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.'"
"I was just doing my job," Elias stammered, his eyes darting to the window. Outside, there was no city skyline—only a swirling, orange-tinted fog that never moved.
"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.'"
"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."
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.
A man named Elias sat across from him, clutching a briefcase and sweating through his shirt. Elias had been a "fixer" for a Fortune 500 company, a man who made environmental lawsuits and whistleblower complaints disappear with a few well-placed threats and payoffs.
"Welcome to the team," Gregory purred as the office walls began to bleed. "Coffee is in the breakroom. It’s always boiling, and we’re fresh out of cream."
