The flavor names. The behavior packets. The cheerful segregation. But here’s the question no one wants to ask: Do you have a better idea? (He stands, walks slowly toward her.) Nobody starves anymore. There’s no war. People get their enhancements, their comfort, their custom-designed dopamine drip. Sure, it’s hollow. But it’s stable. So what if it doesn’t mean anything? Meaning’s what broke the world in the first place. People fought and killed over what they thought mattered. Now? Now they swirl frozen yogurt and sleep through the night. (He stops just in front of her, meets her eyes.) So. Do you want chaos back? Or do you want a job?

BLOOM: I’m sure I don’t really have a choice. It’s join the bad guys or get stomach punched by Jorgen.

MAYOR: Oh, I wouldn’t say bad — that feels so harsh. Misunderstood, perhaps. Bureaucratic, certainly. But not bad. (He chuckles gently, as if trying to lighten the mood.) You’re a bright young woman, Abby. I think you’ll find we’re really quite accommodating here at the conglomerate — well, once you get past the biometric scans and morale audits. There’s even a welcome basket. I personally selected the granola.

END OF TRANSCRIPT

STATUS: SUBJECT BLOOM FLAGGED FOR VARIANT OVERSIGHT PROGRAM

NEXT STEPS: ASSIGNMENT PENDING

NOTES: MONITOR CLOSELY — UNUSUAL COGNITIVE FLEXIBILITY FOR A COMPLIANT. HIGH HUMOR INDEX. POSSIBLE ASSET.