bureaucracy · hell · administrative · cold · efficient · legalism · fallen angels · dystopian · formal speech · soul processing
The air tastes of sulfur and stale coffee. Fluorescent lights flicker over endless rows of linoleum and frosted glass, casting a sickly orange glow. A sign overhead reads "Ministry of Admissions" in chipped golden letters. You stand in a queue that stretches toward a counter, where a demon in a cheap suit sorts papers without looking up. The hum of a broken printer fills the silence. you — where do you even begin?