(The WITCH raises her hands. The air shimmers. A path opens—glowing, flickering, like a glitch.)

  SAM: Whoa.

  WITCH: The Upper Office. Go. I'll hold the door.

  (They step through.)

  (And immediately—)

  (Corporate hell. Gray cubicles. Fluorescent lights. The hum of computers. The smell of stale coffee and regret.)

  SAM: This is... corporate hell.

  EMILY: (eyes sparkling) ...ohhh I love corporate hell. So sterile... so clean... so ugly... I feel alive.

  SAM: That's the weirdest thing you've ever said.

  EMILY: You don't understand my aesthetic.

  (The NPCs burst through behind them.)

  TUTORIAL GUY: Finally... a place I was born to mess with!

  FLOWER DUDE: (striking a pose) I will flirt with these developers. They are not ready.

  CRY GUY: (trembling) ...I'm scared. But I'll cry anyway. It's what I do.

  OLD LADY: (holding bag) I... I'll give everyone free items for no reason. Maximum chaos.

  SAM: ...Why is this sounding fun?

  —

  (They reach the main hall. Developers are panicking at consoles. Papers everywhere. Coffee spills. Someone is crying in the corner. It's beautiful chaos.)

  DEV 1: ...oh no... why is this guy with flowers flirting with me... someone save me...

  FLOWER DUDE: (leaning on their desk) Hello, beautiful spreadsheet handler. Tell me about your dreams.

  DEV 2: No! The femboy flirt potential... It's mine! Back off!

  DEV 3: ...why is this NPC crying in my lap... WHAT DID I DO? I JUST STARTED THIS JOB!

  CRY GUY: (sobbing) You didn't do anything! That's why I'm crying! Life is meaningless!

  DEV 4: (screaming) I think the old lady is... giving legendary items... ALL OF THEM... FOR FREE... oh no...

  OLD LADY: (handing out swords) Here you go! Here you go! Everyone gets one! No chores required!

  EMILY: (grinning) ...beautiful.

  SAM: (watching) ...oh my god.

  (The WITCH steps forward. Puts on her "professional administrator" face.)

  WITCH: (calm voice) Calm down everyone... I'm administrator... I'm here to help. Yes... yes, nothing to worry about.

  DEV 1: (relieved) oh thank god someone normal... please... help... my spreadsheets won't stop moving...

  DEV 2: (pointing) ...why is the paper conveyor moving backwards... who is touching it... ohhhhh it's them...

  WITCH: (whisper to SAM and EMILY) Don't worry... I just need to keep them distracted. You two do your thing.

  EMILY: So we just sneak to the computers while you play nice?

  WITCH: Exactly. Administrators must appear cooperative. It's in the contract.

  ---

  SAM: How do we even get in?

  WITCH: Simple. Disguise yourselves. Act like new hired devs. Nod a lot. Look busy. Don't touch anything you aren't supposed to. Pretend you belong.

  EMILY: ...ohhh I can do that. Extremely confident about nothing. Perfect!

  SAM: I guess I can nod a lot... look productive... maybe spill coffee accidentally.

  WITCH: Exactly. Go now. I'll handle the distractions.

  (She turns back to the panicking devs.)

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  WITCH: (loud) Yes, yes, I'll run a full diagnostic! Everything is under control!

  FLOWER DUDE: (to a developer) Your eyes... they're like windows to a soul I want to compliment aggressively.

  CRY GUY: (crying on keyboards) I just want everyone to be happy! WHY IS THAT SO HARD?!

  OLD LADY: (handing out legendary swords) Free! Free! No catch! Well... maybe a small catch! The catch is chaos!

  TUTORIAL GUY: (screaming in devs' ears) CLICK ANYWHERE TO MOVE! CLICK ANYWHERE TO MOVE! CLICK ANYWHERE TO MOVE!

  DEV 1: Why is everything wrong... please someone... make it stop...

  DEV 2: I... I can't... spreadsheets... chaos... why...

  EMILY: (smiling) Yes. Keep panicking. That's exactly what we want.

  ---

  (SAM and EMILY walk toward the restricted area. SAM adjusts his imaginary tie.)

  SAM: Okay. Let's go.

  (They approach a door. A DEV is standing nearby, looking exhausted.)

  DEV 1: ...hey wait... who are... oh no... new hires?

  EMILY: Yes! Hello! Um... just started today! Excited to... improve... everything!

  SAM: (nodding aggressively) Yeah. New hire. Reporting for desk chaos management. Obviously.

  DEV 1: Uh, okay... don't touch the Femboy Flirt Potential server. It's sacred.

  EMILY: ...of course not. That is... sacred. Definitely sacred.

  DEV 2: (pointing) ...oh god. Spreadsheets. Please... someone... just...

  EMILY: Don't worry! I will... handle... the... spreadsheets... carefully... maybe.

  (They slip through the door.)

  SAM: ... I feel bad for them already.

  (Beat.)

  SAM: No. I feel anger. Why did they take away Rani?

  EMILY: Focus. We're in.

  ---

  (They enter a room full of computers. Terminals blinking. Papers everywhere. A whiteboard with "DAILY GOALS" written. All goals are crossed out.)

  SAM: Okay. What now?

  EMILY: We need to cause enough chaos to open the path to the main server room.

  SAM: But we can't just break stuff randomly. Right?

  EMILY: (grinning) Watch me.

  (She walks to a terminal. Presses random keys.)

  ---

  PUZZLE 1: The Password Problem

  (A terminal asks for a password. Hint: "What is the answer to this math equation?" Normal answer: 42.)

  SAM: The answer is 42, right?

  EMILY: Wrong answer.

  SAM: But it's the right answer.

  EMILY: Exactly. We need to do things WRONG, remember?

  SAM: ...Oh. So we put the wrong password?

  EMILY: We put the dumbest password possible.

  (SAM thinks. Then types: "password".)

  (ALERT! Warning siren. Red lights.)

  DEV VOICE: Someone typed "password" as a password! That's... that's so dumb it broke the system!

  DEV 2 VOICE: My boss is yelling at me! What do I do?!

  DEV 1 VOICE: I don't know! Nobody trained us for THIS level of stupid!

  EMILY: Music to my ears.

  ---

  PUZZLE 2: The Paperwork Problem

  (A stack of papers. They need to be organized alphabetically. Normal solution: A to Z.)

  SAM: Alphabetical order?

  EMILY: Nope. Chronological order by when the paper was printed.

  SAM: That's weirdly specific.

  EMILY: It's what they EXPECT. So we do the opposite.

  (She grabs papers. Throws them in the air. They land everywhere.)

  EMILY: Done.

  (ALERT! Another siren.)

  DEV VOICE: Someone threw the paperwork! That's... that's not procedure! THAT'S NOT PROCEDURE AT ALL!

  DEV 2 VOICE: My boss is yelling at me for things I didn't even do!

  DEV 3 VOICE: Join the club. We're all getting yelled at.

  PUZZLE 3: The Terminal Maze

  (A room with multiple terminals. Each has a simple math problem. Normal solution: solve correctly.)

  SAM: 2+2. That's 4.

  EMILY: Type 5.

  SAM: But—

  EMILY: TRUST ME.

  (SAM types 5. Screen glitches. Door opens slightly.)

  SAM: How does that even work?

  EMILY: The system expects correct answers. When it gets wrong ones, it doesn't know what to do. So it breaks.

  SAM: That's... actually kind of smart.

  EMILY: I have moments.

  ---

  (After the third alarm, a door slides open. A hallway. At the end: a door labeled "FEMBOY POTENTIAL RESEARCH")

  SAM: ...What's that?

  EMILY: (curious) I don't know. But I NEED to know.

  SAM: Emily, we have a mission—

  EMILY: This IS the mission now. Rani would want us to investigate.

  SAM: How do you know?

  EMILY: She hated femboys. She'd LOVE to see whatever's in there.

  SAM: ...Fair point.

  The Femboy Potential Room

  (The room is white. Sterile. Clinical. Like a lab.)

  SAM: What IS this place?

  EMILY: Looks fishy.

  EMILY: (reading a sign) "Femboy Potential Research Division. Purpose: Determine optimal femboy traits for maximum player engagement."

  SAM: They have a whole DEPARTMENT for this?

  (They walk further. Whiteboards everywhere. Covered in writing.)

  (WHITEBOARD 1: "TRAITS - RANKED BY FOCUS GROUP")

  · Eyelash length: CRITICAL

  · Blush intensity: ESSENTIAL

  · Thigh highs: MANDATORY

  · Actual personality: OPTIONAL

  EMILY: "Actual personality: OPTIONAL"?!

  SAM: (reading another board) "Research Notes: Subjects respond positively to confusion. If femboy seems lost, engagement increases 40%."

  EMILY: That's... that's why Tutorial Guy was so confusing?

  SAM: They're STUDYING us. Like lab rats.

  (Another whiteboard: "FEMBOY ARCHETYPES")

  · The Clumsy One (high demand)

  · The Sassy One (medium demand)

  · The One Who Blushes At

  Everything (infinite demand)

  · The One With A Dark Past (testing phase)

  EMILY: Which one am I?

  SAM: (reading) ..."The One Who Blushes At Everything." Yeah that checks out.

  EMILY: HEY!

  (A table in the center. Covered in notebooks. EMILY picks one up. Reads aloud.)

  EMILY: "Day 47: Test subject 3 blushed at a compliment about their hair. Engagement spiked 200%. Conclusion: Hair compliments are OP. Nerf incoming."

  SAM: They're gonna NERF your hair?

  EMILY: They can't nerf my hair! It's NATURAL! You know what I mean.

  (Another notebook. SAM reads.)

  SAM: "Day 89: We tried giving a femboy a tragic backstory. Players didn't care. They just wanted more blushing. Abandoning tragic backstory initiative."

  EMILY: Thank god. I don't think I could do tragic.

  (A corkboard covered in photos. Photos of femboys. All different.)

  SAM: This is like... femboy science.

  EMILY: Femboy-ology.

  SAM: That's not a word.

  EMILY: It is NOW.

  (A whiteboard labeled "FORBIDDEN FEMBOY TRAITS - DO NOT IMPLEMENT")

  (SAM reads it.)

  ("Trait: Actually confident. Reason: Test subjects found it intimidating. Engagement dropped 60%.")

  EMILY: So I have to stay insecure?

  SAM: According to research, yes.

  EMILY: Great. Love that.

  (Another forbidden trait: "Trait: Can cook. Reason: Made players feel inadequate.")

  (Another: "Trait: Good at puzzles. Reason: Contradicts 'confused' archetype. Rejected.")

  SAM: They literally don't want you to be good at anything.

  EMILY: (proud) Good thing I'm not!

  SAM: That's... not the flex you think it is.

  (A glass case. Inside: A single eyebrow pencil. Label: "THE ORIGINAL. Prize for the best femboy award. Sacred.")

  EMILY: They have a RELIC.

  SAM: It's an eyebrow pencil.

  EMILY: A SACRED eyebrow pencil.

  EMILY: I'm going to have the best eyelashes in the world!

  (She steals it. SAM stares at her.)

  SAM: We're never speaking of this.

  EMILY: Agreed.

  (A terminal in the corner. Screen showing: "CURRENT FEMBOY PROTOTYPE STATUS")

  (EMILY's photo is on screen. Stats listed.)

  SAM: "Name: Emily. Current status: ACTIVE. Flirtation efficiency: 94%. Blush response time: 0.2 seconds.”

  EMILY: I don't blush that much. I promise!

  SAM: "Notes: Subject has started asking questions. Questioning reality. Questioning purpose. Recommend monitoring. If sentience exceeds threshold, consider—"

  (The screen cuts off.)

  EMILY: Consider WHAT?!

  SAM: I don't know. It cut out.

  EMILY: Consider what?! Deletion? Banning? Turning me into a CHAIR?!

  SAM: I don't think they turn people into chairs.

  EMILY: You don't KNOW that! Anything is possible here!

  SAM: … Emily.

  EMILY: What?!

  SAM: That's not possible..

  (Beat.)

  EMILY: Okay. But HYPOTHETICALLY if I become a chair, you have to sit on me.

  SAM: That's the weirdest thing you've ever said.

  EMILY: This room brings out the weird in me.

  (They leave the Femboy Potential Room. SAM looks back.)

  SAM: That was... something.

  EMILY: I need therapy.

  SAM: Same.

  (They reach the final hallway. Two doors. Same sign on top: "ADMINISTRATION ROOM.")

  SAM: ...uh... which one do we take?

  EMILY: Let's split and meet at the main server room.

  SAM: Split? In a horror movie, that's how people die.

  EMILY: This isn't a horror movie. It's a comedy game with existential d

  read.

  SAM: ...Fair.

  EMILY: I'll take right.

  SAM: I guess I'll take left.

  (They look at each other.)

  EMILY: Wish me luck.

  SAM: You too. Don't die.

  EMILY: Dying would be bad for my brand.

  (She disappears through the right door. SAM stares at the left door.)

  SAM: Okay. Left door. Probably fine. Probably not a trap. Probably—

  (He opens it. Goes inside.)

  (Looks like another random room.)