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The fluorescent lights flickered, casting elongated shadows across the empty cubicles. The office hummed with the distant hum of air conditioning, and the clock on the wall stubbornly ticked toward midnight. Evan, the intern, hunched over his desk, bleary-eyed and determined. His laptop screen illuminated his face, the glow reflecting in his glasses.

The report was a beast—a monstrous compilation of data, charts, and projections. It was due on Monday morning, and Evan had promised himself he’d finish it tonight. His social life had long been sacrificed at the altar of corporate ambition. He was the intern—the lowly cog in the machine—desperate to prove himself.

And then she appeared.

Dr. Calliope Torres, the enigmatic CEO of Aurelia Dynamics, glided through the office like a wraith. Her tailored business suit clung to her frame, accentuating her power. Her jet-black hair cascaded down her back, and her eyes held secrets—ancient and unfathomable. The other employees whispered about her—rumors of deals struck in blood, of midnight pacts with unseen entities.

Tonight, she carried a mug of coffee, the steam curling around her perfectly manicured nails. She halted by Evan’s desk, her stiletto heels tapping a rhythm on the carpet. The air thickened, and Evan’s heartbeat echoed in his ears.

“Working late, Mr. Evans?” Her voice was a velvet blade. “Dedication is admirable. But tell me, do you have a life outside these walls? Friends? Family? Lovers?”

Evan stammered, his tongue tripping over itself. “I—I’m committed to the company, Dr. Torres. I want to make an impact.”

She leaned in, her eyes boring into his soul. “Ambition is a double-edged sword, Mr. Evans. Sacrifices must be made.” Her gaze flickered to the report. “Impress me.”

And then she was gone, her coffee-scented presence dissipating. Evan sat there, heart racing, wondering if he’d just encountered a demon in a business suit. The clock mocked him—time slipping away like sand through his fingers.

Hours later, as the moon peeked through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Evan put the finishing touches on the report. His eyes burned, but he’d done it. He’d slayed the beast. And then, a message popped up on his screen:

From: Dr. Calliope Torres
Subject: Urgent: Boardroom
Mr. Evans, come see me. Now.

His pulse raced. The boardroom—the heart of Aurelia Dynamics. The place where decisions were etched in stone, where fortunes were made or shattered. Evan stood, his legs trembling. The moonlight painted a path toward the boardroom door.

As he stepped inside, the room exuded opulence—the mahogany table gleaming, the leather chairs waiting. And there she was, silhouetted against the moon, her wings unfurling from her back. Black feathers rustled, and her short horns glinted.

“Mr. Evans,” she said, her voice echoing. “Your report. Impress me further.”

Evan swallowed, his ambition warring with fear. The demon CEO leaned back, her eyes inscrutable. The moonlight danced on her wings, and Evan wondered if he’d just sold his soul for a chance at success.

The moon hung low in the sky, its silver glow slicing through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the corporate boardroom. The mahogany table gleamed, and the leather-backed chairs stood empty, waiting. Dr. Calliopi Torres, her wings brushing against the moonlight, stood at the head of the room, her eyes fixed on Evan—the intern who’d dared to dance with demons.

“Midnight,” she murmured, her voice echoing like a forgotten incantation. “The witching hour, when the veil between worlds thins.”

Evan’s heart raced. He’d expected a private meeting, perhaps a chance to impress the CEO. But this—this was something else entirely. The room pulsed with unseen energy, and the air tasted of ancient secrets.

“Mr. Evans,” Calliope said, her gaze unyielding. “Your report—it’s more than data. It’s a gateway.”

He nodded, his throat dry. “I—I worked hard. I want to climb the ranks.”

“Ambition,” she whispered, “a flame that burns brighter in the dark. But success requires sacrifice.”

And then, as if summoned by her words, the room shifted. The chairs creaked, and Evan’s breath hitched. One by one, they appeared—the demonic board of directors. Their eyes glowed like embers, their forms twisted and shadowed. Each seat filled—an infernal symphony.

“Meet your colleagues,” Calliope said. “Mr. Mephistopheles, our CFO. Lilith, Head of Marketing. Beelzebub, Operations. And Asmodeus, Legal.”

Evan’s mind reeled. These weren’t mere executives. They were something older, hungrier. Their smiles promised power, but their eyes held abyssal depths.

“Your deal,” Calliope continued, “is simple. Success, wealth, influence—all yours. But when the time comes, you’ll cast your vote. A soul—a single name on the ledger.”

Evan glanced at the clock. It was just past midnight—the witching hour, indeed. “And if I refuse?”

Her laughter was like shards of glass. “Then you’ll remain an intern, forever chasing shadows.”

He thought of his family, his dreams, the life he’d left behind. “What’s the catch?”

“The catch?” Calliope's wings unfurled, eclipsing the moon. “You’ll see. Now, present your report. Impress them.”

Evan stepped to the podium, the demonic board watching. The slides danced—the numbers, the projections. His voice wavered, but he pushed forward. The room pulsed, and the infernal directors leaned in, their eyes hungry.

As he concluded, Calliope snapped her fingers. “Vote,” she commanded.

And in that moonlit boardroom, Evan cast his lot. The clock ticked, and the shadows whispered.

And so, the intern faced the demon in the boardroom, ready to negotiate his fate.

The boardroom air crackled with tension as Evan delivered his report. His voice, usually soft-spoken, now carried the weight of ambition. The infernal directors leaned forward, their eyes glowing like embers. Evan answered their questions with precision, each response a blade cutting through uncertainty.

“Profit margins?” asked Mr. Mephistopheles, his fingers tapping the table.

“Projected growth?” Lilith’s eyes bore into Evan’s soul.

“Market share?” Beelzebub’s voice rumbled like distant thunder.

And Evan—Evan answered. Short, quick, and to the point. The room pulsed, and the slides danced. The clock ticked, and the moonlight painted patterns on the floor.

When he concluded, Calliope snapped her fingers. The demonic board vanished—their forms dissolving into shadows. The room exhaled, and Evan stood alone, adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

“Impressive,” Calliope said, her wings folding neatly behind her. “You’ve danced with demons, Mr. Evans. Few survive.”

He wiped sweat from his brow. “What now?”

“Now?” She circled him, her eyes inscrutable. “Your ascent begins. Wealth, power, influence—they’re yours. But remember our pact. One soul, when the time comes. A name etched in darkness.”

The clock struck midnight—the witching hour. The room held its breath.

“Choose wisely, Evan,” Calliope whispered. “The abyss awaits.”

Evan’s pulse raced as he stared at the ledger that materialized on the polished mahogany table. Its pages were ancient, the ink shimmering like forgotten promises. The expensive pen lay beside it—a tool of fate, waiting for his signature.

Dr. Calliope Torres, her eyes twin pools of abyssal knowledge, sat across from him. Her business suit clung to her form, and the moonlight painted her wings in shades of midnight. The room held its breath, as if aware that deals struck here echoed through eternity.

“Negotiate,” she purred, her voice a siren’s song. “But remember, Evan, pushing your luck has consequences.”

He swallowed. The abyss yawned, and he teetered on its edge. “What do you want?”

Her smile was wicked, sensual. “Your loyalty, of course. Your unwavering service. And that soul—just one, a mere whisper in the cosmic winds.”

Evan traced the pen’s silver filigree. “And if I refuse?”

Calliope leaned in, her breath cool against his skin. “Then you’ll remain an intern, forever chasing shadows. But negotiate, Evan. Impress me further.”

The ledger beckoned—a ledger of souls, of bargains etched in blood. Evan’s ambition roared, drowning out the warning bells. He’d danced with demons, and now he’d waltz with fate.

“Let’s negotiate,” he said, his voice steady. “But remember, Dr. Torres, even demons can be outwitted.”

And so, the intern faced the demon CEO, ready to haggle for his soul.

And now the RP begins...