Whacking day

This is about a particularly miserable day at IISc.

Come quick!
The Dark Lord does beckon.
Relocate your slothful self.
Mercy he shall show today, I reckon.

Chapter one
Idiots! What have you done?!
Shabby comebacks,
Bruised ego.
(Mumble mumble)
Off with their heads!

Persons few,
(Precisely two)
Thou asketh who they be?
Can't say. Won't dare!
Alright here's a hint:
One of them's a friend of someone who's a friend of me.

A day killed,
Well, half at least
Meandering, disguised mostly,
Away from watchful eyes.

Noon comes, not alone though.
Brings Him to us for good
And come with Him does His minion,
Watching, waiting,
Ready to strike with taunting tongue.

Crack! Crack of the whip.
A forked tongue tastes the air,
"He treats you well",
The minion doth quip.

Noxious fumes, vision spiralling.
'A drink would do good, perhaps'

Deluded thought, that might have been,
Tasted not-so-bad, but it still stings!
Sardonic snigger, sadistic.
Nearly choked, he did!
Hope, momentary deception
"Slave away!", the Dark Lord sings.

The sun has gone down,
'Tis time to rest,
Lest the Devil
Puts them to another test.

Pleading tones.
Relentless scoff.
(With orders for next morn.)
And as his slaves, obey they must.

And obey they will, (willingly almost)
And go to sleep.
For know do they,
(Like most today,)
That as they sow
So will they reap.