She was holding out the job slip like it was the least important thing in the history of any things importance. If only she knew. If only she could feel the black hole screaming out from my stomach for everything to rush inside it. I’d eat the job slip if it came to that. Dangling unwanted in her careless dead grip I could hear a hum from something higher calling out from within it. My hand struck at the job slip with a streak of fire breathing out from my fingers strike.

      Hope.

      Looking to the slip I read the job title to myself. It whispered in my skull something ghostly. It read…

      D.O.O.M.

      The horns blew, and the windows shut. Tall metal sheets unraveled from the ceiling with a loud violent clatter. Eighteen windows crashing shut, bouncing a brooding tremor through the open chamber of Quick-Job's main hall. The chandeliers above chimed with an effortless jingle, adding that final highlight to the day's end as dust floated down for the concluding swipe of the mops.