Ethan Graves was halfway through a microwave burrito when the sky exploded.
Not metaphorically.
Outside his office window, the clouds split open like cheap ceiling tiles, revealing a swirling vortex of purple lightning. A flaming goat with six eyes surfed a rainbow made of fire. A car floated past with its alarm blaring, "It's the end of the world as we know it." Someone in accounting hurled a printer out the window while shouting, "Tell my spreadsheets I loved them!"
Ethan chewed slowly.
"Huh."
His computer sparked, his overhead lights died, and his burrito made a sad wheeze as it deflated in his hand. A golden envelope materialized in the air and bopped him directly on the forehead.
Boink.
He blinked and caught it. HR reflex. Always intercept flying objects and workplace complaints before they hit you.
The envelope smelled like burnt toast and passive aggression. It unfolded itself like it had better things to do.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
OMNIVERSAL CORPORATE ECOSYSTEM
Human Resource Division
Offer of Employment
Dear Ethan Graves,
You have been selected as Interim HR Manager for Planet Earth (Sector 13C), which is currently undergoing apocalyptic restructuring.
Employment begins immediately upon verbal acknowledgment.
Benefits include - death immunity, dental (soul coverage), and optional lava insurance.
To accept, say "I accept."
Failure to respond will result in timeline loop reinstatement and emotional damage.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ethan looked at the letter. Then out the window. Then back at the letter. Then, at his burrito, which was now floating gently in midair.
"Nope."
He crumpled the paper and dunked it into the trash can with perfect form.
Everything snapped.
He was back in his chair. Burrito warm. Office intact. Sky cracking. Envelope floating down again, smug and glowing.
Dear Ethan Graves...
Ethan stared at it. The burrito. The sky. The envelope.
"I will staple you shut."
He did. It still unfolded.
He fed it into the paper shredder.
The paper refused, jammed the machine, and reappeared unshredded.
He threw it out the window. It boomeranged back and hit him in the face.
Twice.
"Fine," he muttered. "I accept. Just stop attacking me with paper."
The envelope pulsed, then burst into light.
So did his desk. And the floor.
His burrito exploded with dramatic cheese.
Gravity hiccupped.
Ethan screamed as he fell into the abyss.
And that was how the apocalypse hired an HR manager.