Corporate Villainy: Trampling Protagonists as a Business Dad

Jin stood in the center of the store with his beggar like clothes, like a general addressing his troops, his chest puffed out with protagonist confidence. The crowd had quieted to a dull murmur, phones raised and recording, waiting for whatever earth-shattering revelation this delusional taxi driver was about to deliver.

"As I was saying," Jin announced with theatrical gravitas, "I am Jin Ashera, and I—"

That's when Vincent's 300 VP investment decided to make its grand debut.

BOOOOOOOOOOM!

The sound that erupted from Jin's ass could only be described as if someone had detonated a small nuclear device filled with the concentrated essence of every sewage treatment plant in the city. It wasn't just a fart—it was a biological weapon of mass destruction, a symphony of intestinal rebellion that shook the very foundations of the mall.

But the sound was only the beginning of a war.

What followed was an explosion that would have made military demolitions experts weep with envy. From Jin's trembling form erupted a geyser of brown devastation that defied every law of physics, gravity, and good taste. It was as if someone had loaded a cannon with liquid chocolate and fired it in every direction at once.

The first wave hit the sneering woman with the trowel makeup like a tsunami. 

"NOOOOOOO!" she screamed, her voice reaching octaves that could shatter crystal. "MY GERMÈS BAG! MY BOTOX! MY BLERRGGG!" she couldn't help but vomit on the man beside her.

The fat rich man, her sugar daddy, stood frozen for exactly 2.2 seconds before feeling something warm from his lover, his DO-or-DIE response kicked in. Unfortunately for his girlfriend, he chose DO and literally threw her toward the brown explosion like a human shield.

"Every man for himself!" he bellowed, attempting to sprint toward the exit with all the grace of a wounded pig.

But karma, much like Jin's rebellion, had impeccable timing.

SPLAT!

The rich man's Italian leather shoes, which probably cost more than the intern's monthly salary, found their perfect match in the slippery brown coating now decorating the marble floor. His feet went up, his body went horizontal, and gravity introduced him to the ground with the enthusiasm of a wrestling referee counting to ten.

He slid across the floor like he was base-stealing in the world's most disgusting baseball game, his expensive suit collecting brown samples like a scientific expedition gone horribly wrong.

The crowd's reaction was a masterpiece of human chaos.

"OH GOD, IT'S EVERYWHERE!" shrieked a woman, covering her designer handbag like she was protecting a small child.

"IS THAT... IS THAT LEGAL?" gasped a man, his face pale as he watched the continuing explosion.

"I AM NEVER EATING CHOCOLATE AGAIN!" wailed someone from the back.

A teenager who'd been recording everything for TikTok suddenly stopped mid-video. "Guys, I don't think this is going viral for the right reasons!"

The store's pristine glass walls, which had previously displayed luxury items with museum-like precision, now looked like abstract art created by someone with very questionable taste and a very powerful hose. Brown splatters decorated every surface in patterns that would have made modern artists jealous and health inspectors faint.

The smell hit next.

If the visual was a nuclear explosion, the olfactory assault was a chemical warfare attack. It was the kind of smell that bypassed your nose and attacked your soul directly. Imagine if someone had bottled the essence of every public restroom, mixed it with rotten eggs, and then set it on fire.

Helena, safe behind the glass wall outside the store, watched in horrified fascination as Vincent doubled over beside her—not from disgust, but from laughter so intense he couldn't breathe.

"Vincent!" she gasped, torn between horror and hysteria. "Did you... how did you... WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

Vincent couldn't answer. He was clutching his stomach, tears streaming down his face as he wheezed with laughter that bordered on madness. Every time he looked back at the chaos inside the store, another wave of laughter hit him like a tsunami.

Inside the store, the chain reaction was reaching critical mass.

The elderly man who'd called Jin's brains "scrambled eggs" was now proving his own point by projectile vomiting onto a rack of designer suits. "THIS.. THIS IS CRAZY!" he groaned between retches.

A group of college girls who'd been taking selfies were now running for their lives, their phones abandoned as they screamed in perfect harmony: "ABANDON SHIP! ABANDON SHIP!"

The business suit man who'd joked about Jin being Emperor of the Food Court was now crawling on his hands and knees toward the exit, muttering, "LONG LIVE THE EMPEROR! Just please make it stop!"

The art student who'd thought this was performance art was now reconsidering her entire education. "This isn't commentary on society," she gagged, "this is society's revenge on commentary!"

The teenage intern, Vincent's unwitting accomplice, stood frozen in the corner like a deer caught in the world's most disgusting headlights. Her wide eyes were fixed on the chaos she'd helped create, the 50,000 Rubi still clutched in her hands like blood money.

"I just wanted to pay for college," she whispered to herself, watching a designer mannequin get baptized in brown. "Not... not this. Anything but this."

The store employees were experiencing their own special brand of hell.

"I QUIT!" screamed the female employee who'd threatened to grovel like a medieval peasant. "I QUIT EVERYTHING! RETAIL, CAPITALISM, EXISTENCE ITSELF!"

"PLEASE STOP! I WON'T LAUGH AT YOU AGAIN. I BEG BHLARRG..."

The store manager, who'd gone white upon hearing Jin's name, was now experiencing a rainbow of colors as his face cycled through every stage of nausea known to medical science. "Mr. Ashera," he whispered weakly, "perhaps we could discuss your... ownership... after a thorough... cleaning?"

But Jin couldn't hear him. Jin couldn't hear anything over the sound of his own mortification and the continuing soundtrack of his digestive system's revolt.

The protagonist stood in the center of his brown kingdom, his face a masterpiece of devastation. His confident smirk had been replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated horror. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Where was his triumphant reveal? Where was his face-slapping moment? Where was his dignity now?

🔔 System Notification

▶Protagonist(Jin) has suffered great humiliation

▶ Jin LP: -150 ▶ Vincent LP: +150 ▶ VP: +400

🔔 System Notification

▶Protagonist(Jin) has lost his dignity in public

▶ Jin LP: -150 ▶ Vincent LP: +150 ▶ VP: +400

This can't be happening, Jin thought desperately, his mind racing through every protagonist manual he'd ever mentally consulted. The system promised me success! Wealth! Respect! Not... not this! Not becoming a human fountain in front of everyone!

Maybe if I just... if I just pretend this didn't happen... Jin thought, trying to maintain some shred of protagonist dignity. Maybe I can spin this somehow. Maybe this is all part of the system's plan!

But even his delusional optimism couldn't survive the next wave of explosions.

BOOM! SPLAT! SPLOSH!

The continuing eruptions sent fresh waves of brown devastation across the store, each one accompanied by sounds that would haunt the survivors' dreams for years to come. The marble floor was now a skating rink of shame, the designer clothing racks looked like they'd been attacked by a very angry and very incontinent army, and the air itself seemed to have given up and gone home.

A security guard appeared at the store entrance, took one look inside, and immediately called for backup. "We need hazmat teams. We need therapists. We need someone to explain to me how this is my job."

The crowd outside had swelled to impressive proportions, but they maintained a respectful distance—partly out of horror, partly out of self-preservation, and partly because the smell had achieved escape velocity and was threatening to contaminate the entire mall.

"Is that poor man still... still going?" asked a newcomer, pointing at Jin's continuing performance.

"He's like a broken fire hydrant," replied someone who'd been there from the beginning. "Except instead of water, it's... well, you can see for yourself."

🔔 System Notification

▶Protagonist(Jin) has instilled fear in the masses

▶ Jin LP: +50 ▶ Vincent LP: -50 

Vincent finally managed to catch his breath long enough to speak, wiping tears from his eyes. "Helena," he wheezed, "I think... I think I may have used too much elixir."

Helena stared at him with a mixture of awe and terror. "Vincent Cornelius," she said slowly, "you are absolutely diabolical. And I'm not sure if I should be horrified or impressed."

"Can't it be both?" Vincent grinned, watching as another wave of chaos erupted inside the store.

The fat rich man, meanwhile, had managed to crawl toward the exit, leaving a trail that looked like a very unappetizing snail's path. His girlfriend, abandoned and decorated in brown, was sitting on the floor in a state of shock, staring at her ruined designer everything.

"Reginald!" she wailed after her fleeing sugar daddy. "You left me! You left me in the poop storm!"

But Reginald was already sliding toward freedom, his dignity left somewhere back near the explosion site along with his Italian leather shoes and his will to live.

The continuing sounds from Jin's digestive system had taken on an almost musical quality—a symphony in B-flat major, if B stood for "biological warfare" and flat stood for "flattened by shame."

"MAKE IT STOP!" someone screamed from the crowd. "SOMEONE CALL A PRIEST! CALL A DOCTOR! CALL THE NATIONAL GUARD!"

"I don't think they're trained for this!" replied another voice. "This is beyond human help!"

A janitor appeared with a mop, took one look at the situation, and immediately turned around. "I don't get paid enough for biological disasters," he muttered. "I'm going to pretend I never saw this."

The intern, still clutching her 50,000 Rubi, had finally found her voice. "Mr. Cornelius!" she called out through the glass, her voice barely audible over the chaos. "I want a raise! And therapy! Mostly therapy!"

Vincent waved at her cheerfully, still chuckling at the magnificent chaos his investment had created.

Inside the store, Jin was experiencing what could only be described as a complete system failure—both biological and psychological. Every protagonist instinct he possessed was short-circuiting as he tried to process how his moment of triumph had turned into his moment of ultimate humiliation.

The brown explosion was finally beginning to subside, but the damage was complete. The store looked like it had been attacked by a very artistic but very sick army of lunatics, the survivors were traumatized beyond repair, and Jin stood in the center of it all like a defeated general surveying the aftermath of the world's most embarrassing battle.

The smell, however, showed no signs of retreat. If anything, it seemed to be getting stronger, like it was achieving sentience and developing a personal vendetta against everyone present.

"That's it," announced the security guard, backing away from the entrance. "This store is now a biohazard zone. Everyone out! EVERYONE OUT NOW!"

The great evacuation of Goojji had begun, and Vincent Cornelius, watched it all with the satisfaction of a man who'd just witnessed the greatest return on investment in human history.

300 VP well spent, indeed.