The weekly memo had landed at 6 PM: “Q1 Pep Compliance Audit – Store 481-B.”

He’d logged the stats last night—3 rancid Kum & Go pepperoni sticks sold, a dismal flicker of “pep.”

Now, the scanner at Register 3 was blinking red, double-beeping every swipe. Customers grumbled. “How dare they?” hissed a barefoot woman clutching kale chips.

Tabitha had waddled in at 7, her DEI nameplate gleaming: “Tabitha Jones – Diversity & Inclusion Officer.”

She’d been “on break” since, slurping her sixth Big Gulp of the day, her clipboard splayed with audit forms. “Pep’s down 47%, Evan,” she’d said, not looking up. “'They’re' watching.”

The Mahchine™ hum pulsed louder tonight—under the floor, through the walls, syncing with the flickering fluorescents.

Evan checked the security feed. Aisle 9—empty. Then, a shadow. Too tall for Tabitha. Too jagged. Too thin.

He found the note taped to his locker, ink black and uneven:

“Clause 9.2: Pep Deficiency. Observation Escalated.”

His hands shook as he unlocked the Associate Surveillance Room. The CRT buzzed, showing register 3—him, swiping, failing, the scanner beeping twice. Then, static. Then, him again—same loop, but the badge read: “Evan39 – FLAG.”

Evan imagined Boom, his growl echoed: “Fraud$ tanked your pep—$mash the scanner!”

And in Evan's mind, Mainlining murmured: “The Great Becumming™ feeds on your $tats—entropy’s live.”

Evan whispered: “This is fine… everything’s fine…”

Tabitha’s laugh—wet, deliberate—crawled from the hallway.

She stood in the doorway, chewing something unidentifiable. “Audit’s live TV tomorrow,” she said, tossing a second note:

“You’re not on the pipeline. You’re on the li$$$t.”

The scanner from an empty store beeped twice, louder. The camera above tilted—just enough to catch his reflection.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5698042&forum_id=2...#48771463)