0759 hours.  

The entire team stood at the starting line, clutching their issued equipment: small baskets filled with colourful shredded paper that could, should the need arise, become a deadly weapon. 

The mission was clear: find the Golden Egg.  

Trust no one. 

Amy addressed the group, whistle in hand. “Alright, you guys know the rules,” she said, laying down the law. “No eye gouging.” 

Everyone stared at her expectantly. 

“I guess it’s just ‘rule’,” she said. “Everyone ready?” 

The only response was the look of steely determination on everyone’s faces.  

She blew the whistle. 

0800 hours. 

Pandemonium.  

Baskets swung wildly. Colourful eggs ricocheted across the concrete. Ray vaulted over a picker like an action movie stunt double and emerged clutching a glittery egg, roughly the size of his head.  

“That’s canary yellow, not gold!” screamed Erin, tossing Cam out of her way with ease. As a Graphic Designer, she was the voice of authority when it came to colour accuracy.  

The search continued. 

0823 hours. 

Shannon was playing chess. 

Not literally, of course. He was searching for the Golden Egg, just like everyone else, but he was being covert about it. All week, he’d spoken about how childish the hunt was, how he had better things to do with his time. 

All part of his master plan. 

He moved about the warehouse as he always did, picking parts and fetching customer orders. It looked, to almost everybody, like he was working. 

0837 hours. 

Shannon kept his gaze carefully blank as maneuvered around a melee in one of the aisles (he was dimly aware that Steph had Luke in a headlock) and ducked into the Caboolture Dispatch area. It was quieter here, just the whir of the stackers to keep him company.  

If he were Amy, where would he hide the Golden Egg? 

She wouldn’t want the hunt to go on forever, he reasoned. It had to be somewhere visible enough that it’d be found eventually, but not obvious.  

Somewhere people passed every day. 

Slowly, he turned to face the stackers. 

Just before a tray disappeared, he could’ve sworn he’d seen something glistening. 

Something golden. 

0838 hours. 

His heartrate escalated, but he refused to give in to excitement. Calmly, he approached the screen, entering the previous tray number. His finger hovered over the last digit.  

“Stop right there, keep your hands where I can see ‘em,” demanded a voice. 

Shannon instinctively held both his hands by his head.  

“Turn around, nice and easy,” continued the voice. “Don’t do anything stupid.” 

Again, Shannon obeyed. He grinned at the person who’d caught him, noting they held his prized golf trophy in their right hand. “How’d you know?” 

Tegan shrugged. “I know you,” she replied simply. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist, and I knew you’d be smart enough to find it. All I had to do was wait.” 

Shannon nodded. “So,” he said. “What now?” 

Tegan looked down at the trophy in her hands. “We make a trade.” 

“Sounds reasonable.” 

0839 hours. 

Shannon turned back to the stacker. The tray number still blinked patiently, waiting for confirmation. Somewhere in the warehouse a battle cry echoed, followed immediately by sobbing. Shannon thought he heard the peal of a whistle, followed by someone yell, “Disqualified!” 

He keyed in the final digit. The tray returned, revealing the Golden Egg, which Shannon scooped up with a resigned sigh. 

They exchanged prizes, and Amy’s whistle shrieked behind them. 

“Great job, Tegan,” Amy said, taking the egg. “I particularly enjoyed the blackmail, that was really-” 

Amy inspected the object in her hands more closely, peering at it with one eye closed. 

“Yeah, no, never mind. This is the decoy.” 

0840 hours. 

Across the warehouse, Erin lifted the real Golden Egg, wiped some blood from her lip, and roared in triumph.