Chapter 63: The Pharaonic Filing
The transition was not a fade-to-black, but a Sandstorm of Syntax. At 13:00 Cycles, the crisp vellum walls of the Bureau began to thicken, turning into massive blocks of sun-warmed limestone. The neon lights flickered and died, replaced by the flickering, smoky glow of papyrus-reed torches.
"Commissioner," Assistant Yue's voice came from a dark corner, but the metallic clack was gone. In its place was the rhythmic chisel-chisel-scrape of metal on stone. "WE. HAVE. SLIPPED. INTO. A. HISTORICAL. EPIC. MY. RIBBON. HAS. BEEN. REPLACED. BY. A. CHISEL. AND. MALLET. I. AM. CURRENTLY. 100%. ANALOG."
The Pyramid of Paperwork
Ne Job looked down. His trench coat had been replaced by a pleated linen kilt, though—thankfully—his silver-plumed hat had remained, now resembling a Pharaoh's crown with an administrative twist. His desk was a massive slab of granite.
"Where's Section C-7?" Ne Job demanded, his voice echoing in the vast, subterranean chamber.
"It's now the Inner Sanctum of the Great Ledger," Architect Ao Bing shouted, emerging from behind a pillar. He was wearing a leopard-skin robe and carrying a golden measuring rod. "Ne Job, the architecture is magnificent! But the logistics are a nightmare! We're no longer filing trajectories; we're carving Mummified Deadlines into the walls!"
Indeed, the "Pending" files weren't folders anymore. They were limestone tablets, each weighing 7.5% more than a healthy archivist could lift.
The Curse of the Red Tape
"Pip! The wrench!" Ne Job called out.
"It's a bronze crowbar now, Boss!" Pip yelled, struggling to move a tablet labeled THE DESTINY OF RAMESSES II. "And we have a problem! The 'Deadlines' are literally Mummified!"
A row of linen-wrapped scrolls began to twitch on a nearby shelf. They didn't just contain overdue reports; they were animated by the spirit of Ancient Procrastination. They hopped off the shelves, trailing dusty bandages of red tape, and began to trip the staff.
"If they touch you, you get stuck in a 'Stagnant Era'!" The Muse warned, her hair now a shimmering headdress of lapis lazuli and gold. "You'll spend eternity carving the same 'Notice of Delay'!"
The 7.5% Hieroglyphic Huddle
Ne Job realized that in a Historical Epic, you couldn't use modern logic. You had to use Iconography.
"Yue! Stop chiseling 'Hello' and start chiseling 'Exempt'!" Ne Job commanded. "Junior! Grab the ibis-feather pen!"
The Junior Archivist, looking adorable in a tiny loincloth, began to draw a series of symbols on the wall. He didn't use letters; he used a picture of a Stapler, a Dragon, and a Semicolon.
"What are you doing, Junior?" Ao Bing asked.
"I am creating a Statute of Limitations!" Junior squeaked. "In this era, if it's not carved in the 'Grand Frieze,' it doesn't exist!"
The Scaling of the Tomb
Ne Job grabbed his silver stapler—which had become a heavy, ceremonial stone-press—and lunged for the Lead Mummified Deadline. It was a massive scroll labeled TAXES OF THE NILE.
"You are REDACTED!" Ne Job bellowed.
He slammed the stone-press down. The silver spark of the "And" flared, even in this ancient setting. The stone-press didn't just staple; it Crushed the deadline into fine desert sand.
With the Lead Deadline defeated, the other scrolls lost their animation. The Muse used her "Lapis-Spark" to burn away the dusty bandages, and Pip used the bronze crowbar to wedge the "Time-Gear" of the pyramid back into its 21st-century position.
The Return from the Sands
With a sound like a thousand falling sand-clocks, the limestone dissolved back into vellum. The torches turned back into (slightly flickering) neon. Ne Job's linen kilt snapped back into a trench coat.
LOG: CHAPTER 63 SUMMARY.
STATUS: Historical Epic survived. Mummified deadlines pulverized.
NOTE: I am never, ever going back to stone tablets. My back is 100% sore.
OBSERVATION: Ancient history is just modern bureaucracy with more eyeliner.
P.S.: Assistant Yue has kept the chisel. She says it's 'Satisfying' for when a memo is particularly stubborn.
The Muse leaned over his shoulder, her hair returning to its vibrant, electric neon-blue. "You looked good in gold, Ne Job. Very... authoritative."
Ne Job looked at the Semicolon. It was glowing with a timeless, sun-drenched violet.
"I prefer 'Accountable,' Muse," Ne Job said, rubbing his neck. "Now, let's see why Barnaby the Dragon is currently glowing a 7.5% shade of neon-green and why he's started breathing 'Experimental Plot Twists' instead of fire."