Brimstone Incorporated Review

"At Brimstone Inc., 'just doing your job' is our corporate motto," Gregory smiled, showing too many teeth. "But we don't hire just anyone. Our clients are... demanding. They don't want settlements. They want souls. They want the kind of misery that ripples through generations."

A man named Elias sat across from him, clutching a briefcase and sweating through his shirt. Elias had been a "fixer" for a Fortune 500 company, a man who made environmental lawsuits and whistleblower complaints disappear with a few well-placed threats and payoffs. Brimstone Incorporated

Gregory sat behind a desk of polished obsidian that seemed to swallow the dim fluorescent light of the office. He didn't look like a demon; he looked like a mid-level bureaucrat in a cheap polyester suit, the kind who enjoys denying insurance claims. On the door behind him, gold leaf lettering read: "At Brimstone Inc

Gregory gestured to the hallway behind them. From the shadows, the faint sound of a thousand telephones ringing—and a thousand people screaming in frustration—drifted into the room. "Then you join the Customer Service department. Permanently. They’ve been on hold since the 14th century." demanding

"Welcome to the team," Gregory purred as the office walls began to bleed. "Coffee is in the breakroom. It’s always boiling, and we’re fresh out of cream."

"Your resume is impressive, Elias," Gregory said, tapping a folder that smelled faintly of ozone. "The way you handled the Springfield chemical spill—truly inspired. You convinced an entire town they weren't sick, they were just 'under-hydrated.'"

Elias felt a cold dread settle in his chest. "I want to go home. Where is this? Is this Chicago?"