Chapter 1: Welcome to the End (Please Sign Here)The world was ending. Again.But before the flaming meteors, vengeful sea gods, or interdimensional squirrels could destroy civilization as we know it, the paperwork had to go through.Which is how Fredrick “Freddie” Jacobs, age twenty-nine, caffeine-dependent, and tragically allergic to excitement, found himself standing in front of the most unimpressive government building imaginable.It looked like every depressing office block he’d ever temped at: grey concrete walls, flickering fluorescent lights, and a distinct aroma of printer toner and despair. The only thing separating it from, say, the DMV, was the peeling sign above the entrance that read:“The Department of Unforeseen Catastrophes & Misfortune Bureau – Suite 13B”Freddie double-checked the address. Then double-checked his life choices.“This… can’t be real,” he muttered, gripping the manila envelope that held his transfer papers.A seagull perched on a nearby lamppost cackle

Chapter 3: The Prophecy ProblemIn Freddie’s defence, it wasn’t technically his fault that the filing cabinet exploded.Sure, he’d been the one standing next to it. And yes, he might’ve poked it with a pencil to see if it was really alive. But Nigel had assured him, “It only bites interns.”The glittering confetti of doom still drifted lazily to the floor as Nigel marched through the chaos like a man on a mission—or someone who hadn’t slept since the 90s.“Alright, team! Huddle up!” he barked, shoving desks, chairs, and a suspiciously large fern aside.The assorted employees of Division 4 Subsection D shuffled over with all the enthusiasm of people who knew they were about to work unpaid overtime to prevent the apocalypse.Gwen, from Finance, casually leaned on a desk.Kev, the demon, sipped coffee and looked vaguely amused.The goat—the typing goat—chewed on a sticky note marked “TOP SECRET”.The woman with three eyes introduced herself as Mira, Head of Prophetic Documentation and “p

Chapter 5: Lost Prophecies & Found RegretsFreddie Jacobs had been many things in life: temp worker, caffeine addict, reluctant cat owner, and once, very briefly, a magician’s assistant at a disastrous children’s party. But nothing prepared him for being the new guy at the Misfortune Bureau.Especially now, with 48 hours to locate a missing doomsday prophecy, survive an infernal audit, and somehow avoid being liquefied—all before lunch yesterday.“I don’t even know where to start,” Freddie groaned, following Nigel, Mira, Gwen, Kev, and the inexplicably talented goat down a dimly lit hallway labelled “Records & Miscellaneous Horrors”.“Relax,” Nigel said, holding a flashlight that mostly flickered ominously. “We do this all the time.”“You lose world-ending documents all the time?!”Nigel shrugged. “Once a month, tops.”Freddie sighed as they entered the records room. It was less "room" and more "twisting labyrinth of filing cabinets, stacked boxes, and glowing, floating folders that o

Chapter 7: Enter the DuplicatesThe Forgotten Archives were not so much a room as they were… a glitch in the universe that someone accidentally filled with filing cabinets.The walls flickered in and out of existence. The ceiling occasionally swapped between peeling fluorescent panels and a starless void. Papers drifted through the air, some of them on fire, others whispering unsettlingly personal insults at passersby.Freddie stuck close to the group, clutching his silver whistle like a lifeline. “Okay, so… we grab the prophecy and don’t die, right?”Nigel nodded, cheerfully oblivious to the doom around them. “That’s the plan! Simple, efficient, soul-crushingly bureaucratic. Standard operating procedure.”Jeff the goat trotted beside them, chewing on a cursed sticky note. His eyes glowed faintly. Freddie had stopped questioning it hours ago.Gwen sipped coffee, unbothered by the surrounding nightmare. “Stay sharp. Duplicates can look just like us.”“And they’re dangerous,” Mira added

Chapter 9: Total Reality Evaluation — Please Hold If Freddie had learned anything in his first 24 hours at the Misfortune Bureau, it was this: There is always a worse form of paperwork. The Celestial Auditor floated a few inches off the ground, glowing clipboard in hand, their eyes scanning the group like they were a particularly stubborn coffee stain on the fabric of reality. “Total Reality Evaluation begins now,” the Auditor announced, their voice echoing like a corporate hymn. From nowhere, a soft ding sounded, and a giant, glowing hourglass materialized beside them. Sand began trickling down—except the “sand” looked suspiciously like filing forms. Nigel pulled Freddie aside. “Okay, panic. Now we panic.” Freddie stared at him. “That’s your leadership strategy?” Gwen rolled her eyes, casually sipping cursed coffee. “Relax. We’ve technically survived three minor audits, two haunting reviews, and that time Jeff accidentally opened a rift to the Department of Eternal Hold Musi