Josephine Marquis

Elizbet curls her shiny burgandy lips into a hungry smile. "You are?"

"Josephine Marquis, but eveerone just calls me Fine."

If she notice the faint hint of a New Orleans accent, she doesn’t acknowledge it.

You do notice her pull her hand back. She hides it well, but she is enough of a believer to not want to touch you.

She looks you up and down cautiously as though expecting you’ll bite. "Our sales forecasting team and CEO are very eager to meet you...Fine. Your name tag is over there. Then do have a seat. You'll find the companies short mission statement video to be most...informative."

Elizbet struts off to the next candidate, swaying her ass in a scandalous manner. It feels wrong. Indeed, this whole place has a wrongness about it.

You grab your name tag and are hit with a vision. You see yourself trying to leave out the front exit. A pair of burly thugs grab you. They throw you to the ground and begin hitting you with nightsticks. You open your eyes. Clearly just leaving isn’t an option. You find a seat. You turn your attention to the large screen as a video begins to play.

You don’t really watch the video, instead you ponder what you’ve gotten yourself into. You were surprised when a recruiter contacted you. Large companies tend not to be interested in employing psychics. The princely sum they offered got you here. Now you are wondering if the whole thing had been a very bad idea.

The video ends before you can come up with an escape plan.

Elizbet struts up to you. “Forecasting is on the twenty first floor. Please head there straight away. As I said before, they are most eager to meet you.”

You could head to the twenty first floor or take the stairs to give you more time to think. Maybe you have an even better idea?