The presentation continued with the kind of relentless corporate cheerfulness that could break the will of cosmic entities. Brad clicked to a slide titled "Exciting New Opportunities for Jack!" which displayed what appeared to be a standard employment contract, complete with corporate logos and fine print.
"So here's what we're thinking," Brad said, his constellation-body somehow managing to convey the enthusiasm of a used car salesman. "We want to offer you a position as Senior Protagonist, Multi-Galaxy Division. Great benefits, unlimited PTO—well, not really unlimited, but you know how that works—and stock options in reality itself."
Sarah pushed a tablet across the table to Jack. "The contract's pretty standard. Exclusive representation, appearance requirements, mandatory character development milestones. Really exciting stuff."
Jack's nanomachines began analyzing the contract in real-time, and what they found made his consciousness recoil in ways that shouldn't have been mathematically possible. The GalacticTok chat was watching him read, and his facial expressions were causing billions of viewers to experience secondhand rage.
"Let me read some highlights to my audience," Jack said, his voice carrying the kind of dangerous calm that preceded cosmic-level violence. "Section 4.7: 'Employee agrees to maintain minimum suffering quotient as determined by Management.' Section 12.3: 'All personal relationships subject to termination for dramatic purposes at Management's discretion.'"
The multiversal chat exploded:
THEY WANT TO KILL HIS FRIENDS FOR CONTENT
MINIMUM SUFFERING QUOTIENT LMAOOOO
THIS CONTRACT IS ACTUALLY EVIL
READ THE FINE PRINT JACK
Jack continued reading, his nanomachine count now approaching 22 trillion as his consciousness processed the sheer audacity of the document. "Oh, this is good. Section 18.1: 'Employee acknowledges that all memories, experiences, and personal growth remain intellectual property of Architects Inc.' Section 23.6: 'Soul ownership transfers to Company upon signature.'"
Dave nodded approvingly. "That's pretty standard in the industry. Most protagonists don't even read that far."
Tim added, "The soul clause is just for legal protection. We hardly ever actually collect souls. Only when someone really violates their contract terms."
Jessica leaned in with the kind of fake intimacy that HR departments specialized in. "Think of it this way, Jack—you get to keep doing what you love, which is... well, existing, basically. And we get to monetize your experiences across forty-seven different entertainment platforms. Win-win!"
The compensation section was particularly insulting. Jack's payment for being the universe's most powerful protagonist would be: "Exposure across multiple dimensions, networking opportunities with other Company protagonists, and a 15% employee discount at participating Starbucks locations throughout the multiverse."
"Fifteen percent off coffee," Jack said to his audience, his voice carrying frequencies of disbelief that were causing nearby stars to flicker. "Chat, they're offering me fifteen percent off coffee in exchange for ownership of my soul and the right to murder anyone I care about for quarterly metrics."
Brad sensed the mood shifting and tried to sweeten the deal. "Well, there's also the signing bonus. We're prepared to offer you your own galaxy cluster to manage! Think of it as... cosmic middle management. Very prestigious."
Sarah pulled up another slide showing a cluster of galaxies with the label "Jack's Territory (Projected)." It looked impressive until you read the fine print: "Subject to Company oversight and quarterly performance reviews."
"Plus," Tim added enthusiastically, "you'd get your own office! Right here in the building. Corner office, even. With a window."
The office layout they showed him was a standard cubicle with cosmic decorations. The "window" looked out into interdimensional space, which was essentially the universe's version of a brick wall view.
Jack's consciousness was now operating on frequencies that existed outside normal causality, and his nanomachines were beginning to interface with the building's corporate network infrastructure in ways that definitely violated several universe-level laws.
"Let me just clarify something," Jack said, his voice now carrying harmonics that were making the PowerPoint presentation spontaneously develop new slides critiquing itself. "You want me to sign a contract that gives you ownership of my soul, permission to kill anyone I care about, and control over my character development... in exchange for exposure and coffee discounts."
"And the office," Dave reminded him helpfully. "Don't forget about the office."
Jessica nodded. "Plus, think about the networking opportunities. You'd be working alongside some of the most successful protagonists in the multiverse. Really chance to learn from the best."
That was when Jack decided that some corporate meetings really did deserve to end with the complete destruction of the corporate hierarchy.
But first, he wanted to see just how deep this particular rabbit hole went.