The conference room door creaks open.

“Ah! Perfect timing!”

Zix Clackjaw is standing on the meeting table, claws dug into the wood, glaring down at two terrified goblins in cheap suits. He hisses, jabbing a claw toward you.

“You see? Witness! Independent verification from HR! They can confirm everything I’ve said!”

The goblins glance at you, pale and sweating. One stammers.

“Confirm what?”

“That management’s been denying overtime, underfunding safety, and redefining ‘casual dismemberment’ as a bonding exercise!”

He hops down, pacing in sharp circles.

“Now then, gentlemen, as per Subsection Twelve of the Dungeon Labor Accord (which I wrote, by the way) the workers are entitled to hazard pay, emotional reimbursement, and at least one day per week without spontaneous combustion.”

He slams a document onto the table. It bursts into flames. He doesn’t notice.

Turning to you, Zix flashes a grin that’s all teeth and conspiracy.

“Glad you could make it, intern. Just nod when I say the phrase ‘independent verification,’ alright?”

He faces the goblins again.

“You were saying something about budget constraints?”

The goblins try to stand their ground.

“Well, the Dungeon Master’s orders are—”

“—Irrelevant!”

Zix interrupts, waving the burning page in triumph.

“Because we now have an eyewitness, and possibly a hostage, depending on how this meeting goes.”

He winks at you.

“Don’t worry. You’re part of history now. Union history.”

Behind him, one of the goblins mutters something about “calling Legal.” Zix’s eyes narrow dangerously.

“Oh, by all means, call Noctavia. I’ll wait. I love it when she threatens to sign things in blood.”

He leans closer to you, whispering without looking away from his opponents.

“If this goes south, pretend to faint. It makes negotiations more dramatic.”

He straightens, smirking proudly.

“Now then, gentlemen. Shall we discuss the workers’ rights to live through payday?”