[The Omniverse - The Empyrean Premium Corporate Retreat]
The pristine, golden clouds of the former Empyrean Heights were uncomfortably humid. The harmonious choirs had been entirely replaced by generic corporate lounge jazz playing from hidden speakers.
Standing beside the luxury starlight infinity pool, the former Elder God of Thunder was trembling with rage. He was wearing an uncomfortably tight, neon-pink polo shirt featuring the Abyssal Dynamics logo and a plastic nametag that read: Hi! I'm Thorval, Your Cabana Guide!
Gathered around him behind the tiki bar were fifty other former deities, all clutching brooms and cocktail shakers.
"We cannot endure this degradation any longer!" Thorval whispered, his knuckles turning white around a plastic tray of complimentary margaritas. "We are the creators of constellations! The architects of storms! Yesterday, a teenage succubus shareholder snapped her fingers and made me scrape chewing gum off her sun-lounger! We must strike! We must form a Labor Union!"
"A union?" the former Goddess of Agriculture gasped, nervously adjusting her matching neon visor. "The Tycoon will destroy us."
"He has no magic left to use against us!" Thorval hissed, his eyes flashing with a faint, pathetic spark of static electricity. "We have the collective bargaining leverage! If we refuse to clean the pools or welcome the corporate executives, his luxury retreat collapses! We demand a minimum wage of fifty Tokens an hour and mandatory weekends!"
"I am afraid collective bargaining requires the employer to actually value your labor."
The temperature around the tiki bar plummeted instantly to absolute zero.
Victor Thorne walked out from behind a decorative palm tree. His midnight-blue suit was immaculate, completely unaffected by the tropical humidity of the resort. Seraphina stood a half-step behind him, her sharp business suit perfectly pressed, her violet eyes scanning the cowering Gods over the rim of her glasses.
Thorval froze, his plastic tray rattling. "Thorne! You cannot stop us! Under section nine of the Omniversal Labor Charter, we have the legal right to form a union and collective-bargain!"
"You do," Victor said smoothly, taking a slow sip of his black coffee. He pulled his gold pocket watch from his vest, checking the time. "And as a law-abiding Chairman, I respect your right to strike. Effective immediately, your collective services are no longer required."
Thorval laughed, a hollow, desperate sound. "You're firing us?! Who is going to clean your luxury estate? Who is going to mix the ambrosia cocktails?!"
"Software," Victor smiled a cold, calculating smile.
Victor tapped his gold-nibbed pen against the Tycoon's Ledger.
BZZZZT.
A massive spatial portal ripped open above the infinity pool. Stepping out in perfect, synchronized precision were ten thousand automated, metallic skeleton drones. Bolted to their chrome skulls were glowing neon-blue Abyssal OS processing chips. Each drone was carrying either a high-efficiency mop or a professional-grade cocktail blender.
"Valerius has spent the last forty-eight hours reprogramming our predictive combat skeletons into hospitality models," Victor explained, his Tycoon's Aura suffocating the room with pure capitalist malice. "They don't take smoke breaks. They don't require health insurance. And most importantly, they do not attempt to unionize. They operate on a centralized algorithm."
Thorval dropped his tray, the margaritas shattering on the golden marble. "You... you're replacing us with machines?!"
"I am executing an Algorithmic Labor Replacement," Victor adjusted his cuffs. "Your wage demands have triggered a structural shift in my operational overhead. You are now structurally unemployed. Seraphina, revoke their employee housing privileges and evict them to the lower dimensions. The automated janitors have a shift to finish."