I stepped up to my porch, waving at a few recently deceased residents, who waved back uncertainly. They'd come around eventually. It always took the dead a while to settle.

  What was that smell? It was hideous.

  “Evening, Barry,” I called, opening my door and placing my keys in the ceramic bowl.

  “Keith,” Barry floated in front of me. He was in an oven mitt.

  I looked at him. “Barry, why are you haunting an oven—”

  “There is a smelly man that keeps ringing the bell... and he looks like he works for commissions,” he interjected, obviously not wanting to be asked about the mitt. Barry could be sensitive like that.

  A smelly man? Commissions? It had to be Jothin. My knuckles whitened and I started towards the door.

  As if my words had mystically summoned him, the doorbell rang. How had I not seen him on the way in?

  I reached the door and glared through the peephole. Sure enough, it was Jothin. He was attempting to peer in, clutching a yellow document portfolio in one hand and a clipboard in the other. His smile was fixed. Very fixed.

  “Keith, Keith, open the door, it’s Jothin.”

  I considered the pepper spray hanging on my door hook, but decided to see what he wanted first.

  I opened the door. “Hi, Jothin.” I blocked my doorway. He was not entering my apartment.

  “Keith,” he nodded, the smile not reaching his eyes. “Just dropping off the final integration packet for transitional staff. Corporate policy. I just need your signature on the delivery manifest.”

  “Why couldn’t you give it to me at work?” I shot back, getting more heated by the second. I am pretty sure had I been part Dreadlord, Jothin would have been a smouldering pile of ash by now. One can dream.

  “And not see your... er, lovely home? Abhor the thought. Absolutely abhor it.”

  He held the clipboard out to me. A single form was attached, with a line at the bottom for my signature. I scanned it carefully.

  “I’ll need to review the contents of the packet before I can sign,” I muttered, gesturing for the rest.

  Jothin’s smile tightened. “It’s not necessary. It’s the standard welcome kit. Mission statement, a voucher for a Jolly Pop, some company pencils. Just sign the form, Keith.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “No,” I replied, enjoying watching Jothin’s jaw work. He was clearly on a timetable.

  “Fine,” he replied, thrusting the yellow packet into my hand. “Just hurry up. I don’t have all day for you, whatever this is.”

  I took the portfolio and walked back into my apartment, locking the door behind me. The lock snapped into place loudly, I wanted to ensure he could hear the click.

  Walking to the table, I opened the flap on the binder and began to unpack its contents, placing each item neatly on the table’s surface.

  There was a glossy pamphlet titled Joy and You!, a smile stick—a replica of those I had seen in the Sunshine Room—a Jolly Pop voucher, and beneath it all, a thick, professionally bound document.

  The cover read: Employee Agreement. It was written in small, unassuming letters.

  This was an official contract that didn't want to be read.

  “A formality,” Jothin shouted, peering at me through one of my windows. “Hey, did you see the game last night?” I shut the curtain.

  I opened the document. The print was small. I began to read, my finger moving along the first page.

  “Section 5, Subsection 3: Term of Employment,” I read aloud. My voice was flat. “The termination date is listed as, quote, ‘N/A – To Perpetuity’.” I opened the curtain. “Could you clarify the term ‘To Perpetuity’?”

  Jothin cleared his throat. “That’s just legal language, Keith. It shows the corporation’s long-term... commitment to its employees. They will be faithful forever.”

  I returned to the document. I flipped a few pages. “Appendix C: Post-Employment Liabilities. All clauses pertaining to severance, pensions, and post-mortal benefits have been struck through. In their place it states: Voided – Permanently Employed.”

  Under that it read: To be witnessed by committee.

  “Which committee?” I called to Jothin.

  “The… the oversight committee.” he replied.

  I found a new page near the back. “An addendum, requiring final authorization from a CDP Oversight Committee.” I looked up at him again. “What is the CDP?”

  He was cornered. “Cherub-Driven Productivity,” he finally said, the words coming out in a rush. “It’s the upstairs management group.”

  I closed the document and placed it precisely in the center of my table. I stood up and faced him.

  Cherubs were Heaven’s worst-kept secret. Flying, chubby-faced thugs with diaper rash.

  “The manifest states I am signing for the receipt of one complete integration packet. This document raises several procedural queries that are, as yet, unanswered. Therefore, the packet is incomplete pending clarification.”

  I picked up the Everlasting Employment Agreement.

  “I will need to retain this for further review.”

  Jothin’s face was etched in frustration.

  “You can’t—That’s company property, Flannery. I need the signed manifest.”

  “And I need clarification,” I replied. “We appear to be at a procedural standstill. Please have the form re-written so that all clauses are elaborated on, and I will reassess the document.”

  "Fine. Keep it. But don't be too proud of yourself, Flannery. Inter-Agency Accord 13-B, personnel contracts are considered enforced until the dispute is resolved. So you work for us, you're just not permanent... yet."

  He was right. Contractually, I was an employee. Which meant I now had a voice in the company's regulations. And legal standing was all I needed to dismantle their half-baked entrapment attempt.

  Jothin had turned to leave.

  “Have a sparkly day,” I called after him. He lifted his arm and suddenly reminded me a lot of Florence. I returned the salute.

  I retrieved an empty binder and a label maker. I sat back down at my dining table. The label I printed was simple:

  Case File 001: Immortality-Corp