The Misfortune Bureau: Paperwork For the Apocalypse

Chapter 3: The Prophecy Problem

Chapter 3: The Prophecy Problem

In 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 “part-time oracle, full-time disaster”.

Freddie gave a weak wave. “Hey.”

Mira grinned with unsettling cheerfulness. “Welcome to the team. You’ll fit right in once you’ve had your soul crushed. It happens around week two.”

Nigel slammed a thick binder onto the desk with enough force to rattle nearby potted plants. The cover read:

“End-of-the-World Protocol: Revised (Again)”

Property of The Misfortune Bureau. Do not remove. Do not photocopy. Do not attempt to eat.

Nigel flipped it open. “Right. As you know—”

“I literally don’t,” Freddie interrupted.

Nigel ignored him. “—a Doomsday Prophecy was accidentally filed under ‘Mild Inconveniences’ last quarter. Which means, if we can’t find it and file a Delay Request Form 27-B in triplicate before 3 PM Friday, reality… ends.”

Kev slurped his coffee. “Technically, only this version of reality. But I get your point.”

Freddie buried his face in his hands. “Why… why is the fate of the world tied to office paperwork?”

Gwen shrugged. “Same reason Hell runs on spreadsheets. Chaos is easy. Organisation? Now that’s evil.”

Nigel handed Freddie a worn manila folder. “This is your first assignment. You’ll assist Mira with tracking down the missing prophecy. Clues, paperwork, prophetic visions, haunted filing cabinets—the usual.”

Freddie peeked inside the folder. It contained a single sheet of paper with “PAGE MISSING” stamped across it.

“Fantastic,” Freddie muttered. “We’re looking for a missing prophecy… with missing instructions.”

Mira patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ve seen how this ends.”

Freddie perked up. “Oh, good! Does everything work out?”

She shrugged. “I was drunk at the time.”

Before he could spiral into a full existential crisis, the room lights flickered. The ceiling tiles rattled. An ominous red glow seeped through the cracks.

Nigel groaned. “Ugh, not now…”

A portal opened in the middle of the office, swirling with fire and smoke. Out stepped a towering, horned figure in a pinstripe suit, holding a clipboard.

“Afternoon,” the demon rumbled, adjusting his tie. “We’ve got an interdepartmental audit scheduled.”

Nigel visibly paled. “No, no, no—we’ve got an apocalypse to delay! You can’t audit us now!”

The demon grinned, revealing far too many teeth. “Sorry. Policy’s policy.”

Freddie turned to Gwen. “What… what happens if we fail an audit?”

“Best case? You get demoted to Lost Souls.” She sipped her coffee. “Worst case? You stay in this department.”

Freddie looked at the swirling portal, the cursed filing cabinets, and his clipboard-wielding coworkers.

Yup. It was going to be a very long 48 hours.