BORN OF WRATH “Huh.” Sagira patches a strand of Light into the jumpship’s control deck as they tumble through the black-drop, stars twinkling out beyond reach. “Something’s in the static out there…”
“What is it?” Osiris asks.
“Some kind of subspace transmission. Hang on.” Sagira boosts the jumpship’s comm receiver. “It’s Cabal.”
“From?” Osiris absentmindedly pushes a sack of candy corn aside with his foot and leans forward.
“Somewhere outside the system. Some pretty heavy encryption at work, but… there’s a repeated phrase. A name. Caiatl?”
“How many Cabal leaders still vie for dominion atop Ghaul’s grave? Let them grind each other into dust.”
“There are responses from Nessus, the Reef, the EDZ. She’s calling the Legion home… or, no… back to her bosom? She wants them to capture Calus to prove their loyalty, but it sounds like the Leviathan is missing.”
“Their bloody feud continues. If Caiatl is stirring up the Legion, the Vanguard will want to know their plans.”
“One of the response signals is offering Caiatl tribute from somewhere near Sorik’s Cut. Some other weird noise too.”
“This message here,” Osiris says and points to the on-screen readout of Sagira’s scans. “Caiatl sends an emissary to receive their tribute.”
“The Shore . We’re not far behind,” Sagira says. “Eavesdropping or crashing?”
“We’ll hit them after the offering is made. I don’t want the Cabal Empire to know we’re tapping their communications.” A horde of Cabal crowd into a crude shelter, assembled from several decommissioned drop pods. Green light shines through the cracks. A royal blue banner of Cabal make lay cast in squalid bubbling mud. Sagira and her Guardian survey the scene, perched on Fallen ruins high above the Boil. The bulk of the evening is spent silent. The only exception: Sagira’s repeated affirmations. “They’re still just huddled around that rock.”
“Patience is a virtue, Sagira.” Osiris closes his eyes to the Reef sky and waits for signals to guess at the Darkness’s plans. The stars watch, all the weight of jet-black space upon him. He is extinguished among their lightyears.
Screams in the night.
Osiris stirs awake. His eyes open to the nebulous drift of the Shore. “Sagira, report.”
“They’re all still in there. Eighteen life signs. No shots. No one’s even moved. I don’t like it.”
Tired hours flit by. Morning rises. There are no Cabal skirmishes against the Scorn, no metallurgists patching Phalanx shields with molten slag, or Psion lookouts tracing firing lines.
“They’re on the move!” Sagira leers over the edge of their perch. The escape latch on the frontal pod dome bursts open and slams against the pod wall. Ten leave: nine unsteady forms in dull red, one vivid blue. They disperse out into the Shore.
Osiris rubs his eyes. “Finally.” Through the cracks he sees them; the remaining ring of Cabal kneel in a tightly wrapped circle. A stony protrusion centers them.
“What is that stone’s constitution?” he asks.
“Pretty stoic, I’d say.”
“Sagira… this reeks of suspicion.”
“You’re right, and I hate saying that.” A moment passes as the tiny Ghost directs long-range sensors to the stone. “Oh, it’s not a rock. It’s Hive; biological.”
Osiris floats down to the acrid pools on feather-Light; Sagira follows close behind.
He bounds through the open pod door. A celestial flame dances in each palm. Eight Cabal sit dormant. The Cabal huddle around the protrusion. Their massive bodies form a bulwark of trembling flesh. A soulfire pitch blisters through their turgid pressure suits. They are fixated—bulged eyes rabid and screaming of rancor. Frontal plating blighted by Hive barnacle growths. Hands tightly grip their throats. Slug Rifles lay prostrated before the idol.
Osiris steps among them without their notice and lowers his hands. Sagira breaks the Cabal perimeter to scan the protrusion.
“Creepy. They don’t even notice us. Keep those spitfires ready.” She turns to Osiris. “This is the most vascular rock I’ve ever scanned.”
Osiris peers into the Hive protrusion. Metallic flecks shimmer, and he sees a long and empty road. Meandering. He wishes to plant a great banner over it, so that all may see. A beacon, alight with Phoenix flame. Looming in the nascent flamelight hangs the terrace of blades. The terrace dominates the road; its precipice at his throat. He raises the Dawnblade to meet them. Rupturing cacophony ravages his senses.
I AM THE WAR YOU CRAVE. PURPOSE ETERNAL. A LEGACY IN BLOOD.
“It’s full of soulfire veins.” Sagira’s voice is wind to Osiris. She nudges him.
WHEN YOU DRAW BLADES, YOU DRAW ME.
“Do you hear the whispers?” Osiris’s words slur.
YOU CANNOT RESIST WITHOUT INVOKING MY BANNER.
“You’re hearing something?” Sagira floats near him.
EMBRACE ME, LIGHTBEARER, AND BE A GOD OF DEATH.
“Whispers.” His mind clouds.
One of the Cabal stands and turns to Osiris.
“Snap out of it; they’re waking up,” Sagira says and decompiles out of danger.
CONSUME OR BE CONSUMED.
The Cabal trundles forward. Osiris billows incineration. The blaze cooks the interior of the pod. Kneeling Cabal break free of their trance and stand in the scalding air. Of the remaining seven, two fall immediately to a hail of celestial firebolts. Osiris grounds himself and unleashes a cascade of Arc across the mass of lumbering Legionaries. Lightning bends inward against the pod’s magnetic shielding. He holds the storm on them until pressure gel hisses and spits from their suits.
Osiris exhales. Their smoldering bodies invade his nostrils. The scene clarifies. Horror, scorch, and char.
CODEPENENTS “You ready to tell me what that was all about?” Sagira asks. She hovers just above the jumpship’s control deck, piloting.
“I wish I could. I remember tracking Caiatl’s emissary. Finding the Cabal. The night sky. Then… flame and rage. It took everything in me to push those thoughts from my mind.” Osiris slumps in his seat. “There is one clear memory. I felt the Dark whisper that we’ve been chasing. Like a needle in my spine. It must be at the root of all this.”
As his thoughts fixate on senescence, old iron words from the past ring in his ears.
“Soon the City won’t need men like us. Lone wolves, Osiris. We die. Make sure when your end comes, it’s something worth your Light.”
“Okay,” Sagira says. The concern is thick in her voice, but she buries it. “I sent out scans. Long range, short range… anywhere that has a prominent Hive presence. There’s no way this is isolated to the Reef.”
“Petra, how were we so blind?” Osiris muses. “The Hive swell in Darkness as Guardians run to Europa. The warning fell between her words, and I did not see it.”
“That’s enough moping. We’re on this early. Maybe it’s a good thing.”
“I can’t pull the Vanguard’s eyes from Europa with hazy recollections and guesses. They have just begun to see me again, and trust is so thin.”
Resonance pings blip onto the ship’s monitors, catching Osiris’s attention. “Signals from your scans.”
“The Moon. That’s a much stronger signal than the one we found near Sorik’s Cut.”
Osiris shifts and raises his head. “You may be right about our timing. We can end this before it begins. Open a channel to Eris.”
“I’ve been trying. She’s uh… well, she’s not answering.”
“Then we go to her.”
“Oh no. First that, and then it’s a suicide mission into the Hellmouth. You’re in no condition. Recuperate and we’ll talk.”
Osiris stews in thought. Sagira’s words are true. He is bleary from lack of sleep. “Then turn around.”
“Osiris, I already sent everything we have to Petra and the Vanguard. I’m taking us to Earth.”
“Whatever we are dealing with is spreading through the system’s underbelly. There is one on the Shore who knows those pathways. Surely, I’m not too fragile to have a conversation, Sagira.”
“I’m sure there are plenty of people in the Tower who would be just as helpful.”
Osiris glares at her. “I am not some doddering invalid!” He grabs the flight stick. “Turn around, or I will.” “This Spider guy better have answers,” Sagira says.
“From what I’ve heard, it’s just a matter of how persuasive we are,” Osiris says and follows an Eliksni Associate through plum curtains and into the Spider’s abode. The massive Don of the Shore lounges before them.
“Welcome, most esteemed Osiris. Though you have not graced my chamber before, your reputation precedes you.” Spider trellises his eight fingers togethe r as his voice breaks into a series of gaseous staccato slurps. “The literature you sent me… very interesting, but behind the times .”
Spider chuckles. “I already have top men working on these… cryptoliths. But I’d never, what is it? Ah yes, ‘look a gift horse in the mouth.’”
His Associates rush around the edges of the room. Cargo exchanges hands at a frenetic pace. Osiris follows their movements. A decorated Associate approaches the Spider and waits at his side.
“What is it, Arrha ? You know better than to interrupt our guest’s audience.”
Arrha glances to Osiris before quickly speaking in Eliksni. Spider slams down a meaty fist. “Then go find it!”
Spider turns back to Osiris as Arrha scuttles away. “Apologies. Business interruptions in the aftermath of these…” he gestures half-heartedly upward, “… trying times.” He stifles a cough and clutches at his Ether rebreather.
“Cabal aren’t the only ones having troubles, eh?” Sagira asks and jets in front of Osiris. “You know I speak Eliksni, right?”
She plays snippets of Cabal distress transmissions and orders from Caiatl’s scouts to lock down encampments; she displays images of slaughter, graves, and empty Cabal fortifications. “If it’s hitting them this hard, your Associates must be, what’s the phrase? Dropping like flies.”
“Wise Osiris and his brilliant little Light,” Spider muses.
“Sagira,” the duo corrects.
“Of course you are. I see no reason why this… can’t be a mutually beneficial partnership.”
Osiris steps forward. “What matter do you need addressed, Spider, sovereign of the Shore?”
Spider giddily laps up the title. “I know the cryptoliths are of the Hive. I know the broods here burn Oryx's banners. And I know his Worm’s skeleton , the one in Saturn’s rings, is awake.” Spider throws his four arms into a shrug. “My jurisdiction ends at the banks of the Shore, of course… but not yours.”
DREAD NOT Osiris impales a Wizard’s head upon a stunted spike, surrounded by a freshly bloodied Hive sigil. The Dreadnaught console sputters to life, accepting his tithe.
While Cayde’s old transmat zone is no longer in operation, the massive breach left by the Dantalion Exodus VI’s impact remained agape. Entry had not been difficult despite the halls crawling with newly spawned Thrall. They were young, and nearly a century of navigation through the Infinite Forest had honed Osiris’s ability to remain unseen.
The Dreadnaught’s systems present as living memory —chronicles and hymns recounting histories. It is a rat king of fading ideas, wracked with failing connections and dying interpretations as Akka suffers a slow, final death, damaged beyond repair. But there is knowledge to glean here. Osiris directs Sagira to rip spokes of data from the console for Vanguard High Command.
“You found the most disgusting one; I’m not touching that. Dictate it to me.”
Osiris sneers and grasps the head. He navigates the recounting of the Hive from Oryx’s death. They are fractured, broken by internal power struggles. It leads into a recounting of Savathûn: banished, branded as heretic and set to burn. Many Hive turned to her when Oryx fell. Many of those same broodlines defected as the Darkness invaded Sol, sending Savathûn into hiding. She is still hunted by the hounds of war. Her pursuer has no local story to recount here, for it is yet to be written in blood. War’s Celebrant rides to wrest Crota’s lost foundlings from the Witch Queen’s schemes. To bring unity. To bring reckoning. To bring glory. Luna will be reformed in her image. All tithes to Xivu Arath. All tithes to the black edge of her singing blade.
I AM THE DIN OF RAPTURE. I AM THE HERALD OF PEACE. MY BANNER IS KNOWN TO YOU.
“Xivu Arath,” Osiris says. Words spoken on compulsion. He takes his hands from the Wizard’s head as emerald smoke wafts from its orifices.
Osiris slumps to his knees. “This must be the echo we’ve been chasing. An omen of her voice, resounding through the Darkness, heralding war.”
“A Hive war god. This is bad,” Sagira says.
“The third sister . She has finally come for us, and her champion seeks to supplant Crota’s remaining daughters on Luna. That is where we go.” Into the chasm on Luna. They follow the trail of signals down into the Enduring Abyss . Through the Nightmares of so many.
He stands at the face of it for what feels like hours. The Great Angular Thing —the edge of night that plays behind his mind.
“Speechless?” Sagira teases. “Maybe they’re not so bad.” Her chuckle is thin .
They press on.
Osiris swipes away silken threads of webbing above the shadow of Luna’s Pyramid. Braziers illuminate a synod of Witches and Wizards deep in the chasm. All point in alignment toward a monolithic sigil of Xivu Arath set atop a cryptolith adorned in blades: her will, projected from some far-off, unseen cosmic hollow . At the base of her visage—a monstrous Knight, adorned with tapestries charred by scorching brands.
“There it is,” Osiris whispers.
“Along with the entire Scarlet Court,” Sagira’s voice crackles.
“Crota’s remaining children, and their spawn, can be destroyed in one fell swoop.”
“What is it with you and suicidal ideas? We can’t transmat out of here, and they won’t just kill you. They’ll rip out your Light, Osiris.”
“They’re all here, Sagira. In one place.”
“You’re worth more than a bunch of Hive nobles. Wait for backup. Let me go topside and call for help.”
“No. We stop this now. Halt her here.” Osiris looks to the convocation below. “It is decided.”
“You can’t just decide that!”
Osiris turns to Sagira. “Go for help, but I can’t wait for the Vanguard. I’ll see you soon with reinforcements.” “If you’re going, I’m going.” She decompiles safely beneath his armor. It is decided. Together they make war on the Hive.
Solar wings combust from Osiris’s back. In each hand, he wields a blade of dawn. The calamity of his inferno sends Hive scattering in every direction. Voshyr and her two daughters, Yishra and Ayriax, turn to confront the Phoenix. They are ashen before their first incantations complete. He paints the scene apocalyptic. Fifteen noble-brood are reduced to cinders before a defense is mounted.
LAUGHTER LIKE CLASHING SWORDS.
Osiris sails through the air as daggers of dark power whistle past him. Golden echoes split from his body to cut down fleeing Hive and soak reprisals. Kinox, last daughter of Crota, scurries through cracks between the rocks as her son, Ulg’Urin, and his cohort of lesser Knights raise shields to defend her. Osiris extinguishes a blade into his palm to form a singularity of Void and hurls a Nova Bomb that consumes them. With his other blade, he dives. He drives it into the ground, erupting a Well of Radiance surrounded by a phalanx of gilded echoes .
Nobles shriek for their Thralls to charge. Bolts of flame and Arc tear through them as Osiris blinks through the Void from one echo to another. Their advance breaks. He steps over their smoldering husks and turns the blaze to their masters.
Osiris revels in the slaughter. Xivu Arath’s sigil drinks in his fervor and the nobles’ deaths. LAUGHTER LIKE SCREAMING FEAR.
Her visage emboldens. The Celebrant waits at the foot of Xivu Arath’s cryptolith, unburnt.
Osiris’s echoes reconvene into him. “FACE ME!” he exclaims and steps forward.
Xivu Arath’s visage emits a shockwave that thunders through the chasm. It rips away Osiris’s Well and throws him across the stone floor. His back slams against the cliff face behind him.
“What is this?” Shock punctuates the question. He pulls against an unseen force to no avail.
YOU BURN OFFERINGS; I ACCEPT THEM.
Xivu Arath’s will crushes the pressure of his Light. Seals the flames into his flesh. Stakes his body to the stone on paralytic pins. Her image distorts in a concave canvas around him, the Celebrant at its core. Shadows encroach, dousing the borders of his power.
Osiris focuses his mind on the spark at his core. Flames billow from within. Countless gilded echoes ripple from him, testing Xivu’s hold, pressing vulnerabilities. The Sun sings to repel the shadow. He finds a moment, wrenches a hand free, and unleashes the Reach of Chaos. The beam of Arc tears through Xivu’s sigil. Soulfire shards rocket away as cracks fork through Xivu Arath’s projection.
Unfazed, she does not relent.
RESIST ME, LIGHTBEARER.
Her will overcomes him, stronger than before.
The Celebrant steps forward. A massive cleaver dangles from its hand, weightless. The beast carves a rune into the stone on either side of Osiris, its eyes locked with his. It nods to him, and then turns to the sigil.
“All tithes to Xivu Arath. War Dominant. Endless.” Its tone is soft rasp and soot.
The runes kindle in harlequin gleam.
"Osiris." Sagira's voice statics in his ear. "One of us has to make it out; warn them."
"I’m sorry, Sagira… Run…" His words are thin from duress.
The Celebrant drives its sword into the cliffside stone above Osiris’s head. The cryptolith erupts in neon flare.
"Die well, Osiris." The Celebrant bows and withdraws from sight into Luna’s depths.
Wisps of Light hemorrhage through his skin, trimmed in blood and drawn around the blade embedded above him as if it were a nostepinne spike.
Sagira’s voice is a whisper. “I’m not letting them take you.”
YOUR STRENGTH LIVES ON THROUGH ME.
"Give Saint… my private drive,” Osiris exhales and closes his eyes. He sees himself in a million permutations. Each path: a life in glimpses. He takes what he can from them. Not enough to savor, but enough to be immortalized in nostalgic haze. In one, he is a blazing warrior, driving back the horrors of the longest nights. Another, a vigiled gargoyle atop the Infinite Forest. A grizzled elder overseeing keen disciples.
In so many, he is dead.
But there is one where Osiris finds happiness. He finds a time away from strife. He finds Saint—a dream of warm serenity. The peace to his purpose. With Saint, there is a future that could have been enough.
So many unlived moments lost between calls to action. He wishes Sagira had not come to watch him die. His faithful companion. His guiding starlight. His hope, his humanity. “Sagira. For as many lives as we had… you were always my better.”
His Light is breaking.
"Osiris, why don't you ever listen to me?” She compiles in front of him.
"What are y—"
"Shut up! Listen to my words!” Her iris is bright with Light. “There are great things still left for you; don't lose hope in the darkness." She is luminant.
Osiris breathes the word, as if he could hold it back: "No." He would understand in time. She had seen it.
Blinding Light erupts from Sagira’s core as she splits apart. A wave of Light surges and tears across the chasm. Her sacrifice cleanses every trace of Xivu Arath’s presence. The sigil: erased. The cryptolith that supported her projection: destroyed.
Osiris draws breath. Alone.
The aegis of Sagira’s Light stands strong in the shadow of the Pyramid for days.
I'm running at wits end right now, and honestly just need to rant more than anything right now.
I've been working for the same department at a university for about 6 years now. I'm the sole IT guy for 12 faculty, each with their own lab. It's about 180 people and 300 machines total. No one here understands IT, they just know they need me, and that I make sure everything just works. I've always picked my schedule and given free reign to do whatever I feel is more important. Which keeps me well over 50-60 hours a week despite being salary. I've never been asked to work over the weekend, but if it's easier for me that way I don't mind coming in. If something is broke, no one argues with me about budgets, they just let me handle it. Overall it has been the perfect job for me. I simply get to run around doing exactly what I love to do and making up my own rules on how to do it.
Then COVID-19 hit. The university came right out and told everyone to stay home. If they can work remotely then they should, but the entire campus shut down. A few people were given essential employee status so they could come in, and I requested that I was one of those people. At first I was coming in as needed, maybe once a week at most. Still at my own discretion.
Then at the beginning of September the university was allowed to partially open back up. The director of my department jumped on that and wanted everyone back to 100% instantly. Everyone from the administrative assistants who only place orders, to the event planners. This was very clearly a partial reopening, with tons of restrictions we needed to follow. The only non-academic staff who should have been returning was myself. I had already bought all of the staff everything they needed to work from home, so they had both a full workstation at home and in the office. Just to make it easier for them to work part time in both places without needing to constantly move equipment around. This was also the same time students from all around the globe were coming back to campus for the new semester.
I tried to voice concern about this, that I didn't feel safe, and how several things were clearly a contradiction from what the university put out. Literally no one stopped to take pause, and just nodded in agreement with the directors demands. So, when a survey came in from HR asking how our department was handling the transition back, I answered it as honestly as I could. I don't know what I was thinking, because that survey wasn't fucking anonymous. Not even a day later HR reached out asking for clarification on my answers, then a week later the staff were able to resume their work 100% remotely. Except me. No big deal, I wasn't planning to be 100% remote anyway.
The director then decides that I need to be on site, every single weekday from 2-5pm, regardless of what I'm working on. I tried to explain that most of my work can be done remotely plus interrupting my days like this is counterintuitive and in some cases it will complete restrict me from doing specific tasks that take up my whole day. He completely disagreed and wouldn't even allow me to elaborate.
According to him, I need a schedule with structure. Never the fuck mind that IT is a constant stream of chaos, he wants me to have "structure" in my schedule. I think I just stared at him dumbfounded for a solid minute. How do you respond to that? Should I go place post-it notes on everything telling them when they are allowed to fail? I don't care if you don't understand what is included in my job, all you really need to understand that "I FIX BROKEN SHIT"! Nothing fucking breaks on a god damn schedule! Literally WTF?
After a month of this 2-5 bullshit, he's mad because I'm never in my office. To him I must not be coming in at 2pm like I was told. No other logical reason! I guess he has been walking by my office and seeing it empty and this upsets him. Didn't even ask me where I was, just straight up assumed I wasn't coming in. Trying to explain that I have to leave my office and physically visit the broken things doesn't make any sense. I must be lying to him. So, I pulled out my phone and showed him my GPS log. I've been coming in at 12:30-1pm every fucking day like he wanted for the past month. He changed the subject real quick, then came right back not even 10 minutes later saying the same thing. I'm not in my office when I'm at work. So now, for the past two weeks I've had to check in with him at 2pm and have a quick little meeting (that can last up to an hour) about my day and what I'm working on.
So, you know what, fuck it. He wants me in my office from 2-5pm? That's where I'll be. All that free overtime I've been putting in too? I'm taking that shit back. Weekends? I'm not sure what normal people do, but I'm going to find out. A whole hour for lunch? Fuck! I might take a nap now!! He wants to give my schedule structure, he's going to do it with only the 40 hours I'm required to work. Except now, it's actually more like 30 hours because of his extra bullshit. These 2pm check-ins are another hour every day lost. I don't drive, and having to commute in the middle of the day is now on his time not mine, so that's another hour lost. Technically the 3-5pm block where I'm confined to my office isn't very useful, but it's still part of the 30 hours he has left all so I can have "structure" now. I have about 4 hours a day now in the morning to get any work done now.
I have no idea how long before this will implode. But it's the other faculty that will be the ones that might end up getting burned from all this. He's two years away from retirement and still stuck in the 1980's on how he runs his lab. USB hard drives with no backups litter the lab benches. I can't convince him to buy a NAS to help him out too, because they're a lot of money. Despite him spending over $15,000 last month for the new Apple Pro Display and a computer powerful enough to run it, because "it's brighter" and in the late afternoon there is a glare on his monitor. The other faculty have nearly petabyte of network storage between them. Dozens of computational machines. Linux everywhere with no one knowing how to use a terminal. Over half a dozen desktop systems with quad RTX 2080Ti's for GPU computation. Several servers with hundreds of cores each. And this director that wants me to prioritize getting him the newest iPhone over all that.
One time he called me to his office because he claimed Microsoft Word was broken. When I got there he opened a new document, changed the view to 100%, then held up a sheet of paper and told me that 100% isn't actual size. I don't know what I was thinking, but started to explain it's based off of 72ppi only to have him interrupt and demand I fix it. After telling him I couldn't, he wanted me to call Apple. Again, my brain was a little slow, I remind him that Microsoft makes Word, only to have him immediately snap back that I should call them too. Then went off on a rant how this can't be legal and we should sue Apple for misrepresentation.
Last year while I was on vacation he clicked an "upgrade flash" pop-up and it blew up in his face. From what I was told, it went full screen and then played a loud siren screaming "Warning" on repeat. He panicked and tried to call me, but didn't know I was on vacation. Eventually he called Apple and they managed to help him get everything fixed. When I returned, he blamed me. Claimed that if I had warned him about this one very specific malware, he would have never clicked on it. His solution? Now I have to write a monthly newsletter informing the entire department about IT news. We aren't an IT department, and each of our dozen labs don't use the same equipment. I'm already sharing everything I need to, but don't send everything to everyone like a lunatic.
Last week our hourly meetings were writing this newsletter, since he wasn't happy I had only written about 5 or 6 in the last year. I've told my other boss that acts as a liaison half of the time that I am swamped and have larger priorities than this newsletter. Apparently the newsletter is of the highest priority and fuck everything else! Fuck that RAID 6 with two failing drives! Fuck the computational cluster with 28 RTX 2080Ti's that keeps shutting down on its own for unknown reasons. Fuck the half a million dollar microscope that just got quarantined from the internet. Fuck the $30k 144 core server that can't be patched because the university stopped paying for RHEL. Fuck all the other faculty. Write a newsletter about IT to people that don't know fuck all about IT!
Helping me write this cursed thing, he wanted me to introduce myself to everyone in the department. The same department that I've been working in for 6 years and know everyone on a first name basis. Then he had me layout exactly what IT services I provide, but not any of the services I suggested. Some shit like "Onboarding" and "Keyboard repair". First, they know I manage the onboarding. How fuck do you think they were added to the mailing list? Second, the only keyboard repair I handle includes a trash can and Amazon. It's a fucking keyboard!
He has no idea what I do. He's not happy when he can't find me, so we can gossip about what Apple is doing. He doesn't care about any of the other shit I do as long as his needs are met. He's an ivy league educated big shot professor who is used to getting his own way. He doesn't need an IT guy. He needs a personal shopper. Which in my opinion, the only reason he wants me available from 2-5pm everyday is just in case he sees a new shiny toy from Apple. Just fuck everyone else, as long as he has all the latest Apple shit.
I can't get him to see reason, and feel like allowing him to change my hours like this is going to affect everyone else but him. I tried explaining some of the critical projects that I need to be working on and he either dismissed them or told me flat out that I'm not doing them. Explained that I need to change out a power supply in a piece of lab equipment for a professor and he outright told me that it's not my responsibility. Who the fuck else here is able to do that? I doubt anyone else even has a screwdriver!
This is all one huge kick in the face about how IT is valued here, on top of the complete disregard to everyone's safety during COVID. But you want to know what makes that even worse? We're a biology department with a biosafety level 2 lab. Some of the scientists have to take a special covid test from the rest of the university because they are working with inactive samples of COVID-19 that can cause a false positive. All this money being thrown at Apple comes from the NIH and NSF. If there is anyone who should understand how contagious shit is right now, it should be the people working here. Several of the faculty are refusing to come in and it's pissing the director off. He's repeatedly mentioned that COVID has stalled all scientific research globally, and the research should be treated with a higher priority. I'm only assuming he means it's more important than human life. Despite that he still holds all his meetings in person, where the other faculty use Zoom. Anytime the director gets his hand slapped he goes over the university policy and finds a way to read between the lines another way. The only solace I have around him is knowing he is 2 years away from retirement. Providing this place doesn't end up killing me.