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W Corp. L3 Cleanup Agent

So, what do you think?
I get to visit a museum, an exhibition featuring brand-new pieces of art every single day. All that for a bit of physical labor.
No, no. I'm not expecting an answer. I don't think anyone else would care to look at this writing, either.
Consider this... a complex, unsimplifiable art critique, after a visit to a gallery.
There wasn't anything special that drew me to join this company. I didn't find it very exciting, either.
When I was offered this Cleanup Agent job, I considered it no different from my usual contracts, except that I'll be guaranteed a fixed income.
I thought 'of course, a corporation of this size, a Wing at that, must have stuff to "clean up" here and there'.
I didn't care about what they did, as long as they didn't annoy me. So I signed the contract.
So imagine my surprise...
When this train that people take without giving it a second thought, every single day...
Turned out to be a gallery of arts, sculpted with chisels of time!
While I was impressed with how well they were hiding this truth from the public... three words came to mind.
This. Is. It.
In hindsight, I was so absorbed with chasing after and creating my own "art"...
...That I neglected to appreciate the "art" of others.
A shameful realization. Appreciating others' art expands and deepens your understanding of this act of creation, regardless of its genre.
That was why my recent work had been plagued with vapidity and regurgitation.
No genuine, vivid imagination comes forth without a touch of reality.
I saw one that used its soft tissues to conjoin two train cars, becoming a new 'door' between them...
One that wrapped its flesh around the plush side of the seat, embodying a new chair with extra cushioning...
One that is an amalgam of many, taking the shape of a new organism and lurching on... Though I wouldn't classify that as 'art'. Not yet.
It doesn't qualify even as a performance art, as there was no intent to create the 'art' behind it.
Shambling without intent is... in the end, insufficient to be called art. It is incomplete at best.
I butcher them. Because the company ordered me to make them easier to clean up.
To interfere with the process of involuntary art isn't to my liking, no... But that doesn't happen very often. Besides, there is plenty to be gained from the rest.
I enjoyed the company issued gear, too.
Void Curseblade. Refraction Demonblade. Dimensional Art Knife... I had many ideas for the name of this blade, but I eventually landed on Dimensional Demon Edge.
I particularly enjoyed the part where it drained me when I cut down an incomplete art without proper preparation.
Indeed, dealing with works of art without appropriate mindfulness is itself an act of self-destruction.
Haah... I would have loved to keep doing that kind of work...
I would have even foregone sleep to do so.
Shit... What are the higher—ups thinking? It's ludicrous, making me babysit these rookies...
Hmph, look at that guy over there, blabbering on and on. Maybe he enjoys this kind of humdrum work.
What an oddity. How does he find this interesting in any capacity when solid gold rolls into the station every single day?
If he likes B.S. that much, he might as well do this whole drivel himself...
Hah, as if they'd let that happen.
Damn it, even at this very moment I'm missing out...