The Final Stamp

READ THEM. JUDGE THEM. SEND THEM DOWN.

On the tenth floor of the Chancellery - the one where they forgot to cut the windows - the dead form a queue at your desk. You are K-000, a Distributor of Souls. The work is simple, the way a noose is simple: establish what a person truly was, and decide where they spend forever.

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The documents lie. The body does not.

A long-haul trucker. A "motor vehicle accident." A grieving widower. The paperwork says one thing - then you pass the Candle over the body and a sin blooms across the skin in colour. Hold up the Lens and three symbols name what a possession really is. Your instruments do not accuse. They reveal. What you do with the truth is yours.

One verdict. Three eternities.

THE CARDINAL RULE: where a soul is sent is decided not by the weight of the sin but by its nature.

• A deed, proven and carried out - Hell. Nine circles.
• A desire, intended and never acted on - Purgatory. Seven terraces. A thought is cleansed, not punished.
• A path of life, a virtue - Heaven. Seven spheres.

The same soul leaves for different realms on different grounds. Lay the tag of truth on the Itinerary sheet, name the exact circle, set the seal - then carry the verdict to the Bowl of Fire.

No score. No undo. Only the colour of the flame.

The fire is the only answer you get. There are no points, no grades, no line telling you that you were right. You will close a case, watch the flame, and carry the doubt into the next one. The queue does not wait.

Every soul is a person you are about to ruin.

They sit across the desk and talk back. One wants it over quickly. One insists she loved animals - and her file notes a bloodstain shaped like a paw. One is tired of lying and asks you to skip the ceremony. The easy verdict is a trap: the file that sends a killer to the Sphere of Rest costs you nothing and everyone.

Who are you to judge?

You were not always behind this desk. One eye shows the sanctioned version of events; the other shows the notches earlier Distributors left in the walls. The Overseer of the Chancellery sees to it that the judging stays clean - no surplus mercy, no surplus cruelty, strictly by the paperwork. He also sells you your instruments.

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A case-driven story of damnation and paperwork:

• Hand-authored souls, each written to hurt differently - disgust, pity, grief, betrayed trust
• Seven unholy instruments: the Lens, the Candle, the Camera, the Radio, and a direct line to Hell itself
• Evidence as tags - combine two into one to name what a person truly did
• A ternary verdict with an exact address: nine circles, seven spheres, seven terraces
• Dual sight: hold one key to see the official version, hold another to see what lies beneath
• Dark, noir-soaked writing with a clerk's gallows wit