The Interview From Hell

Jake had been unemployed for six months when he got the call.

“Mr Holloway, we were very impressed with your application for the Strategic Synergy Facilitator position. Can you come in for an interview tomorrow?”

He hadn’t applied for anything with a title that ridiculous, but he wasn’t in a position to be picky.

He arrived, bright and early the next morning at the office, a glass-and-steel monstrosity in the heart of the city.

The receptionist greeted him with an unsettling smile. “Mr Holloway, the executives are expecting you. Please, follow me.”

Executives? For an entry-level job?

She led him to a windowless boardroom, where five men in identical grey suits sat behind a wide mahogany table. A single chair sat by itself facing them.

Jake sat. The chair was too low. The men loomed.

“Mr Holloway,” the one in the centre said, steepling his fingers. “Do you know what we do here at Pandemonia Associates?”

Jake had checked their website the night before, and it had been aggressively vague—phrases like “leveraging global potential” and “pioneering integrated paradigms”.

“I… uh… believe you’re in consulting?” he guessed.

“Yes,” the man nodded. “But also… so much more.”

The lights dimmed.

A trapdoor opened in the floor in front of Jake, revealing a pit of screaming fire.

Jake felt the heat in his face.

“…Is this part of the interview?”

The executive ignored him. “At Pandemonia, we believe in nurturing talent. Developing leadership. Feeding the ancient one who sleeps beneath the city.”

“Sorry—what?”

“Tell me, Jake,” the man continued, voice calm. “Do you consider yourself a team player?”

“Uh—sure?”

“Would you be willing to make personal sacrifices for the good of the company?”

The flames in the pit flickered expectantly.

Jake squirmed awkwardly in his chair. “Okay, look. I think there’s been a mistake. I thought this was for a—what was it?—a ‘Strategic Synergy Facilitator’ position?”

The executives nodded.

“Yes. Facilitating synergy between your blood and the great devourer. Strategically.”

Jake stood up, hands raised. “I appreciate the opportunity and everything, but I don’t think I’m the right fit for—”

One of the executives slid a contract across the table. The letters on the page seemed to writhe.

“Sign here,” the man said. “In ink. Or blood. Either works.”

Jake sighed.

“…Does the position come with benefits?”

“401k, dental, and immortality.”

He picked up a pen.

“Well,” he muttered, “I suppose I’ve had worse jobs.”