The quarterly employee satisfaction survey had escaped containment.
This was unfortunate.
Not because Lord Malachai had distributed it.
That part was normal.
The problem was that copies had somehow found their way into the hands of:
rival villain organizations,
mercenary groups,
evil cults,
independent contractors,
three heroes,
two journalists,
and a confused pizza delivery driver.
Nobody knew how.
Most suspected Hex.
Hex denied everything.
Which convinced absolutely nobody.
---
The annual Villain Support Staff Networking Conference had already been a questionable idea.
The fact that it was held inside a neutral underground convention center made it worse.
The fact that refreshments were sponsored by a necromancer organization somehow made it even worse.
A henchwoman from a rival villain organization stared at the survey.
"...You get dental?"
The Malachai employee nodded.
"Yes."
"For combat injuries?"
"Yes."
"...How?"
The employee blinked.
"Why wouldn't we?"
The rival henchwoman looked like she might cry.
---
Another table was having its own crisis.
"Wait."
A cultist looked horrified.
"You people get paid vacation?"
"Twenty-one days."
The cultist slowly lowered his drink.
"...We get robes."
Silence followed.
A mercenary patted his shoulder.
"I'm so sorry."
---
The comparisons continued.
"What is the worst thing Lord Malachai has ever done?"
A veteran henchman immediately answered.
"He corrected my spreadsheet."
The table waited.
"...And?"
"It was thirty-seven pages."
The entire table went silent.
A mad scientist assistant whispered:
"My god."
---
Several tables away another discussion had broken out.
The topic:
A suspicious new hire.
A mercenary leaned forward.
"I'm ninety percent sure our newest employee is five raccoons in a trench coat."
The room immediately paid attention.
"Explain."
"He never removes the coat."
Reasonable.
"He hisses when startled."
Concerning.
"He stole an entire bag of grapes."
Very concerning.
"He sleeps in a storage closet."
The room became thoughtful.
One of Malachai's henchwomen nodded slowly.
"Those are strong raccoon indicators."
"THANK YOU."
The mercenary looked vindicated.
---
A cultist frowned.
"Have you checked?"
"We tried."
Everyone leaned forward.
The mercenary looked haunted.
"He bit Carl."
The room immediately accepted this explanation.
---
The discussion somehow escalated into payroll concerns.
A representative from Malachai's organization raised a hand.
"Hypothetically."
Everyone looked toward him.
"If five raccoons can perform assigned duties, maintain attendance requirements, complete tax forms, and meet productivity expectations..."
The room waited.
"...why would they not qualify as an employee?"
Silence.
Absolute silence.
A necromancer assistant slowly whispered:
"...I hate that this makes sense."
---
The conversation somehow became worse.
Which was impressive.
A rival henchwoman slammed her drink onto the table.
"You think that's weird?"
Everyone nodded.
She ignored them.
"We have an invisible henchwoman."
The room froze.
"...Permanently?"
"Yes."
"Oh."
The room collectively agreed that was complicated.
---
The woman rubbed her temples.
"She's the only employee not required to wear the organization uniform."
A mercenary frowned.
"Why?"
The henchwoman pointed dramatically.
"Because nobody can tell if she's wearing it!"
The convention immediately descended into chaos.
---
"That's discrimination."
"No, it's practical."
"It's still discrimination."
"How do you even verify compliance?"
"Trust."
"She's a villain."
"Fair."
---
A necromancer assistant raised a finger.
"...Do you know where she is right now?"
The woman looked around nervously.
"No."
The entire table became uncomfortable.
---
A henchman from an evil overlord organization frowned.
"Wait."
"What?"
"How do you know she's only one person?"
The room became silent.
The invisible henchwoman's supervisor slowly lowered his coffee.
"...What?"
"You've never seen her."
"..."
"You've never counted her."
"..."
"You've never verified anything."
"..."
The supervisor stood up immediately.
"I need to make several phone calls."
---
Three tables away a Malachai employee looked genuinely confused.
"This seems solvable."
Everyone turned.
"How?"
"Require her to wear a name tag."
The room stared.
"..."
"..."
"..."
The employee frowned.
"What?"
A rival henchwoman pointed accusingly.
"WHERE WOULD SHE WEAR IT?"
The employee opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
Closed it.
---
"...I had not thought that far ahead."
---
Meanwhile, back at Guild Headquarters.
Captain Vale stared at a copy of the survey.
Director Chen stared at another.
Neither knew how they had obtained them.
Neither was willing to ask.
The responses were deeply concerning.
---
What is the greatest workplace hazard?
Response:
> Hex.
Another:
> Hex.
Another:
> Definitely Hex.
Another:
> Please stop asking. It's Hex.
Vale looked up.
"...Who is Hex?"
Chen immediately closed the file.
"We don't have enough time."
---
Another response caught Vale's attention.
Management communication effectiveness?
> Lord Malachai once explained a six-month logistics strategy using twelve spreadsheets and a laser pointer.
Vale stared.
"...Why does that sound believable?"
---
Across the city, Elara sat with her own survey.
She disliked surveys.
The survey disliked her.
The feeling was mutual.
---
What workplace improvements would you suggest?
Elara wrote:
> Fewer meetings.
---
Additional comments?
Elara wrote:
> Hex.
---
Any concerns?
Elara considered carefully.
Then wrote:
> More Hex.
---
Several hours later Hex somehow obtained a copy.
He framed it.
---
By evening the completed surveys finally reached Lord Malachai.
Everyone was nervous.
The entire organization understood one terrifying fact:
The Dark Lord actually read feedback.
Every word.
Every suggestion.
Every complaint.
Every concern.
He read all of it.
Which was somehow more frightening than random evil.
---
Malachai sat silently reviewing hundreds of responses.
No one dared interrupt.
Several managers waited nearby.
Sweating.
Then finally:
"I see."
Nobody liked those words.
---
"Employee break rooms will be expanded."
The managers blinked.
"What?"
"Several departments requested additional space."
The room stared.
---
"Additional counseling resources will be allocated."
"...Sir?"
"The request appears reasonable."
---
"Coffee quality concerns will be reviewed."
The managers looked horrified.
Someone had actually complained the coffee was too good.
---
Hours later the policy changes were announced.
Panic spread immediately.
A veteran henchman stared at the update.
Then whispered:
"I liked things better when I thought the Dark Lord was evil."
Another nodded.
"Me too."
A third sighed.
"He's a middle manager with apocalypse-level powers."
The room became quiet.
Because that was somehow the most terrifying description anyone had heard all year.
---
Several days later a new survey response arrived anonymously.
Nobody knew where it came from.
The message contained only one sentence.
> I am the invisible employee. Stop asking questions.
Three villain organizations launched investigations.
One hero organization launched an investigation.
A cult accidentally investigated itself.
Nothing was discovered.
Meanwhile, somewhere in the world, an invisible henchwoman stole another muffin.
And five raccoons in a trench coat successfully completed their quarterly performance review.
Nobody ever proved either incident had happened.
Which, according to villain support staff everywhere, was exactly what made them suspicious.