Chapter 6: The Department of Divine Miscommunication and the Fax Machine That Speaks in Riddles
Ne arrived at the Department of Divine Miscommunication with Form 7-Gamma clutched in one hand and a growing sense of existential dread in the other. The hallway leading to the department was lined with motivational posters that made no sense:
- "Synergy is a myth, but we believe in it anyway."
- "If you understand this message, report to HR immediately."
- "Communication is key. We lost the key in 1437."
The door to the department was labeled "Entrance (or Exit, depending on interpretation)". Ne pushed it open and was immediately greeted by a chorus of overlapping voices.
"Welcome!"
"Goodbye!"
"Please hold."
"Your call is important to us."
The room was a maze of cubicles, each staffed by divine beings wearing headsets and arguing with themselves. One angel was in a heated debate with his own echo. Another was typing furiously on a keyboard that wasn't plugged in.
Ne approached the front desk, where a receptionist with three mouths and no ears was chewing gum, humming, and reciting poetry simultaneously.
"Hi! I'm here to deliver Form 7-Gamma for the Divine Audit."
The receptionist blinked. "Did you say Form 7-Gamma or Form 7-Llama?"
"Gamma."
"Drama?"
"Gamma!"
"Ah. You'll need to submit that to the Fax Machine of Riddles."
Ne's PDA buzzed ominously. A new task appeared: Decode the Fax Machine's riddle and transmit Form 7-Gamma.
---
The Fax Machine of Riddles sat in the corner of the department, surrounded by a glowing aura of confusion. It looked ancient—half obsidian, half office-grade plastic—with a single blinking light and a slot labeled "Offer your truth."
Ne inserted the form. The machine whirred, beeped, and then spat out a riddle:
"I speak without mouth, hear without ears, and answer only when misunderstood. What am I?"
Ne groaned. "A fax machine?"
The machine buzzed angrily and printed a rejection slip: "Too literal. Try again."
She tried again. "A riddle?"
"Close, but not enough chaos."
Ne looked around. The receptionist was now arguing with a stapler. One of the cubicle angels was crying into a headset. Inspiration struck.
"Miscommunication!"
The machine paused. Then it dinged. "Accepted."
It swallowed Form 7-Gamma and printed a confirmation slip: "Audit Form Received. Probability of success: 3.7%. Good luck."
---
As Ne turned to leave, the receptionist handed her a glowing scroll.
"Next task: Attend the Pre-Audit Briefing in the Department of Divine Logistics. Bring snacks. Preferably metaphysical."
Ne sighed. "Do you have directions?"
The receptionist pointed to a wall. "Through the door that doesn't exist."
Ne stared. There was no door.
Then the wall blinked.