The Misfortune Bureau: Paperwork For the Apocalypse

Chapter 7: Enter The Duplicates

Chapter 7: Enter the Duplicates

The Forgotten Archives were not so much a room as they were… a glitch in the universe that someone accidentally filled with filing cabinets.

The walls flickered in and out of existence. The ceiling occasionally swapped between peeling fluorescent panels and a starless void. Papers drifted through the air, some of them on fire, others whispering unsettlingly personal insults at passersby.

Freddie stuck close to the group, clutching his silver whistle like a lifeline. “Okay, so… we grab the prophecy and don’t die, right?”

Nigel nodded, cheerfully oblivious to the doom around them. “That’s the plan! Simple, efficient, soul-crushingly bureaucratic. Standard operating procedure.”

Jeff the goat trotted beside them, chewing on a cursed sticky note. His eyes glowed faintly. Freddie had stopped questioning it hours ago.

Gwen sipped coffee, unbothered by the surrounding nightmare. “Stay sharp. Duplicates can look just like us.”

“And they’re dangerous,” Mira added, eyes darting around. “They’ve got no souls, no emotions… just pure, bureaucratic efficiency.” She shuddered. “It’s horrifying.”

As they moved deeper into the Archives, the whispers grew louder. Shapes flickered in the corners of Freddie’s vision—tall, human-like… familiar.

A rustling noise echoed from behind a stack of cabinets. Then… footsteps.

Nigel held up a hand. “Showtime.”

From the shadows stepped a group of five figures. Same number as the team. Same heights. Same clothes. Same everything.

Except… their smiles didn’t reach their eyes. Their movements were stiff. Their Bureau ID badges were perfectly straight—no one was that neat in real life.

“Hello, us,” Nigel muttered.

The Duplicate Freddie stepped forward, holding a clipboard so immaculate it practically glowed. His expression was blank, professional, unsettling.

“We are here to ensure maximum compliance,” Duplicate Freddie said in a monotone. His voice lacked every ounce of exhaustion and panic the real Freddie radiated naturally.

Real Freddie pointed. “I hate that version of me.”

“You and me both,” Gwen agreed, already pulling out a cursed pen like a weapon.

The Duplicate Gwen, perfectly polished and smiling coldly, spoke next. “Surrender the search for the prophecy. Return to your posts. Complete all outstanding paperwork. Noncompliance will result in… liquidation.”

Freddie’s real Gwen snorted. “Liquidate this,” and lobbed her half-empty coffee cup at them.

The Duplicate Gwen caught it… and neatly recycled it into a nearby bin.

Nigel groaned. “They are terrifying.”

Suddenly, the Duplicates charged.

Freddie barely dodged as his unnervingly perfect double swung a clipboard at him with the force of a falling filing cabinet.

Kev wrestled his own Duplicate, muttering, “I will not be replaced by a more punctual version of myself!”

Mira’s third eye glowed as she clashed with her copy, chanting something that made the air ripple.

The goat… simply stared down its own Duplicate. The two goats circled each other, bleating aggressively.

Freddie stumbled back, fumbling for his silver whistle. His Duplicate advanced, eyes cold, clipboard raised like an executioner’s axe.

“Maximum efficiency must be maintained,” the Duplicate intoned.

Freddie blew the whistle.

The sound wasn’t loud—it was wrong. The air rippled. Reality hiccuped.

The Duplicate Freddie froze, expression flickering like a bad photocopy. Its form shimmered… then cracked. The fake version of him dissolved into a pile of smouldering office memos and ominous glitter.

Nigel cheered. “Nice one, newbie!”

Encouraged, Freddie tossed the whistle to Mira, who blew it mid-spell, reducing her Duplicate to a puff of recycled paper.

Kev’s goat—butted its Duplicate so hard it imploded in a swirl of cursed wool and paperwork.

Soon, only the Duplicate Gwen remained. Calm, perfect, soulless.

Real Gwen grinned. “Time to file you under ‘terminated.’”

She hurled her cursed pen like a dart. It struck the Duplicate square in the Bureau badge. The false Gwen sparked… then exploded into a cloud of perfectly organized spreadsheets.

The room fell quiet.

Nigel brushed confetti off his shoulders. “Right. Now that the terrifying clones are dealt with… let’s find that prophecy.”

Freddie exhaled, looking around the endless maze of files. “We’re actually gonna find it in this nightmare?”

Nigel shrugged. “This is the Misfortune Bureau. Anything’s possible… and most of it’s deeply inconvenient.”

In the distance, a glowing file cabinet marked “WORLD-ENDING PROPHECIES: MISPLACED” hovered in the air.

Freddie groaned. “There it is.”

Mira clapped. “Progress! We might survive after all!”

The goat sneezed, reality wobbled slightly, and they marched on toward the glowing cabinet.