Turks Missive - 0005

Heidegger mutters under his breath as he stomps towards his office, a fury upon him as clenches his fists. He enters his quarters and sits to type thoughtful feedback for his inferiors, also referred to as his subordinates. On Shinra letterhead, he types below the dated template, all the while grumbling to himself:

"Is there anything so infuriating as weaponized incompetence?! It seems I have to do everything myself. What is the point of hiring SOLDIERs --- let alone Turks --- if they cannot even keep a ragtag team of ecoterrorists at bay?! We are the wealthiest company on the planet, and still you cannot even perform one simple task to completion! When I was an intern..."

He types well into the wee hours of the night. Upon completion, he admires the most thorough tongue-lashing he has ever written to a subordinate of another department. He sits back and smiles to himself, saying aloud,

"Ah, the first draft is complete."

He pauses, and realizes his coarse language has flustered the delicate sensibilities of his colleagues in the past. He scoffs, and sets to heavily redact his work, all the while muttering,

"It's no wonder Shinra can't achieve greatness on schedule; I have to waste my precious time addressing each delicate little flower when what we need is a lawnmower."

He begins the second draft:

"To: The Department of Urban Development and Reconstruction

Attention:

The submitted work is not up to standard. I will make my corrections and turn it over to you once more for further processing."

He send the letter smiling to himself. Heidegger leans back and strokes his beard, musing aloud.

"Weaponized incompetence, eh?" He chuckles to himself, and continues, "Two can play at that game."