The Misfortune Bureau: Paperwork For the Apocalypse

Chapter 2: Coffee, Curses, and Catastrophes

Chapter 2: Coffee, Curses, and Catastrophes

Freddie's first thought as he followed Nigel deeper into the Bureau was: This place is a health hazard.

His second thought was: I'm pretty sure that photocopier just growled at me.

They weaved through cubicles labelled things like "Plague Control", "Department of Unexplained Lightning", and, rather worryingly, "Werewolf Relations (Currently on Strike)".

The further they walked, the weirder things got. Paperwork hovered mid-air, glowing faintly. A wizard in business casual muttered into a headset. Someone in full medieval armor photocopied their face, expression blank.

Nigel shoved open a door labelled "Break Room", revealing what Freddie could only describe as a caffeine-fueled diplomatic incident.

A short, horned demon in a suit jabbed at the coffee machine, growling in frustration.

"I gave this blasted thing a soul last week—and it still won’t make a decent cappuccino!"

A tall, skeletal figure in a hoodie—Death? Probably Death—stood nearby, stirring tea with a scythe.

Gwen from Finance leaned against the counter, sipping her drink. She waved as they entered. “Careful. The coffee’s cursed. Makes you brutally honest for twelve hours.”

Nigel grabbed a mug and poured himself a generous amount anyway. “I’ve been honest my whole life,” he declared proudly, before adding, “And I hate all of you.”

Freddie wisely backed away from the coffee machine.

“New guy?” the demon asked, offering a clawed handshake. “I’m Kev. Infernal Liason. If you need to file a complaint with Hell, I’m your guy.”

Freddie hesitated. “That… comes up often?”

“Surprisingly,” Kev replied. “You wouldn’t believe how often demonic summoning paperwork gets misfiled under 'Pizza Orders.' Last week alone, three minor apocalypses and a goat infestation.”

Nigel, still holding his clipboard, pointed dramatically at Freddie. “Right! No time for socialising! World’s ending, remember? Prophecy, filing error, certain doom, et cetera, et cetera.”

Freddie groaned. “Can I at least ask—why does this entire department look like a rejected sitcom set from hell?”

Gwen shrugged. “Budget cuts.”

A nearby bulletin board read:

“REMEMBER:

Apocalyptic Events must be reported before close of business Friday.

No personal relationships with cryptids in the workplace.

Coffee machine is cursed.

Whoever keeps summoning eldritch abominations in the restroom—STOP IT.”

“Alright,” Nigel declared, tossing Freddie a security badge that immediately burst into flames, then reassembled itself. “Time to introduce you to the team.”

Freddie looked at Gwen. “That wasn’t the team?”

She smirked. “That was the break room. The real weirdos work in your department.”

Before he could protest, Nigel shoved open another door, revealing an open office space resembling the aftermath of a wizard convention and a tech startup’s meltdown.

Papers floated through the air like confetti. A man wrestled a cursed filing cabinet as it hissed. In the corner, a goat wearing a tie typed frantically at a computer.

Nigel clapped his hands. “Team! Meet Freddie Jacobs, our newest—well, warm body. He’s here to help us locate the missing Doomsday Prophecy.”

“Can we trust him?” asked a woman with three eyes and an unsettlingly cheerful smile.

“We can barely trust me,” Nigel replied.

The goat bleated in agreement.

Freddie pinched the bridge of his nose. “What exactly… does my job involve?”

“Mostly paperwork,” Nigel said. “Occasional supernatural encounters. Sometimes we fight eldritch horrors with staplers. Standard government stuff.”

Before Freddie could decide whether to faint, run, or cry, the cursed filing cabinet exploded with a POOF, showering everyone in confetti marked “URGENT – WORLD ENDING”.

Nigel grinned. “On the bright side, you’re getting the full Bureau experience.”

Freddie sighed. “It’s going to be a long 48 hours.”