Open mouths, empty heads, big bytes.

They gave Darby Skelm an eternity. A sentient cube named Gløøb. An escalator that goes nowhere. Tax forms with teeth. The Infinite Office doesn't break you with violence — it breaks you with paperwork.

The bureaucrats expected him to suffer. They filed the forms. They scheduled the despair. They did not schedule what happens when a man decides his punishment is performance art.

Darby's not escaping the loop. He's directing it.

When the void watches you push a cube up a glitching escalator forever, you have two choices: comply, or make it weird enough that the void starts taking notes.

The ledger's about to balance. Just not the way anyone filed for.