Chapter 52: The Cult of the Intern
A week had passed since the Faith Overload.
In divine time, that was only a few breaths — but in mortal realms, it was enough for an entire religion to take root.
Assistant Yue hadn't slept in seven Bureau cycles. Her desk was buried beneath scrolls labeled "Unauthorized Worship Reports." Each described the same absurd phenomenon: mortals spontaneously building shrines out of office supplies — staplers arranged in halos, coffee mugs engraved with "Praise the Intern," and sermons quoting random lines from divine memos.
Ne Job sat upside-down on a levitating chair, spinning lazily. "Okay, but hear me out — what if they're just… fans? Like, divine fan club energy?"
Yue slammed a report down. "Fans don't perform mass synchronized filing rituals under lunar light!"
Ne Job blinked. "They do if they're really organized."
"Not funny!" she snapped. "This cult—" she air-quoted "—is spreading through bureaucratic osmosis! Every mortal who tries to 'file a prayer complaint' ends up joining their membership form."
Ne Job scratched his head. "Wow. Efficient."
Yue groaned. "The Bureau's firewall can't filter satire anymore. Every meme becomes sacred text!"
Across the hall, glowing monitors streamed live footage from mortal realms: office workers bowing before printer altars; students chanting "Submit, Approve, Deliver" as a mantra; a group of monks meditating around a spinning swivel chair, calling it "The Axis of Order."
Yue rubbed her eyes. "They've canonized your fidget chair."
Ne Job tilted his head. "Honestly? Flattered."
"Don't be!" Yue snapped. "They're starting to demand miracles — refund prayers, divine customer support! The Bureau can't handle this volume!"
She pointed at the faith metrics on her tablet:
> Faith Input (Source: Ne Job)
Growth Rate: 327% / Hour
Stability Index: Critical
Containment Probability: <0.5%
Yue leaned back, defeated. "At this rate, the entire celestial system will orbit your worship frequency."
Ne Job looked thoughtful for once. "What happens if it… maxes out?"
"The Bureau stops serving Heaven," Yue said flatly. "It starts serving you."
Ne Job froze. "That's bad, right?"
"That's existentially catastrophic!"
Just then, the Bureau lights dimmed again. Every divine clerk froze as golden mist filled the hall. A broadcast chimed through the air:
> Divine Announcement: Emergency Audit Initiated.
Subject: Faith Protocol 3 — Cult of the Intern.
All administrative staff report to the Grand Chamber.
The massive doors to the Grand Chamber opened, releasing the glow of ancient authority. Lord Bureaucrat Xian stood at the center, expression colder than frozen paperwork.
"Assistant Yue. Deity Ne Job," he said in that calm, terrifyingly polite tone only an immortal bureaucrat could manage. "Your divine presence is requested."
Yue bowed immediately. "My Lord, we've been trying to contain the faith surge—"
"I am aware," Xian interrupted. "Containment has failed."
He gestured toward a suspended holographic map of the mortal realms. Hundreds of blinking dots pulsed with gold — each a temple dedicated to Ne Job.
"The cult now spans seven continents, nineteen worlds, and two interdimensional chat groups," Xian said grimly. "Worship is expanding faster than divine logic allows."
Ne Job frowned. "Wait, chat groups?"
"Mortals now circulate devotional memes," Xian said, deadpan. "Their emojis… carry faith energy."
Yue nearly fainted. "They've weaponized emojis?"
Xian's tone darkened. "Worse. Their prayers synchronize through global time zones, forming what mortals call 'The 24-Hour Shift of Eternal Labor.'"
Ne Job raised a hand sheepishly. "So they worship by… working overtime?"
"Exactly," Xian said. "They believe your struggle symbolizes divine perseverance."
Ne Job rubbed his temple. "That's… actually kind of touching?"
Yue shot him a look. "It's a catastrophe wrapped in flattery!"
Xian continued, "We have detected their leader — the mortal who first circulated your image during the Faith Overload. He calls himself the High Clerk of the Infinite Inbox."
A glowing image appeared: a mortal man in simple robes, eyes burning with devotion, surrounded by floating paper charms.
"He has somehow gained partial access to Bureau communications," Xian said. "His prayers receive automatic acknowledgment. He believes he is conversing with the Divine Intern himself."
Ne Job coughed. "Technically, he might be."
Xian's eyebrow twitched. "You've been replying?"
Ne Job held up his tablet guiltily. "Just one message! He said, 'How should mortals live?' and I said, 'Uh, maybe take breaks?'"
Yue stared. "You told him that?"
"Yeah! Work-life balance, right?"
Xian pinched the bridge of his nose. "Your 'take breaks' directive has been enshrined as the Eleventh Commandment. They now hold holy naps every Thursday."
Yue muttered, "I want to nap forever after this…"
Xian's tone hardened. "This cannot continue. The Bureau's neutrality is at risk. Therefore—" he raised his scepter "—you two will descend to the mortal realm for a direct audit."
Both of them froze.
"Wait," Yue said, "you're sending us down?"
"Yes. You will investigate this cult, correct its doctrine, and dismantle their faith network before it rewrites mortal reality."
Ne Job raised a hand. "Quick question — isn't it, like, super dangerous down there right now?"
"Yes," Xian said flatly.
Yue swallowed. "And what if the cult recognizes him?"
"Then improvise," Xian replied. "You are the Bureau's experts in chaos."
He slammed his seal down on the air, and golden light enveloped them both.
---
When the light faded, Yue and Ne Job stood on a mortal street — only it wasn't quite mortal anymore.
The city shimmered with divine architecture mixed with cubicles. Temples looked like open-plan offices, with glowing nameplates reading "The Department of Daily Grace" and "The Chamber of Receipts."
Mortals in suits prayed while typing. Neon signs blinked slogans like "Submit Your Woes Before Deadline" and "Faith Processed in 3–5 Business Days."
Ne Job's jaw dropped. "This is… my brand of apocalypse."
Yue adjusted her robes to look inconspicuous. "Stay quiet. Don't let anyone—"
"Blessings upon the Intern!" a passerby shouted.
Ne Job froze. A group of worshippers spotted him, gasped, and immediately fell to their knees.
"It's Him! The Paperworker Divine!"
"Oh, for—" Yue grabbed his arm. "Run!"
They sprinted down an alley, ducking behind a glowing vending machine that dispensed coffee as holy offering.
Ne Job whispered, "So stealth mission's going great."
Yue peeked around the corner. "We need to find the High Clerk. If we can reason with him, we might reprogram the faith algorithm."
"How do we find him?"
A voice answered from the shadows. "He finds you."
They turned — the High Clerk stood there, calm, holding a golden folder marked 'Divine Audit.' His eyes glowed faintly, like a mortal tethered to heaven's mainframe.
He bowed deeply. "My lord… you descended."
Yue panicked. "He's recognizing you! Deny it!"
Ne Job waved awkwardly. "Uh, hi, yeah, big fan of your… faith?"
The High Clerk smiled reverently. "Your words sustain us, O Patron of Patience. We follow your sacred example — to work without end, to file without fear."
Yue's eyes widened. "Wait—did you say without end?"
The Clerk nodded. "Rest is heresy. To stop is to betray divine backlog."
Ne Job groaned. "I said take breaks, not ban them!"
But the Clerk continued, eyes wild with conviction. "We obey your form, O Infinite Intern. Every task completed, every signature signed — it is your miracle made manifest!"
He handed them a scroll. On it was written:
> "To the True Intern: We await your final form submission."
Ne Job paled. "Final form? What final form!?"
Yue's tablet pinged with a divine warning.
> Faith Surge Detected.
Category: Apocalyptic.
Source: High Clerk's Prayer Circle — Attempting to Manifest the Final Form of the Intern.
The High Clerk knelt. "We offer ourselves for processing, my lord. Complete us!"
Yue shouted, "They're trying to summon you!"
Ne Job backed away. "No, no, no, cancel! Cancel the request!"
But the ground glowed beneath their feet. The cultists chanted in unison:
> "Approve the form. Approve the form. Approve the form—"
The sky split open. Golden paper rained down like ash. The Faith Network roared to life, pulling power from every worshipper.
Yue screamed over the chaos, "Ne Job! If you don't stop this, they'll materialize your divine form and overwrite the mortal plane!"
Ne Job clenched his fists. "Right. Time to do something dumb again!"
He raised his hand, glowing with divine power. "Faith Protocol Override!"
The chant halted — the sky froze mid-tear.
Ne Job's voice echoed: "Request denied! No one gets approved without rest days!"
The world went white.
---
When the light cleared, the cultists had fainted peacefully. Their temples flickered out, replaced by simple rest stations and coffee stalls.
The High Clerk knelt, dazed. "We… may rest?"
Ne Job smiled faintly. "Yeah. Even gods need coffee breaks."
Yue exhaled. "You actually did it…"
But before relief could settle, her tablet buzzed again.
> New Notice: "Faith Protocol 4: Audit from the Beyond."
Initiated by: Lord Bureaucrat Xian.
Objective: Evaluate the stability of the new deity — Ne Job."
Yue paled. "They're sending an audit team… from Heaven."
Ne Job blinked. "Wait, I'm getting audited now?"