Chapter 58: The Leak of the Lucid
The "Corporate Synergy" had been purged, but the structural integrity of the Bureau's psyche was frayed. At 11:00 Cycles, the hallway leading from Section C-7 to the breakroom didn't just smell like dust and ink; it smelled like Lavender and Panic.
"Commissioner," Assistant Yue buzzed, her typewriter keys sounding soft and pillowy. "THE. SEALS. ON. THE. DEPARTMENT. OF. FORGOTTEN. DREAMS. HAVE. BURST. THE. CORRIDOR. IS. NO. LONGER. GEOMETRIC. IT. IS... EXPERIENTIAL."
The Hallway of Hopes and Hazards
Ne Job stepped out of his office and immediately sank to his knees. The floor was no longer linoleum; it was a Giant, Toasted Marshmallow.
"Oh, come on!" Ne Job grumbled, trying to wade through the sticky, sweet fluff. "I just had these boots polished!"
"Ne Job! Help!" Pip's voice drifted from further down the hall.
Ne Job struggled forward, but as he passed the "Fire Extinguisher" (which was now a frozen strawberry daiquiri), the dream shifted. The marshmallow floor vanished, replaced by a cold, wooden desk in a dimly lit hall.
Suddenly, Ne Job was sixteen. He was wearing an oversized sweater, and in front of him sat a 100-page exam paper titled: ADVANCED CALCULUS OF THE INFINITE.
"I... I didn't study for this," Ne Job whispered, his 7.5% sparkle replaced by a 100% adolescent dread. "I don't even know what a 'Limit' is!"
The 7.5% Lucid Awakening
"It's a dream, Steve!" The Muse's voice echoed. She was floating near the ceiling, currently manifesting as a cloud of neon butterflies. "The 'And' is being drowned out by 'What If'! If you solve the exam, you get stuck in the memory! If you fail, the dream eats your logic!"
Ne Job looked at the exam. A "Proctor" with the face of a giant clock-hand loomed over him.
"Time is up, Archivist," the Proctor ticked.
Ne Job felt his identity slipping. He felt like a student, not a Commissioner. But then, he felt the weight of his silver stapler in his pocket. It was the one thing the dream couldn't quite replicate—the cold, hard reality of Administrative Duty.
He pulled the stapler out. He didn't write an answer; he KA-CHUNKED the exam paper to the desk.
"I am not a student!" Ne Job roared. "I am the one who files the results! This exam is Non-Compliant with Bureau Reality!"
The Sunset Corridor
The classroom shattered like glass. The hallway shifted again.
The walls fell away, revealing a horizon that stretched forever. The sky was a bruised purple and a burning orange—a Permanent Sunset that felt so peaceful it was terrifying. It was the dream of "Rest," the one dream an Archivist can never afford to have.
Ne Job saw the Architect, Ao Bing, sitting on a bench made of light, staring at the sun.
"It's so quiet here, Ne Job," Ao Bing whispered. "No blueprints. No leaky pipes. Just... the end of the day. Forever."
"It's a trap, Ao Bing!" Ne Job shouted, grabbing the Architect's shoulder. "It's a beautiful, stagnant lie! If the sun never sets, tomorrow never happens! And if tomorrow never happens, we run out of 'And'!"
The Wrench in the Dream
Pip suddenly dropped from the sky, landing on the bench with a thud. They were holding their very small wrench, which was glowing with a fierce, stubborn green light.
"I found the leak!" Pip yelled. "There's a hole in the 'Subconscious Piping' near the water cooler! I can't reach it because the water cooler keeps turning into my 3rd-grade teacher!"
"Muse!" Ne Job called out. "Distract the teacher! Ao Bing, get off the bench! We need a structural brace made of Waking Thoughts!"
The team moved. The Muse turned back into her neon self and began reciting "The Most Boring Regulations Ever Written" to the teacher-cooler. As the teacher fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, Pip dove for the pipe.
The Wake-Up Call
Ne Job used his silver stapler to pin the "Sunset" to the "Exam Hall," creating a paradoxical knot that forced the dream to collapse under its own weight.
With a final CLANG of Pip's wrench, the "Subconscious Pipe" was sealed.
The marshmallow floor, the exam hall, and the eternal sunset vanished in a puff of lavender smoke. The hallway returned to its sturdy, boring, 100% geometric self.
The Ledger of the Living
Ne Job sat on the floor of the hallway, breathing hard. His boots were still a little sticky.
LOG: CHAPTER 58 SUMMARY.
STATUS: Dream leak plugged. Reality restored.
NOTE: I am officially exempting myself from all future exams, real or imagined.
OBSERVATION: Peace is nice, but it's the struggle that keeps the ink flowing.
P.S.: Pip's 3rd-grade teacher is actually quite pleasant once you stop trying to solve her math problems.
The Muse sat beside him, her hair flickering with a tired, neon-blue. "You did well, Ne Job. You didn't let the sunset take you."
Ne Job looked at the Semicolon at the end of the hall. It was glowing with a sharp, wakeful violet.
"I have too much work to do to sleep, Muse," Ne Job said. "Speaking of which... why is there a Giant Golden Egg sitting in the middle of the Lobby, and why does it have my name on it?"