Chapter 12: In Triplicate We Trust (And Other Lies We Tell Ourselves)The bullpen of the Misfortune Bureau was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made you wonder if the walls were listening… or plotting your termination.A faint, ominous tick-tick-tick echoed from the glowing, floating hourglass hovering above the conference table. Inside, sand made entirely of microfiche, shredded memos, and ominous glowing paperwork trickled downward, counting the seconds until cosmic judgment.Nigel stood at the center of the room like a man who’d stared into the abyss, filed the abyss’s paperwork, and sent it back with a passive-aggressive sticky note. His crooked tie was only slightly more disheveled than usual, and his eyes gleamed with the manic optimism of someone who believed they might, just might, out-bureaucrat the universe itself.“Okay, folks,” Nigel declared, holding up three perfectly crisp copies of Delay Request Form 27-B – Cosmic Edition, “This… is our salvation.”Freddie eyed

Chapter 14: Compliance or ConsequencesThe words hovered in the air, glowing and ominous, as the lights blared and the cheesy theme music blasted through the Final Evaluation Room:“WELCOME TO COMPLIANCE OR CONSEQUENCES!”The Only Game Show Where Incorrect Paperwork Gets You Vaporized!A shimmering stage materialized beneath their feet, complete with flashing lights, spinning filing cabinets, and a disturbingly enthusiastic studio audience of spectral bureaucrats.At the center stood the host—a tall, overly cheerful figure in a neon suit that hurt to look at directly. His teeth sparkled unnaturally. His eyes glowed with cosmic exhaustion. His name badge read:BARRY — Host of Compliance or Consequences“Bringing Bureaucracy to Life… and Sometimes Death!”Barry's voice boomed across the room, unnaturally chipper. “Helloooooo, contestants! Are you ready to FIIIIIILLLLLE for your LIIIIIIVES?”Freddie groaned. “I hate this place.”Nigel whispered, “Stay calm. I’ve done this twice before. O

Chapter 16: The Interpretive Dance of ComplianceThe stage transformed again, much to Freddie’s growing horror. Filing cabinets and glowing trivia boards sank into the floor, replaced by sleek hardwood panels, swirling mist, and an unsettling disco ball that hovered overhead, oozing faint eldritch energy.Soft, dramatic music began to play—a haunting, bureaucratic remix of elevator jazz and legal disclaimers.Barry spun toward them, grinning wide enough to make his jaw creak unnaturally. “That’s right, contestants! It’s time for the FINAL TRIAL: the Interpretive Dance of Compliance! The only performance where failure to groove to regulation standards results in… well…” He pointed to a scorch mark on the floor labeled “Previous Contestants”.Freddie’s jaw dropped. “We have to… dance? To… survive?!”Nigel nodded solemnly. “It’s not just a dance, rookie. It’s a metaphor for navigating the rigid-yet-chaotic rhythms of interdepartmental compliance.”Gwen stretched, casually finishing her c

Chapter 18: Rogue Filing Cabinets & Goat-Based TacticsThe swirling storm of cursed office supplies roared through the bullpen, scattering papers, toppling desks, and generally making the Misfortune Bureau look even more like a disaster zone than usual—which was saying something.Freddie ducked as a self-replicating memo whizzed past his ear, shrieking “SIGN ME” in increasingly aggressive fonts.Nigel barked over the chaos, “Alright, team—standard containment formation! Gwen, coffee support! Mira, anomaly suppression! Kev, infernal backup! Freddie… goat wrangling!”Freddie groaned. “Why is it always me and the goat?!”Jeff bleated ominously, his eyes glowing faintly with chaotic energy.Phase One: Paperwork AssaultNigel charged first, wielding a stack of stamped forms like shields. He expertly slapped Form 88-G: Rogue Anomaly Complaint onto a rogue stapler, which immediately froze mid-air, whimpering quietly before dropping harmlessly to the floor.Mira followed, launching enchanted

Chapter 20: The Prophecy Reclassification Meeting (A.K.A. The Eighth Circle of Hell)There were many things Freddie hated about his job.The aggressive paperwork.The sneezing, reality-warping goat.The ever-present possibility of being erased from existence because of a misplaced comma.But nothing… nothing compared to the soul-crushing horror of mandatory department-wide meetings.The Misfortune Bureau’s largest conference room—dubbed The Oblivion Room—buzzed with the low, miserable hum of employees trapped in bureaucratic purgatory. The fluorescent lights flickered like they, too, longed for escape.Freddie sat between Nigel and Mira, clutching a half-filled coffee cup like a lifeline. Across the room, Kev scowled at a stack of meeting agendas, and Gwen methodically prepared her third industrial-strength espresso.The intercom crackled.“Attention all staff: Prophecy Reclassification Meeting begins… now.”A portal opened. The Celestial Auditor stepped through, accompanied by a floa