The Misfortune Bureau: Paperwork For the Apocalypse

Chapter 4: The Auditor from Hell

Chapter 4: The Auditor from Hell

The demon auditor adjusted his tie with slow, predatory confidence. His eyes glowed faintly, like embers that had read far too many HR handbooks.

“Let’s make this painless,” the demon said, flipping open his clipboard. His voice had the smooth, soul-siphoning tone of someone who had spent millennia enforcing corporate policy.

Freddie whispered to Gwen, “Shouldn’t we be more… panicked?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. Last time they audited us, three people vanished, two departments were downsized into a broom closet, and Kev had to do a three-hour PowerPoint on 'Hellfire Safety Procedures.’ So, y'know. Standard Tuesday.”

Kev groaned into his coffee. “Never again…”

Nigel, sweating visibly, plastered on a too-wide smile. “Derek! Buddy! How’s… the underworld?”

The demon—Derek, apparently—did not smile back. He was built like a linebacker with horns, skin the color of burnt charcoal, and an aura of pure administrative dread. His name tag read:

**DEREK – Interdepartmental Auditor, 9th Circle Division

“Because Even Hell Needs Accountability”**

Derek flipped a page on his clipboard. “According to our records, Division 4 Subsection D is currently responsible for processing, delaying, or mitigating: 3 Class-A cataclysms, 7 minor apocalypses, 14 rogue curses, and…” He squinted. “...one active goat infestation.”

The goat at the typing station bleated innocently.

Freddie raised a hand. “Sorry, how does a goat infestation count as an existential threat?”

Nigel sighed. “You ever seen a goat get access to our spell database? It starts with chewed paperwork and ends with Bovinomancy.”

Freddie wisely chose not to ask further.

Derek continued, tapping his pen ominously. “Our concern lies with the missing Doomsday Prophecy. You have 48 hours to locate it and file the proper Delay Request, or your department will be… liquidated.”

Gwen snorted. “You mean fired?”

Derek grinned, showing sharp, unnerving teeth. “I mean liquidated.”

The room collectively tensed. Even the goat stopped typing.

“However,” Derek added, “as a courtesy, I’ve prepared a standard preliminary audit checklist.” He snapped his fingers, and a scroll of parchment unfurled… all the way to the opposite wall, coiling across desks and knocking over a cactus.

Freddie read the first few lines:

PRE-AUDIT REQUIREMENTS:

☐ All paperwork properly filed (physical and metaphysical)

☐ No unresolved minor disasters exceeding 30 days

☐ No open wormholes in common areas

☐ No unauthorized summoning circles in the break room

☐ All employees accounted for (souls intact, physical forms stable)

Nigel looked like he might faint. “We… we are so doomed.”

Derek handed Freddie a gold-plated stopwatch. “Timer starts now. You have 48 hours.”

The portal swirled behind him. Derek, in a puff of sulphurous smoke, disappeared. The scroll of audit requirements remained behind like a passive-aggressive curse.

Freddie looked at Nigel. “So… just to clarify… not only do we have to find the prophecy, stop the apocalypse, and deal with cursed office supplies… now we have to survive a Hell audit?”

Nigel chuckled weakly. “Welcome to government work.”

Mira clapped her hands, far too excited. “Ooooh, chaos and bureaucratic pressure? My prophetic senses are tingling.”

Kev sighed. “I hate when they tingle. It means something’s gonna explode.”

The cursed filing cabinet hissed ominously.

Freddie took a deep breath, adjusted his Bureau badge, and muttered to himself, “This is fine. This is totally fine. It’s just an apocalypse wrapped in red tape… how hard could it be?”

At that exact moment, the overhead lights flickered again. A voice echoed through the intercom system, far too cheerful for the words being spoken:

“Attention all staff: Due to recent time distortions, lunch break has been moved to yesterday. Please adjust accordingly.”

Freddie groaned. “Yeah… I’m gonna die here.”