Chapter 8 – The Audit Team Descends
Ne Job thought the words "Audit Team from Heaven" sounded… boring.
How bad could it be? He'd survived the Printer Demon, Lord Xian's lectures, and an avalanche of scrolls about mortals arguing over reincarnation into household pets. Surely an "audit" was just bean-counters double-checking forms, right?
Wrong.
By the next morning, the Bureau of Celestial Affairs looked like a warzone.
Assistant Yue was frantically reorganizing filing cabinets with the intensity of a general preparing for siege. Bureaucrat spirits sprinted up and down the hallways, balancing mountains of forms. Even Lord Xian, usually composed and imperious, barked orders like a drill sergeant in a collapsing empire.
"Intern!" he snapped the moment Ne Job walked in. "Where is your pen? WHERE IS YOUR PEN?!"
Ne Job patted his pockets. "Uh… left it on my desk?"
Xian's mustache bristled so violently it nearly detached. "UNACCEPTABLE! If the Audit Team finds us lacking in writing implements, they'll accuse us of 'Negligence of Tools'—a Category Five infraction!"
Ne Job winced. "There are categories?"
"Yes!" Yue shouted from across the office, hurling papers into sorted piles like a possessed librarian. "One through Ten! Category One is 'minor misfiling.' Category Ten is…" She froze, shuddering. "…the Shredder Protocol."
Ne Job gulped. "That… sounds bad."
"No one survives the Shredder Protocol," whispered a courier spirit before vanishing in terror.
---
By noon, the Bureau was spotless. Desks gleamed. Scrolls were stacked so neatly they formed miniature pagodas. Even the Printer Demon had been polished, its runes freshly inked. It muttered sulkily: "THEY MADE ME TAKE A BATH."
Then the air trembled.
A golden chariot descended from the heavens, pulled by four blazing qilin. Trumpets of divine brass blared, shaking the rafters. Bureau staff fell to their knees as armored inspectors stepped through a rift of light.
At their head marched a man in immaculate white robes, his hair tied so tightly it squeaked. His eyes glowed like two account books balanced to perfection. Behind him followed a small army of assistants carrying clipboards, brushes, and terrifyingly sharp quills.
"We are the Heavenly Audit Team," the man intoned, his voice echoing like a temple bell. "By decree of the Jade Emperor, we shall examine every process, every form, every soul transfer of this Bureau."
Lord Xian prostrated himself so quickly Ne Job thought he'd sprained his spine. "Auditor Zhang! We are honored by your… generous scrutiny!"
Ne Job leaned toward Yue, whispering, "That guy doesn't look so scary. I mean, yeah, glowing eyes, but—"
Auditor Zhang snapped his fingers. One assistant produced a scroll. Another produced a flame. The scroll was incinerated on the spot.
"This," Zhang said coldly, "was a misaligned form."
Ne Job went pale. "Wait… that looks exactly like the one I—"
Yue clamped a hand over his mouth. "Shhh. Do you want to die?!"
---
The Audit began.
Inspectors swarmed every department. They flipped through scrolls, sniffed ink for freshness, weighed stamps for proper celestial pressure. One measured the gap between stacked papers with a golden ruler and scowled.
"Two millimeters off," he hissed. "Category Four infraction."
Lord Xian nearly fainted.
Meanwhile, Ne Job was assigned the worst possible task: escort duty.
"Intern," barked Auditor Zhang. "You will guide us through the Bureau. If you fail, your soul shall be demoted to worm status for thirty thousand years."
"W-worm?" Ne Job squeaked.
"Yes," Zhang said without blinking. "Specifically, a bookworm. You will live inside moldy ledgers and eat paper until the end of days."
Ne Job swallowed hard. "Yessir, this way please!"
---
The Audit Team inspected everything Ne Job showed them. The water cooler. The pigeon courier system. Even the celestial bathroom schedule.
At each stop, Auditor Zhang found flaws.
"These forms are folded left, not right. Inconsistency breeds corruption."
"This ink is slightly smudged. Smudge implies laziness. Laziness implies rebellion."
"This filing cabinet squeaks. Is this a Bureau or a pigsty?"
Each critique was delivered with divine finality, as though the fate of heaven itself hinged on the direction of a paperclip.
Ne Job's nerves frayed with every step. He tried cracking a joke once—"Ha ha, well, at least the chairs are straight, right?"—but the inspector glared at him until he considered spontaneous combustion as a preferable escape.
---
Finally, the auditors reached the Copy Department.
The Printer Demon froze as Auditor Zhang's glowing eyes swept over it.
"Obsolete model," Zhang declared. "Consumes excess toner. Emits unauthorized smoke. Unfit for Bureau operations."
The demon whimpered. "PLEASE, MASTER INTERN, DEFEND ME."
Ne Job raised a hand nervously. "Uh, sir? It may be old, but it… uh… does the job? Sometimes?"
"Silence," Zhang said coldly. "We will replace it with a HeavenMark 5000 Auto-Duplicator. Sleek. Efficient. No soul sacrifices required."
The demon's eyes widened in betrayal. "YOU WOULD ABANDON ME? AFTER ALL WE SHARED?"
Ne Job panicked. "Wait, no, I—I wasn't abandoning you—"
Too late. With a roar of fury, the printer demon broke its chains. Paper flew everywhere, scrolls shredded into confetti.
"IF I AM OBSOLETE… THEN I SHALL TAKE YOU ALL WITH ME!"
---
Pandemonium erupted. Inspectors fled in terror, dropping clipboards. Lord Xian screamed about Category Ten infractions. Assistant Yue tried to shield the filing cabinets with her own body.
And Ne Job?
He found himself face-to-face with a berserk printer demon, ink spraying like blood, its tray-mouth snarling.
"CHOOSE, INTERN!" it bellowed. "STAND WITH ME… OR BE CRUSHED WITH THEM!"
Ne Job froze, caught between the wrath of Heaven's auditors and the rage of a betrayed office demon.
For the first time since starting this ridiculous internship, he realized: there was no safe choice.