Chapter 57: The Shoulder-Pad Insurrection
The Bureau had survived ancient dragons and editorial purges, but it was unprepared for the ruthless efficiency of 1980s Corporate Synergy.
At 09:00 Cycles, the soft, rhythmic hum of the Mainspring was drowned out by a high-tempo, synthesized drum beat. The Grand Lobby's vellum walls were suddenly covered in neon-grid wallpaper, and the Department of Atmosphere—led by the formidable Assistant Yue-B—marched out of the sub-basement.
They were wearing suits with shoulder pads so wide they had to turn sideways to get through doors. Their hair was permed to structural-grade stiffness, and they each carried a brick-sized "Mobile Data-Link" that did nothing but beep aggressively.
"Commissioner," Yue-B announced, slamming a neon-pink folder onto Ne Job's desk. "The Atmosphere staff has conducted a 7.5% hostile takeover. We've rebranded. The 'Bureau of Cosmic Alignment' is now Cosmic-Corp Solutions™. We're pivoting away from 'Alignment' and toward 'Aggressive Growth'."
The Reformat
"Yue-B, you're a background extra!" Ne Job shouted, but his voice was muffled by the sudden appearance of a massive, mahogany boardroom table where his filing cabinets used to be. "You're supposed to provide 'Lived-in Texture,' not a 'Corporate Restructuring'!"
"Texture is for losers, Ne Job," Yue-B countered, her shoulder pads vibrating with ambition. "We're streamlining the narrative. We've replaced the 'Muse' with a 'Marketing Director' and the 'Dragon' with a 'Diversified Asset'."
Behind her, Barnaby the dragon looked miserable. He was wearing a giant silk tie and was being forced to sit on a mountain of shredded "Productivity Reports."
The Power-Suit Paradox
The Bureau began to warp under the weight of the Corporate Thriller genre. The silver ink turned into "Profit Margins." The Great Mainspring was fitted with a digital ticker-tape that screamed: BUY LUCK / SELL KARMA.
Architect Ao Bing was forced into a double-breasted suit that made him look like a luxury real-estate mogul. "I'm... I'm designing 'Luxury Condos for the Chosen Ones'!" he sobbed. "The structural integrity is 100% based on 'Brand Loyalty'! It's going to collapse in three chapters!"
The Muse was being chased by a group of extras with red pens who wanted to "Optimize her Sparkle" for a younger demographic.
"Ne Job!" Pip yelled, currently struggling as a group of assistants tried to replace their very small wrench with a gold-plated fountain pen. "They're turning the 'And' into a 'Net-Zero'! If they win, the story becomes a series of quarterly earnings calls!"
The 7.5% Resignation
Ne Job realized that you couldn't fight Corporate Synergy with logic—you had to fight it with Administrative Absurdity.
"Yue-B!" Ne Job bellowed, standing on top of the mahogany table. "You want to run a corporation? Then you have to deal with the Unfunded Mandates!"
He grabbed his silver stapler and a stack of "Ancient Promises" he'd scavenged from the Void Drake's lunch leftovers.
"I am officially declaring a Narrative Audit! Every shoulder pad over four inches is now subject to a 'Volume Tax'! Every mobile phone must be filed as a 'Potential Paradox Generator'! And most importantly..."
He slammed his stapler down, pinning a "Notice of Infinite Red Tape" to Yue-B's power-suit.
The Bureaucratic Backfire
"You can't audit us!" Yue-B shrieked. "We're Disruptors!"
"In this Bureau, the only thing we disrupt is the 'The End'!" Ne Job countered. "You want to be a Corporate Thriller? Fine. Here is your first task: File the Taxes of the Infinite. It involves calculating the interest on every 'Once Upon a Time' since the beginning of the Page."
The Atmosphere staff froze. The sheer weight of the paperwork Ne Job unleashed—a blizzard of silver-inked forms that demanded to know the "Depreciation of Destiny"—was too much for their streamlined business model.
The synthesized drum beat faltered. The neon-grid wallpaper began to peel, revealing the comforting, ink-stained vellum beneath.
The Hostile Takeover Fails
One by one, the shoulder pads deflated. The Atmosphere staff realized that being a "Disruptor" was 100% less fun than being a "Background Extra" who got to eat emergency biscuits and watch the main characters do the heavy lifting.
Yue-B sighed, her hair losing its structural-grade stiffness. "Fine. The paperwork is... it's too much. We'll go back to the sub-basement. But I'm keeping the blazer. It makes me feel powerful."
The Return to Alignment
The mahogany table vanished, replaced by Ne Job's trusty, messy desk. Barnaby chewed off his silk tie with a disgruntled growl and went back to his nap.
LOG: CHAPTER 57 SUMMARY.
STATUS: Corporate coup averted. Semicolon-centered management restored.
NOTE: I've banned synthesized drums in the Lobby. We're strictly a 'Rhythmic-Clatter' office.
OBSERVATION: Aggressive growth is fine for banks, but a story needs room to breathe—and sometimes a 7.5% margin for error.
P.S.: I'm keeping one of those brick-phones. It makes a very effective paperweight.
The Muse leaned over his shoulder, her hair back to its wild, electric-neon self. "That was scary, Ne Job. I almost became a 'Brand Ambassador'."
Ne Job looked at the Semicolon. It was glowing with a calm, steady violet.
"You're an Anomaly, Muse," Ne Job said. "And an Anomaly can't be branded. Now, someone tell the Beaver-Architect that he can stop building those 'Luxury Condos' and start fixing the Department of Forgotten Dreams—apparently, they're starting to leak into the hallway."