There outside the meeting room, a severe young man was making his way through the halls of the Bronze Division. He had a look in his eyes and a stride that said he knew precisely what he was doing; sharp brown eyes with matching hair, above a rugged and angular face that failed to acknowledge any of the other pedestrians roaming the hallway who all seemed to instinctively move out of his way. He turned a corner. The meeting room was just ahead; he continued toward it with measured steps.

The man walked right past the room, headed for Silver Division where he properly belonged. Having to associate with these Bronze losers was anathema to him; how he hated these interdivision meetings that took him away from Silver.

Behind him, a nondescript intern pushed open the meeting room door with tray in hand. On the tray was a mug, and in the mug was delicious freshly brewed synthetic motor oil. The intern moved along the wall to approach Sammy, said something unimportant to her that was quickly forgotten by all involved, and offered the tray to the company's resident robot. Apparently, even robots sometimes send out interns on coffee runs.