[The Omniverse - Abyssal Outpost 42 / HR Division]
The morale in Abyssal Outpost 42 was at absolute zero.
Crushed by predatory student loans, paid in worthless Company Scrip, and forced to buy overpriced dongles, the hero workforce was collapsing. In the last forty-eight hours, productivity had plummeted by thirty percent.
Princess Ignis paced back and forth in the outpost's command bunker, her demonic tail lashing against the obsidian floor.
"Victor, they are breaking," Ignis warned, slamming a glowing analytics report onto the mahogany desk. "We have heroes intentionally walking into Void-Spider nests because dying is cheaper than paying their interest rates. If you do not authorize a five-percent wage increase or lower their quotas, the entire labor supply will self-terminate!"
Victor Thorne sat calmly, his leather gloves creaking as he steepled his fingers. Seraphina stood beside him, her violet eyes scanning the grim data.
"A wage increase is a permanent, compounding liability, Ignis," Victor said smoothly, entirely devoid of empathy. "If we pay them more, we establish a precedent that suffering yields financial reward. We do not negotiate with despair."
"Then how do we stop the suicides?!" Ignis demanded.
"We deploy gamified Human Resources," Victor tapped his gold-nibbed pen against the Tycoon's Ledger. "Seraphina. Mandate a mandatory Wellness Seminar. And authorize a Corporate Pizza Party."
An hour later, the exhausted, starving heroes were herded into the outpost's sterile, gray cafeteria. They looked up with faint, pathetic hope as automated repo-skeletons wheeled in dozens of flat cardboard boxes.
Victor stood on a raised podium, projecting his Tycoon's Aura over the miserable crowd.
"Contractors of Abyssal Dynamics," Victor's voice echoed through the PA system. "We recognize your hard work. You are a family. To show our deep appreciation for your record-breaking Q3 profits, management has authorized this morale event."
The skeletons opened the boxes. Inside were cold, gelatinous squares of synthetic dough topped with unidentifiable, gray nutritional paste.
The heroes stared in absolute silence.
"Each contractor is permitted exactly one slice," Victor instructed, checking his gold pocket watch. "You have five minutes to consume your morale. Additionally, because this counts as a mandatory corporate wellness seminar, the cost of the pizza—priced at three hundred Pantheon Bucks per slice—has already been automatically deducted from your wages."
Leo the hero fell to his knees, staring at his gray slice of pizza, his spirit finally, totally breaking.
"You charged them for the appreciation party?" Ignis whispered in horror from the VIP balcony.
"Technically, the pizza is legally classified as edible industrial waste, allowing me to claim a massive corporate tax write-off," Victor adjusted his midnight-blue cuffs. "Morale is restored. Get them back in the mines."