Dead End: Hell of Customer Service

Chapter 3 - The Collective Contract From Hell

[System: "Warning: You lack the necessary points to execute that action. That is a blatant public falsehood."]

"Shut up! Mark retorted internally. They don't know that!"

David hesitated, his eyes lingering on Mark’s injuries—the fingers twisted at impossible angles, the caved-in chest, and the flickering aura of madness in his eyes. Their fear of a wounded Mark, it seemed, had begun to outweigh their pity.

"Help me stand," Mark commanded, his voice deep and menacing despite his shallow breaths. "Now. Before I change my mind and leave you to face whatever is waiting in the stairwell alone."

With trembling hands, David approached and braced Mark’s shoulder.

"AAAGH! Easy, you bastard!" Mark snapped as David’s touch hit a massive bruise. He nearly blacked out as the pain detonated once more, like a cluster bomb exploding within his joints.

[System: "Highly manipulative social interaction detected. Loyalty Points +10 for successful intimidation while in a critical state. Balance: -440 Points. You have a long road ahead, Employee Miller."]

Mark closed his eyes, swallowing the scream that threatened to tear through his throat. Supported by David, he dragged his shattered legs into the pantry, beginning a journey of survival that he knew would be far more agonizing than the battle he had just fought.

"Listen," Mark whispered to David through a pained grimace. "If you let go of me... I’ll make sure you're the first thing I devour if this system forces me to turn into a monster."

David swallowed hard, his face turning as white as a sheet. Mark Miller was no longer just a boring CS supervisor. He had become something forged by unimaginable suffering.

The atmosphere inside the 42nd-floor pantry was anything but safe. The scent of spilled instant coffee mingled with the metallic tang of blood seeping from Mark’s clothes. The flickering overhead neon lights cast erratic, dancing shadows across their pale, terrified faces.

Mark leaned against the cold aluminum kitchen counter. Every time his back touched the surface, he felt his ribs groan, sending electric jolts that forced him to bite his lower lip to keep from screaming.

"I can't do this anymore! I won't!" Sarah, the accounting staffer, suddenly dropped her bag to the floor. Her voice was shrill, fractured by pure hysteria. "Look out there, David! Mark is nearly dead, there are corpses carpeting the hallways, and we’re just trapped here waiting for our turn to be eaten! I’d rather die now than walk down those stairs!"

David, the lawyer, stared at Sarah blankly before turning his gaze toward Mark, who looked like a walking corpse. "She’s right, Miller. Look at you. You can’t even stand without help. How can you guarantee we’ll make it to the ground floor? You’re just leading us to a slower slaughter."

Mark tried to draw a breath, but his lungs felt as though they were filled with shards of broken glass. He stared at the holographic screen flickering before his eyes.

[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: GROUP STATUS]

[Warning: Group member (Sarah) has displayed 'Intent to Forfeit.']

[Company Policy: Forfeiture constitutes a unilateral termination of the Life Contract. Penalty: All group members will be processed into 'Hell-Fuel' for 1,000 years instantly, followed by forced reincarnation to repeat the same suffering until productivity targets are met.]

Mark let out a small, dry laugh—a sound like sandpaper grating against wood. "System... read that out loud for them. Let them know... who the real boss is here."

Suddenly, a cold, emotionless mechanical voice echoed directly inside Sarah and David’s heads, making them flinch and clutch their ears. When the voice faded, a suffocating silence blanketed the room.

"What... what was that?" David whispered, his face now whiter than paper. "A thousand years... resurrected? That’s... that’s impossible. It makes no legal sense!"

Mark forced himself to stand straight, though his fractured legs trembled violently under his weight. He looked down at Sarah, who was still slumped on the floor, then turned to David.

"You’re talking about the law, David? The law you knew died with the man whose head was chewed off out there!" Mark spat to the side, a glob of thick, dark blood landing on the white tiles. "This system doesn’t care about human rights. This is a cosmic corporation designed to squeeze out every drop of our suffering. If one person quits, we all burn alive forever. Those are the Terms and Conditions."

Mark stepped toward Sarah, each footfall a heavy, agonizing thud. He gripped her collar with his functional right hand, hauling her up until they were eye-to-eye.

"Listen, Sarah. You want to give up? Fine," Mark hissed into her face. "But you won't die peacefully. You will become eternal fuel. You will feel your skin melt and your nerves sear, and just when you think it’s over, they’ll bring you back just to burn you again. Every. Single. Day. For a thousand years. Is that better than walking down those stairs with me?"

Sarah trembled violently, tears streaking her grimy face. "B-but I’m scared... I’m so scared, Mark..."

"We’re all scared!" Mark roared, his voice booming despite his lack of air. "I am enduring pain that would make any man in this building faint just from thinking about it! My fingers are snapped, my legs are crushed, and this system is billing me for my life every second! But I still choose to walk! Not because I’m a hero, but because I hate this system too much to let it win easily!"

Mark released her, letting her slump back down. He turned to David, who stood paralyzed. "Grab your bag. Take the water. We don't have time for this cheap drama. Because if you think this conversation is dramatic, just wait until you hear what’s behind that door."

Just as Mark’s words trailed off, a sound echoed from outside the pantry door.

Sreeeeek... Sreeeeek...

The sound of sharp metal dragging across concrete. Extremely slow, incredibly heavy. Then, it was followed by a wet, labored huff of breath, as if something massive was sniffing the air beneath the door crack.

The entire room froze. Sarah clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. David dropped the water bottle he was holding but caught it reflexively before it hit the floor. Mark stared at the door, eyes narrowing. He could feel a creeping chill seeping into the room from below the frame.

[System: "New Customer Detected. Name: 'The Janitor.' Complaint: The 42nd floor remains cluttered with the remnants of human life. Suggestion: Do not breathe."]

"Mark..." David whispered, his voice almost non-existent. "What is it?"

Mark didn't answer. He simply signaled with his right hand for silence. He could feel his irregular heartbeat, each pulse sending waves of pain through his wounds, yet he held firm. He had to lead these two cowards—not out of care, but because his life depended on their compliance.

Beyond the door, the dragging sound stopped right in front of them. Then, there was a soft knock.

Knock... Knock... Knock...

Polite. Human. But in this broken world, politeness was the truest sign of the end.

"Mark Miller..." a raspy, gravelly voice called from behind the door. "I know you're in there... You haven't settled your departure administrative fees..."

Mark’s eyes widened. The monster could speak? Or was the system playing psychological tricks on him? He gripped his iron beam tighter, his palms slick with cold sweat and blood. He glanced at his coworkers, who looked ready to collapse from terror.

"Listen," Mark whispered, his voice as thin as a razor blade yet piercingly clear. "If that door opens... run for the emergency stairs on the left. Don't look back. Don't stop. Even if I scream, do not stop."

"But what about you?" Sarah breathed.

Mark flashed a dark grin, an expression born from physical agony that had reached its nadir. "Me? I’m going to stay for a bit to discuss the 'return policy' with the gentleman behind the door."

On the holographic screen, a new notification appeared.

[System: "Emergency Mission Active: 'Bloody Overtime.' Survive 'The Janitor' for 3 minutes without losing any more limbs. Reward: 1 Serving of Painkiller Fluid (Low Dosage). Failure: Contract Deletion."]

"Three minutes..." Mark muttered. "Just three more minutes of hell."

Suddenly, the pantry door handle began to turn, slowly. Mark Miller eased into a shattered combat stance, bracing himself for a level of pain far greater than anything he had ever known.