The Misfortune Bureau: Paperwork For the Apocalypse

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 cackled ominously.

Inside, the receptionist—a woman with neon pink hair and the permanent scowl of someone who’s seen too much—eyed him over the rim of her glasses. A tiny nameplate read “DORIS - DON’T ASK”.

“You the new guy?” Doris asked, popping gum like a threat.

“Uh… I guess? Freddie Jacobs. They said I’m starting in…” He checked the form. “Catastrophe Prevention… Division 4… Subsection D?”

Doris snorted. “Sucker.”

Before he could protest, a man burst through the double doors behind the desk, waving a clipboard. His tie was crooked, his eyes wild, and his ID badge proudly read “NIGEL – Assistant to the Assistant Manager of Minor Disasters”.

“There you are!” Nigel exclaimed, grabbing Freddie by the arm. “Come on, we’ve got an apocalypse on our hands. Or rather, we will if we can’t find Form 27-B in triplicate. Also, do you have a pen? Mine keeps exploding.”

Freddie opened his mouth to ask—well, anything—but Nigel had already dragged him through the doors into a maze of cubicles, filing cabinets, and stressed-out employees.

It looked exactly like every other soul-crushing office he'd worked at. Except for the guy in the corner wrestling a sentient tornado. And the breakroom, where a demon was arguing with a coffee machine.

“First day?” a woman in a purple blazer asked, sidling up to him. She sipped from a mug labeled “World’s Okayest Employee” as a fireball casually floated past her head.

“Uh… yeah,” Freddie managed.

“I’m Gwen. Finance. Don’t worry, it only looks like hell.” She paused. “Although technically, Sector B is leased from actual Hell. You’ll get used to it.”

Nigel shoved a stack of papers into Freddie’s hands. “Right, listen carefully: somewhere in this building is a misplaced End-of-the-World Prophecy. It’s supposed to be archived in Storage, but some intern filed it under ‘Mild Inconveniences’. If we don’t find it and submit a Delay Request, the world ends Friday at 3 PM. After lunch.”

Freddie blinked. “Wait… you’re saying the world is going to end because of… a filing error?”

Nigel beamed. “Welcome to the Bureau.”

In the distance, something howled. A printer spontaneously caught fire. And for reasons Freddie couldn’t explain, his stapler tried to bite him.

Suddenly, a normal office job didn’t sound so bad.