A muffled groan escaped the counter lady as consciousness reluctantly returned. She blinked rapidly, disoriented by the unfamiliar sound of voices in the perpetually empty lobby. Instinctively wiping a trail of drool from her chin, she straightened her posture with theatrical swiftness, as though she hadn't been caught sleeping on duty.
"Welcome," she announced, her face splitting into a smile that revealed an unsettling number of teeth, "to the gateway of transformation!"
The woman—whose brass nameplate identified her as "Brenda, Junior Acquisitions Specialist"—beckoned them closer with eager fingers. Her eyes, now fully alert, assessed them with naked mercantile interest. Each nod, each glance at their attire seemed to calculate potential profit with startling precision.
