Gregory sat behind a desk of polished obsidian that seemed to swallow the dim fluorescent light of the office. He didn't look like a demon; he looked like a mid-level bureaucrat in a cheap polyester suit, the kind who enjoys denying insurance claims. On the door behind him, gold leaf lettering read:
"At Brimstone Inc., 'just doing your job' is our corporate motto," Gregory smiled, showing too many teeth. "But we don't hire just anyone. Our clients are... demanding. They don't want settlements. They want souls. They want the kind of misery that ripples through generations." Brimstone Incorporated
Gregory leaned forward, his eyes suddenly glowing like banked coals. "We saw what you did to your partner. The way you framed him for the embezzlement you committed. That was the moment we scouted you. That was your 'application.'" Gregory sat behind a desk of polished obsidian
Elias felt a cold dread settle in his chest. "I want to go home. Where is this? Is this Chicago?" "But we don't hire just anyone
"This is the lobby, Elias. And your orientation starts now." Gregory pushed a single sheet of paper across the desk. It wasn't paper; it was thin, cured vellum that felt warm to the touch. "Sign here, and you’ll be our Lead Acquisitions Officer for the Eastern Seaboard. You'll have power, wealth, and influence beyond your wildest dreams." "And if I don't?" Elias whispered.
Elias looked at the pen—a silver quill that looked like a bird's talon. He looked at the screaming darkness of the hallway. He picked up the pen.
"Your resume is impressive, Elias," Gregory said, tapping a folder that smelled faintly of ozone. "The way you handled the Springfield chemical spill—truly inspired. You convinced an entire town they weren't sick, they were just 'under-hydrated.'"