Why do They Bother?

This piece is dedicated to corporate America for their weird-ass job titles and was hacked together in maybe twenty minutes.
Knock, knock...
Ugh. I stumble down the hallway, past the shrieking clock and almost trip over the family imp. I catch myself and regain my balance, but of course I jostle grandma's ashes and the bust of her mother, setting them both to yelling.
“It's not enough that I have to stare at her ugly mug all day, all night, I have to watch you dust her? Dust her! Like the old crone ever,”
“Don't you set that urn any nearer to me young man. I outlived the harpy twice but that doesn't mean I need any more to do with her now!”
I muttered something, words of conciliation in a half hearted attempt to get them to give it up. It's too late though, they'll go on for hours, and silence spells just make things worse. I made it to the door, already in a foul mood, and note that it is in fact mid-morning despite the blue gloom of the rest of the house. I made a mental note to get that checked too, next time I could hire an exorcist.
There were two shapes silhouetted on the other side of the stained glass window set into the door and I sighed again, cinching my robe around my waist and wishing I had gotten up at a reasonable hour. This was going to be even harder to get through with stubble.
I opened the door.
“Hello,”
“How are you sir,”
“Do you have a moment?”
They spoke almost in unison and their voices had the too-cheerful, almost sing-song quality of lines so well rehearsed that they had become rote.
“No.” I tried to close the door but one of them, the younger one (I think, though in their matching cheap suits they looked damn near identical too me) had gotten his foot in the door.
“But sir,”
“This is very important,”
“Could change your life sir,”
“Will change your life, guaranteed.” They grinned at me behind their full beards, the grins of true belief, or maybe naiveté. One of them was trying to put something in my hand, and I grabbed it before I realized what it was.
Synapse magazine. The magazine of the True Code. Third time this month they'd hit my house, maybe because of that new Server Room they'd opened a couple blocks away but I'm pretty sure that they just knew I was unemployed and that the magical fields in and around my house were beginning to decay catastrophically. They must think that I'm desperate for a change. The hell with them.
“Look, guys, you're really barking up the wrong tree. Now, my sink is possessed again and I can't afford an exorcist so I've got to go start praying to the municipal water spirit...”
“Don't you wish that things just worked,”
“That when they did go wrong you could fix them.”
“Instead of praying for something else to?”
That had been a tactical blunder on my part, clearly. The other cults were easier to drive off, just say you were preparing a sacrifice to someone else's god and they'll leave you alone. If that doesn't work say their leader was at his best on the cross/chopping block/hat stand or his worst there, depending on the cultist. They see you don't take any of this mono-worship crap seriously and they leave.
The True Code though, they're different. Not scared of magic, for one thing, they don't believe in it. Don't believe in it so hard that it just doesn't affect them, lucky bastards, but how do you deny what's right in front of your face? They have their faith too, they think that there are laws of reality, that you can count on something falling if you drop it, and at a constant rate no less!
The worst of it are the machines though, their trashy magazines are full of plans for the great engines, the Computational Device, that will supersede man and ghost and that will incorporate the minds of the chosen few. It's ridiculous, I know, but it seems like there are more of them every day... I must be getting cynical in my early middle age.
“Look, just get lost will you? And stop coming around here.”
“Alright,”
“If you really don't want us,”
“You just read that now,”
“Okay?” They turned, unabashed, unashamed of their failure, and walked away.
“Say,” they glanced back at my shout, “Come the singularity, can I have your house?”