Mia shoots up like she's about to commit a felony, face redder than a stoplight. Hubby panics, starts backpedaling hard: "Babe, chill, it was just some glitch-in-the-matrix bullshit, everybody blacked out the details from yesterday, I swear!"
Sonya fake-coughs like she's dying.
"AHEM. Ray. Karl. Time for y'all crusty asses to evacuate this crime scene. Now."
Mia's still vibrating with rage, jabs a finger at the door like it owes her money.
"Get. The fuck. Out."
"Let's go, let's go, move your legs!" Sonya basically cattle-prods them toward the exit.
Ray and Karl pop up faster than popcorn, zero questions, zero eye contact. They shuffle out like scolded kids, door slams shut behind them.
Sonya casually drops that Ray's paycheck already hit. Ray's like… cool, at least the crumbs are in the account.
They hit the hallway toward the locker room. Karl immediately switches to low-key menace mode, smirking like he just found a loophole in life.
"Bro… if you had actually told your boss to eat shit back there? You'd be looking at real felony charges right now."
Ray's soul is already halfway to the shadow realm.
"The fuck for?"
Karl's grin turns demonic, eyes glittering.
"'Cause… Ray-piss."
Ray bluescreens for like five full seconds. Face cycles through confusion → squint → pure disgust → realization.
"…You actual piece of shit."
Karl's cackling like a hyena, slapping Ray's shoulder.
"Took you long enough! Man, you only remember us yapping about pull-ups and dips. Meanwhile I remember you gassing up my stand-up set for tonight like a hype man on bath salts."
Ray stops dead in the hallway.
"Stand-up? You? Where the hell at?"
Karl throws his head back all cocky.
"New cafe my uncle just opened. I'm opening the night, first slot, full send. Too bad your janitor ass is stuck on graveyard shift now, loser."
Ray exhales like he's deflating. Shakes his head, keeps walking.
"Aight, good fucking luck, comedian. Pray nobody yeets a beer bottle at your dome."
Right as Ray's about to duck into the locker room for another thrilling shift of mopping piss, Karl yanks his arm back.
"Yo hold up. Even if you sprint to the bathroom right now… you still might catch a case."
Ray already knows the incoming war crime. Just stares, dead inside.
"…Hit me."
Karl throws up a double thumbs-up like a proud dad.
"'Cause… Ray-pee."
Ray loses it. Both hands shoot skyward.
"Get the FUCK outta my face, you walking dad-joke virus!" He's windmilling his arms like he's swatting away a swarm of bees.
Karl's howling, about to sprint off, but Ray finally snaps back with one last shot, voice dripping sarcasm.
"Yo Karl, you know what you are? A lite version of the guy whose ideas straight-up wrecked entire countries."
Karl pauses mid-laugh, tilts his head.
"The hell? Why?"
Ray smirks for the first time, deadpan and savage.
"Because you're Karl... but rather than have marks as last, you just got a tiny marker to blast."
Karl squints hard, processes for a beat… then his face twists in pure horror and shock as it clicks.
"Bro… get that niche shit outta your ass!"
Karl finally bolts down the hall, still cracking up but now half-traumatized.
"Catch you tomorrow, you salty bitch! I'm dropping the clip on my story—better like, comment, share, and subscribe, broski!"
Ray stands alone in the fluorescent-lit hallway of despair, shaking his head.
"Why the hell did I just catch dad-joke disease from that lunatic?"
He mutters "fucking idiot" under his breath, then slips into the locker room with the world's tiniest, most defeated sigh.