Joel Rotierre had been working for the Social Justice Army for exactly three weeks before Homer Ikari had a chance to meet the new recruit in their office. Homer had suspected that this was because Barack had recruited Joel for some sinister purpose. But in person, Joel was such a pathetic creature that Homer's first instinct was to just assume that shyness was the culprit defining this elusiveness. Goodness knows that Joel walked with a self-deprecating gait, shunning eye contact if at all possible, in an apparent state of constant shame. It wasn't difficult to guess why. Joel was hideous, walking in a hunch with one eye slightly larger than the other. And to top it all off Joel's hair was a mess. Homer was staring at the hair, trying to figure out if had been gelled into that very peculiar position.
"I'm very sorry about that. I meant no disrespect to you," said Joel, very self-consciously observing Homer's reaction to the hair. "It's just, the only way I can get it to stay down is with hair gel, and there are so many military applications for hair gel these days it's hard to get my hands on any-"
"That's fine, that's fine," said Homer, forcing a smile. Joel was nervous and chattering. Military applications for hair gel- what a ridiculous thought. Homer was a forgiving person and had already decided not to hold Joel's personal appearance against the person. There wasn't much Joel could do about that anyway, short of accepting cybernetic implants. Come to think of it…
"I'm just curious," said Homer. "Why don't you use cybernetic implants to fix your appearance? We offer them as a part of our insurance. They're not as invasive as plastic surgery. And they've worked wonders for me."
And it was true. When Barack Worthington had first found Homer Ikari, there was little trace of the mostly sane human being who now sat in front of Joel Rotierre. This was back in the early days of the Rainbow Shirts, before the organization even had a proper name or permanent members. Homer Ikari had not had a happy childhood. Homer's parents had medicated Homer so heavily that the young person had almost no memories of being a child whatsoever. Homer had found solace in fantasy worlds until luck and happenstance brought the teenager face to face with Barack Worthington at university, and together, the two began to see a vision for a better world. The crude cybernetic enhancements then being pioneered by Barack's family company brought Homer the solace that drugs could not. When Homer's parents died in the Great Blackout, Homer had not been overly concerned. In truth, it had taken Homer several weeks to even make any effort to check up on them.
"I'm fine the way I am, sir," said Joel, hands nervously rubbing together. "I'm afraid cybernetic implants may impact my performance, which we certainly can't risk right now, can we?"
Truthfully Homer did not see the urgency of the situation. Yes, it was true that a cloud had descended over Chicago. The largest demonstration march in the city's entire history was expected to go on as planned the coming Saturday. But even so, Homer anticipated nothing out of the ordinary. The police would keep order, as they always did.
"You know, Joel," said Homer, "we are all equals in the Social Justice Army. You don't need to ask my permission to do anything. And you especially don't need to call me sir. That is unfortunate gendered language of a bygone era. I would just as soon have it expunged from memory."
"Of course, of course I agree," said Joel, continually twitching. "Again, I mean no disrespect. At least, not to you."
"Oh?" said Homer, raising an eyebrow. "Then who?"
Homer stood up from the very comfortable chair in the very nice office. Until that moment Homer hadn't really thought much about the context of their meeting, about how Joel was giving notification of an official leave. Joel's supplicant behavior was peculiar. Usually any given member of the Rainbow Shirts knew to keep their head high even in this environment. Granted, Joel was new here, but then that was part of what made Homer so suspicious. Usually new members of the Rainbow Shirts were also fans. They had a checkable social media presence, or could at least be vouched for due to being present at one of their many battles. But Joel was nobody from nowhere. Even as Barack intimated that Joel's past was too tragic to discuss in casual third person conversation, this made Homer uneasy.
"Please," said Homer, moving to stand next to Joel. "Sit in my chair. I think we'll be more comfortable with a bit of role reversal."
"I prefer to stand," said Joel, still fidgeting. But at Homer's motioning, Joel reluctantly sat in the chair while Homer prepared a drink from the nearby minibar. Homer made a glass of fresh spring water with precious ice cubes, a lemon, and a tiny umbrella and put it in front of Joel, feeling invigorated by the role reversal.
"Anyway," said Homer. "Who are you disrespecting?"
"I hesitate to speak his name," said Joel, nervously picking up the glass and sipping the water. "I do not wish to cause you any great offense-"
"Joel," said Homer with a sigh, "please just get to the point. I grow weary of unnecessarily convoluted talk. And also, please do not use gendered pronouns. I know you've spent quite some time in Iowa but out here in the east such language is considered extremely rude."
"Ah, but I am merely practicing," said Joel. "I need to go out west. And I need your permission to do so."
"What you do is of your own business," replied Homer. "And besides, you can confide your plans in Barack-"
"That being the problem," said Joel, eyes continuously shifting. "I dare not discuss this matter with Barack."
At this statement, Homer's sense of alarm intensified. Ever since becoming accepted by the Rainbow Shirts a few weeks ago Joel had always been by Barack's side, committing all the person's errands, major or minor. Homer half-suspected they were lovers, except that Barack was so obsessed with the mission of the Social Justice Army it was difficult to imagine Barack engaging any kind of sexual relationship whatsoever.
"You see," Joel said, leaning over in a conspiratorial whisper, with Homer too forced to lean down to that visage, "I've received credible reports that fascists are planning to attack the demonstration."
Homer stared at Joel, initially disbelieving, unconsciously with a shaking head. No, such an idea was preposterous. What little fascists remained in the United States were thoroughly marginalized. They could barely keep ahead of their own resource problems, let alone mount an attack on a major city that dwarfed their own numbers by scales of magnitude.
"Don't be absurd," said Homer, stepping away from Joel.
"No, it's true!" said Joel, panicked and recoiling backward. "Barack has been hiding this information from you. He intends to allow the fascists to throw Chicago into chaos."
"That's a serious allegation," said Homer, hands on hips. "Surely you have evidence?"
"I want to show you the evidence, but the risk is too great," said Joel, nervously looking around again as though he were afraid of spies. "Barack and I are the only ones who have seen it. Anything I tell you, will get back to him."
Homer was somewhat unnerved to realize that this part of the story, at least, seemed plausible enough. Homer and Barack had been in conflict lately over the definition of success. Homer believed that at this point the fascists were so thoroughly marginalized that further steps to eliminate them would do more harm than good. Barack believed the fascists needed to be publicly exterminated, to be wiped out once and for all, to send a message to future generations. Allowing an actual fascist conspiracy to fester, that there would be an excuse for retaliation. And it wasn't like such plans were unprecedented, coming from Barack.
"There is a way you can help me prevent the bloodshed," said Joel.
"What is it?" said Homer, still distracted.
"I'm going to look for allies to guarantee the security of the protesters," said Joel. "With that accomplished, the protest can proceed peacefully."
Homer loved the sound of that word. Peacefully. And yet-
"Surely the police can be charged with the task of protecting the protest?"
"Barack has spread distrust among them regarding the motives of the protesters," said Joel. "Barack thinks I don't know anything. If you send me away on a mission, Barack will assume that I am working for you on some obscure activity that has nothing to do with these greater machinations. Please...this is all I ask of you."
Joel looked at Homer plaintively. Homer observed that Joel looked all the more hideous while trying to be cute. Joel's eyes were more obviously out of proportion, and that odd habit of constantly scratching that probably unwashed hair made Joel look like a grotesque overgrown street urchin wearing adult clothes and feigning an interest in adult life, all in the name of some sort of hustle. But as inherently untrustworthy as this presentation felt, Homer felt a strong sense of pity for Joel.
"All right," said Homer. "If Barack asks where you are, I'll make up some excuse. But if this Chicago business is as important as you say it is, I need to be there as well."
"But then Barack will kill me for sure!" wailed Joel, in a very obnoxious high-pitched whine.
"Oh don't be so melodramatic," said Homer, head shaking. "I'll deal with any problems, don't worry about it. I know you don't trust me, Joel, but I can see you mean well, and all I ask is that you show me the same courtesy. You may go. Time is of the essence."
And with that small bit of prompting, Joel scurried out of the room, looking positively rat-like in the process. Homer observed that Joel had finished the water so thoroughly that even the ice cubes were gone. How odd. Was that why Joel had sounded so rattled? Juggling ice cubes mouthwise? Were the ice cubes even really necessary in this wintry weather? Well, the one who endures the cold, masters it. Homer vaguely remembered hearing a proverb like that at some point in the past.
Homer walked over to the window looked out upon the encroaching Atlantic ocean. Homer wondered how long it would be before this waterfront property too, fell beneath the waves.