The Misfortune Bureau: Paperwork For the Apocalypse

Chapter 8: The Fine Print of Doom

Chapter 8: The Fine Print of Doom

The glowing file cabinet hovered ominously in the center of the Forgotten Archives, spinning gently and humming a tune Freddie couldn’t quite place—it sounded like the Jeopardy! theme played on bagpipes.

A cracked sign on the front read:

WORLD-ENDING PROPHECIES – MISPLACED ITEMS ONLY

If found, please return to Reality Stabilization.

Nigel cracked his knuckles. “Alright, gang. This is it. The big one. The missing prophecy. We recover it, file the delay paperwork, and boom—world doesn’t end.”

Freddie squinted at him. “You… really think it’s going to be that simple?”

Nigel hesitated. “...Absolutely not.”

Kev reached for the drawer, but the goat, Jeff, butted him aside and expertly nudged it open with his head.

Mira cooed, “Aww, good job, Jeff! You get an eldritch snack later.”

Inside the drawer, buried under several “Urgent: Refile Immediately” forms, was a thick, ancient scroll tied with a red ribbon and stamped “CONFIDENTIAL: APOCALYPSE” in bold letters.

Freddie gingerly picked it up. “This… this is it?”

Nigel nodded, adjusting his crooked tie. “Yep. The prophecy that, thanks to one filing error, nearly doomed reality.”

“Typical government work,” Gwen muttered, sipping her coffee.

Freddie untied the ribbon and unrolled the scroll. The aged parchment crackled as glowing letters revealed themselves.

“Behold,” the prophecy began in unnecessarily dramatic font, “the end of all things shall come to pass when the Seventh Goat sneezes upon the eve of the Duplicate’s demise, and lo, paperwork shall be delayed, and the skies shall turn—”

Freddie’s eyes widened. “Wait… Seventh Goat? Duplicate’s demise? That just happened!”

They all turned to Jeff the goat… who sneezed.

A low rumble shook the Sub-Basement. The air shimmered. Reality… hiccuped.

Nigel’s face paled. “Oh… oh that’s bad.”

The prophecy continued, the letters rearranging themselves:

“The bureaucratic champions, having unwittingly fulfilled the requirements, shall bring forth the Final Auditor, and lo, their forms shall be… evaluated.”

Kev groaned. “Not… another auditor…”

A brilliant, blinding light burst from the air. A swirling portal opened, far grander—and much more horrifying—than the one Derek the Hell Auditor had used.

Through it stepped a tall, unnervingly perfect figure in a crisp black suit. Their eyes glowed with golden light, their presence radiating pure, terrifying order.

Their badge read:

CELESTIAL AUDITOR – REALITY COMPLIANCE DIVISION

“Beyond Hell. Beyond Reason. Beyond Hope.”

The Celestial Auditor spoke with a voice that was both soothing and utterly terrifying. “Your department has been selected for an unscheduled Total Reality Evaluation.”

Nigel whimpered. “A… TRE? But—but those are legendary! No department survives those!”

Freddie looked around. “What happens during a Total Reality Evaluation?”

Gwen grimaced. “Every mistake… every error… every misplaced document, coffee spill, unauthorized goat… they find everything. They audit your existence.”

The Celestial Auditor raised a clipboard made entirely of light. “First item of non-compliance: unauthorized presence of a goat in restricted archives.”

Jeff bleated in defiance.

Freddie slapped his forehead. “We’re so screwed.”

Mira clapped excitedly. “Ooooh, existential dread and an audit! What a day!”

The Auditor stepped forward, their golden eyes scanning each of them in turn. “You have until the conclusion of this evaluation to rectify all outstanding discrepancies… or your department will be… deleted.”

The ground cracked beneath their feet. The glow intensified.

Freddie sighed, holding the prophecy like a useless piece of cursed toilet paper.

Nigel whispered, “Well… on the bright side… at least it can’t get any worse.”

The ceiling groaned. The lights flickered. A low growl echoed from somewhere in the archives.

Freddie glared at him. “Why would you say that?!”