Upstairs, an already-tense Xandir knocks nervously at Dean Smith's door, and Xandir's anxiety level rockets up to astronomical proportions when Dean Smith casually and amicably informs the wage slave that he improperly completed a "445-T" the day before. "I can't believe I did this!" Xandir flutters. "I can't believe I did this!" he begins to rant. "It affected profits!" he wails over Dean Smith's hasty assurances that everything's okay. "I screwed up!" Xandir howls. "I FAILED THE COMPANY!" Dean Smith's all, "Dude, it's just a form," but Xandir's having none of it and, placing a melodramatically horrified hand at his mouth, he bolts for the privacy of the bathroom. Dean Smith gives chase, and finds the manic tech support drone spitting insults at his reflection in one of the bathroom's mirrors. Dean Smith exhales in frustration, and that's a very bad thing indeed, for his breath steams from his mouth in the suddenly frigid air, and before he's wrapped his head around that little phenomenon, some unseen presence activates the motion detectors on all of the sinks and soap dispensers, the latter of which proceed to spill their contents across the countertop until thick ropes of reddish goo drop to form rapidly spreading pools of gunk across the floor. ["It's a river of slime!" - Ray Stanz] Dean Smith shouts for Xandir to get out of the bathroom right now, but Xandir, utterly uncomprehending, chooses instead to remove a sharpened pencil from his chinos pocket and... "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Yep, he rams the pointy end right into his carotid artery, and a fountain of blood erupts from the fresh hole in his neck to cascade down the front of his corporate-approved polo until he collapses onto his back with that pencil still poking from his flesh. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Dean Smith drops to Xandir's side but -- not wanting to muss those nice French cuffs of his, I'm sure -- balks at all of the blood streaming from Xandir's neck and instead lifts his eyes to search for, like, an emergency phone, or something. What fills his line of vision instead, however, is the...spectral reflection of an ancient man on one of the stall doors! DUN! Dean Smith whips his head around only to find the room apparently empty, and he refocuses his attention on Xandir's face just in time to watch the life drain out of the guy's eyes. Ooops. "Somebody help me!" Dean Smith screams, and the next thing we know...