He adjusted his hat—the one with the goggles he never used—and sighed for the third time since entering the facility. His gloves squeaked as he pulled his badge from inside his blouse pocket, squinting at the barely legible text stamped on it:
“WRAITH & CO. — Solutions Beyond Human Resources.”
Right.
That name hadn’t raised any red flags at the time. Probably because Halden had been half asleep when he accepted the job offer. Or maybe because he really needed the money. Or because the application form had been exactly one question:
“Can you work nights?”
There hadn’t even been a box to tick. Just a button that said “Submit,” which he did, instinctively. Didn't really know why, either.
Now, here he was—descending into a government-sized hole in the earth to do God-knows-what for a company that sounded like it outsourced exorcisms.
Which, it probably did, the more he thought about it.
Eventually, the hallway ended. One rusty door stood before him, unmarked except for a dent shaped suspiciously like a fist.
He scanned his badge on the panel beside it. The scanner beeped once, begrudgingly. The door reluctantly opened, revealing a room not much bigger than a janitor’s closet. Maybe it had been one, at some point. Hard to tell, with the industrial wallpaper of peeling paint and a single bulb swinging slightly from the ceiling. With the current state of the room, he even wondered if the bulb would ask him a cigarette to endure the shift.
Inside, there was a desk. A metal one, scratched all to hell. Next to it, a terminal sat squat and ominous, its screen black.
Halden stepped in and let the door shut behind him with a shhh-thunk that sounded awfully final.
He stood there for a moment.
"...Right," he muttered to nobody, adjusting his blouse as if that would somehow change anything.
He walked up to the desk and sat. The chair was surprisingly well-cushioned. That was...suspicious. Nothing in this place deserved to be that comfortable.
The terminal screen blinked on the moment he touched the desk. Just one line, green text on black:
> WELCOME, HALDEN.
He blinked back. "That’s...unsettlingly friendly."
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The cursor blinked once. Then again. Then a second line typed itself in, slowly:
> JOB DESCRIPTION: CLASSIFIED.
BEGIN ORIENTATION? (Y/N)
Halden rubbed his temples. “I literally have no idea what this job is.”
He looked around again. Nothing. No pamphlets. No signs. No co-workers. Not even a clipboard.
He hovered his gloved hand over the Y key.
"Well," he said aloud to the bulb, "either I get inducted into a cult, or I get dental coverage. What are the odds..."
He pressed ‘Y’.
The lights flickered. Somewhere in the walls, something mechanical groaned to life. It did not sound happy to be awake.
"...Probably should’ve negotiated the pay first."
The terminal buzzed for a moment, then spat out another line, still in that cool green glow:
> THIS TERMINAL WILL BE YOUR SOLE LINE OF COMMUNICATION WITH MANAGEMENT. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO REPLY WITH SMALL TALK.
A second later:
> HI, HALDEN!
> WELCOME TO THE WRAITH & CO. FAMILY!?
> (WE ARE LEGALLY OBLIGATED TO EXPRESS EXCITEMENT.)
Halden blinked at the ?, then sat back in his chair in utter disbelief.
The terminal didn’t seem to notice.
> YOUR POSITION: INTERVIEWER (GRADE-C, INDOCTRINATED).
YOUR DUTY: IDENTIFY AND RECRUIT COMPATIBLE SUBJECTS FOR EMPLOYMENT.
YOU WILL RECEIVE DAILY CRITERIA TO GUIDE YOUR SELECTION PROCESS.
CANDIDATES WILL ARRIVE SHORTLY AFTER.
He furrowed his brow. “Interview...what kind of—”
> CANDIDATES MAY BE NON-HUMAN. NON-SENTIENT. NON-ALIVE.
PLEASE DO NOT SCREAM.
The cursor blinked.
> WE UNDERSTAND THIS MAY COME AS A SURPRISE.
Halden narrowed his eyes at the screen. “You don’t say.”
> YOU MAY ENCOUNTER ABOMINATIONS, SHAPESHIFTERS, ENTITIES OF UNKNOWN ORIGIN, SPATIAL ANOMALIES, AND SOMETIMES THINGS WE CANNOT LEGALLY DESCRIBE.
BUT DON’T WORRY!
MOST OF THEM ARE FRIENDLY.
STATISTICALLY.
Halden’s stomach did a somersault. His hands tightened around the arms of the chair. “Statistically. Lovely.”
> YOUR JOB IS SIMPLE:
READ THE PROFILE.
INTERVIEW THE CANDIDATE.
DECIDE IF THEY’RE A FIT.
DO NOT DIE.
“Not necessarily in that order, huh?” he muttered.
> DO NOT ATTEMPT TO ABANDON YOUR POST.
TERMINATION PROTOCOLS ARE IN PLACE.
(NOT THE FUN KIND OF TERMINATION.)
(YOU WILL DIE.)
There was a pause—just long enough to feel like the terminal was smiling.
> ON THE BRIGHT SIDE, WE PROVIDE COMPREHENSIVE SURVIVAL GUIDES FOR CANDIDATES WHO MAY BE...DIFFICULT.
THIS WILL HELP YOU STAY ALIVE. MAYBE.
“Oh, good. Maybe.” Halden leaned back, sighing. “That’s reassuring.”
The lights overhead gave another flicker, like they were tired of listening to his sarcasm. Or just scared.
The terminal buzzed again.
> ORIENTATION COMPLETE.
TAKE A MOMENT TO PREPARE YOURSELF.
FIRST PROFILE LOADING...
Halden rubbed his face, then pulled his hat down lower over his eyes.
“Well,” he muttered, “this is the worst job I’ve ever taken. And I once got paid to clean haunted porta-potties.”
He glanced at the door across the room. It sat still and silent.
For now.
> GOOD LUCK, HALDEN.
WE’RE ALL COUNTING ON YOU.
(WELL, NOT ALL. JUST THE ONES WHO STILL HAVE HOPE.)
The screen went black again, leaving only the sound of the bulb’s faint hum and the low, throaty click of something shifting in the wall behind him.
Halden didn’t turn around. He just stared ahead, quietly wondering what kind of idiot he’d been in a past life to land this one.