The Wretched Rite - Round Three - DSRS Darwin

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

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SpoilerHello, I am replacing in to write for Taelia Omenguard. Let's get this moving.

The Omen simply stared at the demonbot. It had said "Final Reckoning", but in a tone of voice more suited for the words "Bake Sale".
"The Final Reckoning," The Omen said eventually.
"Yes. The Godbot shall descend upon the wicked and pass judgement. And then Inferno Alpha shall be rent asunder, her mission complete. Oh my, we're going to make a lot of money off this one."
"What."
"Do you have any idea how rarely you get the chance to die in a fiery apocalypse? We have five thousand new arrivals headed this way as we speak, and each of them has paid a small fortune for the privilege."
"Wait, you're selling tickets to the Apocalypse?"
"Just for new arrivals. All of the currently-damned will be able to join in for free, but if they want to keep their pattern around so they can continue the cycle of torment in Inferno Beta, that costs extra."
"Inferno Beta?"
"Why so surprised? We're still going to be in demand. Of course we'll need to build a new one. They'll probably advertise it as 'Now with 200% more eternal torment' or something along those lines. It's going to be expensive, but we stand to make a sizable profit from the Final Reckoning. More than enough to cover the expenses."
The robot paused and pulled a small device out of its desk and glanced at it, pushing buttons in a seemingly haphazard manner.
"But that's just business. Right now, we've got to pick out a job for you. Normally you'd get something entry-level, but as I said, it's the Final Reckoning. We've never done one of these before, so we could use the extra demonpower just in case there are unexpected problems."
The Omen sighed. It was supposed to be a force for ultimate evil, not a paper-pusher in someone else's apocalypse! But a quick glance at the tightly-sealed door to the office suggested that agreeing to this nonsense would be the simplest way out.
"...let's see... oh, dear, we never got around to filling that position. It's a good thing you arrived, that could have been a real problem."
"What?"
"One moment." The robot pressed a button and a small slip of paper emerged from its device. The Omen recognized it as a contract, though one written in words it could barely understand.
"Just sign there and you'll be our new Assistant Executive Liaison Third Class."
The words confused the Omen, and a contract was not something to be taken lightly. Regardless, there was little choice at the moment. Grudgingly, it signed.
"All right, so what do I do?"
"Oh, it's simple. You see, everything I told you about the profits we stand to make from this... well, the Godbot isn't programmed to consider those points."
"Er. You mean it's just going to destroy the place?"
"Correct. So, as Assistant Executive Liaison, it is your responsibility to delay the Final Reckoning until we've got the database transmitted and have our new customers ready to die horribly. Best of luck!"

Before the Omen could speak another word, its new "employer" had shoved it out of the office. In the distance, it could see the towering figure of the Godbot, and four other massive machines by His side.
"I am never signing another contract again," it grumbled.