Mina learns forged reviews can summon dangerous decoys. Gilda Stamp records Mina's first official complaint filing.
Just after two in the morning, every phone in Neon Owl Call Center rang with Mina Park's voice screaming from the other end.
Not one voice. Thirteen. Each line used her exact tired rasp, her exact swallowed consonants, her exact customer-service apology stretched until it sounded like begging. The support-line queue filled so fast the dashboard stopped counting and displayed a red skull where average wait time should have been.
Juno Vale stood on her chair with a headset cord wrapped around one ankle. "Park, why are you calling yourself?"
Mina grabbed the nearest receiver. "I am not this annoying in surround sound."
The line clicked. Mina's copied voice whispered, "One star. Handler failed to prevent bites."
A complaint ticket shot from the printer and snapped at her face.
Domino leapt from the monitor, caught the ticket in midair, and tumbled across the desk in a storm of paper claws. Black ink sprayed the keyboard. The ticket shrieked, folded into a mouth, and tried to bite through Domino's stapled ear.
"Forged review," Mina said. "Trying to summon a decoy through my queue."
"How can you tell?" Juno yelled.
"Real customers start with the part where I ruined their life."
The ceiling lights flickered. More tickets burst from every printer tray. Some had Mina's name. Some had Mr. Grit's. One claimed Aunt Nari's dumpling cart had served "legally inadequate steam." Another accused Domino of "unauthorized paper texture." The review brokers were not even trying for subtle.
Then one ticket landed without biting.
It lay flat on Mina's desk, plain white, no gold dust, no copied voice. TRUE GRIEVANCE pulsed in faint gray letters.
Before she could touch it, the floor vent exploded upward. A man in a black raincoat unfolded from the duct like he had been stored there against policy. His grin showed too many pointed teeth, and each tooth had a tiny red stamp carved into it.
"Mina Park," he said. "Nox Harrow. Quality assurance."
Juno pointed at him. "You cannot be in the ventilation."
"Your building disagrees."
He flicked a stamp from his sleeve. It hit a forged ticket, and the paper grew legs. Around the office, fake complaint tickets skittered toward live phone lines.
Mina lifted the receiver. "Nox Harrow, are you the caller?"
Nox laughed. "I am the correction. You have been answering above your license."
"That is not an issue category."
"Try pain."
A ticket launched at Mina's hand. Mr. Grit erupted from the coffee spill beside her desk and took the bite on his asphalt forearm. Paper teeth sank in. He grimaced, then peeled the ticket off and slapped it onto the wall.
"Bad coupon," he growled.
Nox's smile thinned. "The pavement came back."
"Two-star service includes follow-up."
Mina grabbed her barcode wand. The office was chaos: Juno shouting metrics no one could meet, phones screaming with Mina's stolen voice, Domino chewing forged ratings until ink dripped from its whiskers, Mr. Grit pinning ticket-mouthed decoys under rolling chairs. Funny, humiliating, and expensive. Her dashboard had already dropped her customer ratings to 1.4.
Good. One-star territory had rules.
Mina climbed onto the desk.
"All real complainants," she shouted into the receiver, "state your grievance in your own voice. All forged reviews will be placed on hold forever."
The copied voices kept screaming.
The plain white ticket whispered once, small and furious: "He took my name."
Mina pointed the barcode wand at that ticket. "Domino, protect the quiet one."
Domino spat out three fake reviews and pounced. Nox moved first. His stamp flashed toward the true ticket, aiming to mark it forged. Mina swung the receiver cord around his wrist. It was not graceful. It was call-center equipment used with panic and rent stress. The cord caught. Mr. Grit yanked the other end.
Nox slammed into the copy machine.
The machine woke, scanned his face, and printed a page that said UNAUTHORIZED TEETH.
Juno, despite herself, laughed.
Mina slapped the barcode wand against Nox's fallen stamp. The stamp tried to bite the scanner light. The wand smoked, coughed, and printed a pattern: thirteen forged complaint tickets, one tooth-marked broker stamp, and a residue trail routed through the Underpass Bazaar to a Better Business Coven filing desk.
Nox twisted free. "Evidence means nothing if your customers hate you."
"Customers hate everyone," Mina said. "Specific complaints matter."
The quiet ticket brightened. Around the office, forged tickets curled at the edges. Without the real grievance hidden among them, they had no weight. Domino ate two. Mr. Grit sat on four. Juno whacked one with the employee handbook hard enough to leave a policy-shaped bruise.
Nox backed toward the vent, smile gone. "You will regret making monsters think they can organize."
"Please stay on the line for a short survey," Mina said.
He vanished into the duct with a hiss.
The last forged ticket dropped dead on the carpet. The support-line queue cleared to one active case. Mina's hands shook as she picked up the true ticket. The cost hit in waves: ruined equipment, worse ratings, an office full of witnesses, and a broker who now knew she could sort truth from bait.
The printer beside her gave one final, gentle click.
Gilda Stamp's name appeared on a Better Business Coven receipt, officially acknowledging Mina's first complaint filing.
Then the true ticket unfolded all the way.
CALLER ADDRESS: MINA PARK'S APARTMENT.
ISSUE: SOMETHING INSIDE WANTS TO BE HEARD.