Those invited to the stage did not waste their chance on speeches or flattery. They spoke about the traps that hid in plain ink.
Expiration dates buried in fine print. Terms that rewrote themselves the moment a signature dried.
Partial termination rights triggered by mundane faults. Notice windows so short that looked logical on the surface.
In the stands and on the arena benches, people listened like their lives depended on it.
Some gaped at the absurdity. Some scribbled until their fingers cramped.
Some went red with remembered anger, seeing the exact words that had once been used to take their coin, their labor, their time.
Yet no one turned that anger on Eldric. If anything, the crowd's heat shifted sideways, toward the world that had taught them to trust paper.
Goldman, the last presenter, stepped up and showed an exploit so clean it felt like a sin.
A man could be nudged into selling himself, and then his family, without a single line that ever admitted it outright.
