🌑 Prologue — The Corporate Spiral
They say when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.
For Rei Sakamoto, it was spreadsheets.
Deadlines. Meetings. Corporate memos typed out with soul-crushing precision. A thousand hours lost to fluorescent lights and unpaid overtime. It wasn't a flash—it was a loop. An endless, choking spiral of middle management misery.
Until it stopped.
And then there was only darkness.
Not the cold kind, nor the comforting kind that wraps around you like sleep. This was the darkness of ink spilled on reality. Vast. Viscous. Alive.
"Subject 7-9-Beta," a voice intoned.
Rei blinked. Or he thought he did. In truth, his eyes had no lids anymore, no form to blink with. Only the impression of being observed.
"Time of death: 11:43 PM. Cause of death: fatal photocopier malfunction. Soul condition:... moderately intact."
There was the sound of papers rustling, pens clicking, then the soft sigh of bureaucratic resignation.
"Another one from Earth Sector 3112. Great."
A glow appeared—dim at first, then sharpened into the outline of an infernal office desk, its wood grain seared into place with fire and brimstone. Cubicles stacked toward infinity. Filing cabinets breathing steam. A giant clock hanging overhead, its hands ticking in reverse.
Rei Sakamoto had not ascended.
He had been promoted.