Chapter 19: The Breakroom Rebellion
The transition from "High Commissioner" to "Lead Author of the Infinite Addendum" was supposed to be a quiet one. Ne Job had envisioned a week of gentle filing, perhaps a celebratory biscuit with the Arch-Feline, and a long, uninterrupted nap in the gloom of the C-7 annex.
However, reality—now formatted as a handwritten manuscript with 7.5% messy ink—had other plans.
"Commissioner," Assistant Yue said, her holographic glasses glinting with a sharp, digital light. "We have a localized narrative drift in the East Wing. Specifically, the Staff Breakroom has declared independence."
Ne Job looked up from a stack of paper-crane flight logs. "Independence? From what? Gravity? The laws of lunch-breaks?"
"From the Bureau," Yue replied. "The Forbidden Protagonists have established a rival administration. They're calling it the 'Agency of Protagonist Prerogative,' and they've already annexed the coffee machine."
The Sovereignty of the Sandwich
Ne Job, followed by the Architect and a skip-jumping Muse, marched toward the breakroom. As they approached, the hallway began to change. The standard mahogany paneling was being replaced by dramatic, mood-lit stone corridors and the occasional, inexplicable patch of fog.
Outside the breakroom door stood the Map-Coat Man, holding a sharpened baguette like a broadsword.
"Halt!" he cried, his voice echoing with unnecessary reverb. "You enter the sovereign territory of the Main Plot. Here, the coffee is always dark, the stakes are always high, and no one cares about the filing fees!"
"Map-Coat," Ne Job sighed, adjusting his hat. "I literally unfroze you two chapters ago. This is a breakroom. There are half-eaten yogurts in that fridge older than your current character arc."
"Yogurts of Destiny!" the man countered, but he stepped aside as The Muse threw a handful of glitter-coated sunflower seeds at him.
Inside, the breakroom was a disaster of high-stakes drama. The Storm-Hair Woman was using her internal static to rapidly heat a croissant, while the Detective-Who-Solves-Future-Crimes was arresting a toaster.
At the center table sat the Plot Twist Man, wearing a sash that read interim-president-slash-traitor.
The Rival Bureaucracy
"Ne Job! Just the man I wanted to betray!" the Plot Twist Man announced, standing up. "We've decided that the Department of Infinite Addendums is too... collaborative. A good story needs a hero, and a hero needs a throne. We've drafted a new constitution. It's mostly monologues and action sequences."
"And who is the hero?" the Architect asked, his monocle scanning the room for structural violations. "Because the plumbing in here wasn't designed for this much 'Protagonist Energy.' The pipes are starting to leak metaphors."
"We're all the hero!" the Storm-Hair Woman crackled. "In rotation! Every hour, a new person gets to be the center of the universe! It's 100% fair and 7.5% chaotic!"
Ne Job looked at the coffee machine, which was now producing "Liquid Courage" instead of decaf. He realized the problem. By giving the Forbidden Protagonists a place in the story, he had given them a sense of agency. And a character with agency is the natural enemy of an archivist.
"You can't have a Bureau of heroes," Ne Job said, leaning against a vending machine that was currently dispensing "Loot Crates" instead of snacks. "A Bureau needs people to hold the ladder. It needs people to check the spelling. If everyone is the main character, then no one is watching the Mainspring."
The Counter-Offer
"The Great Eraser was right about one thing," the Detective noted, not looking up from the handcuffed toaster. "The story is getting cluttered. We're just trying to provide a... focus."
"By stealing the coffee?" The Muse asked, horrified. "That's not focus, that's a war crime!"
Ne Job stepped into the center of the room. He didn't use his High Commissioner Seal. He didn't use his silver stapler. He simply pulled out a blank ledger.
"I'm starting a sequel," Ne Job announced. The room went silent. Even the toaster stopped struggling. "And every sequel needs a spin-off. I am officially designating the Breakroom as the 'Department of High-Stakes Domesticity.' You want to be heroes? Fine. You are now in charge of the 'Crisis of the Mundane.'"
The Plot Twist Man narrowed his eyes. "The what?"
"Someone has to protect the Bureau from the boring stuff," Ne Job explained, thinking on his feet. "The papercuts. The malfunctioning staples. The lukewarm tea. These are the true villains of any organization. I'm giving you a budget, a charter, and—most importantly—your own sub-plots."
The Storm-Hair Woman looked at her lightning-toasted croissant. "Sub-plots?"
"Official ones," Ne Job promised. "With their own footnotes. But you have to stay in the East Wing, and you have to share the coffee machine with the Archivists."
The Treaty of the Toaster
The Forbidden Protagonists huddled. There was a lot of dramatic whispering and at least one person stared intensely out a window at nothing.
"We accept," the Plot Twist Man said, "provided we get to have an annual gala that is 7.5% more dramatic than the last one."
"Deal," Ne Job said, quickly scribbling the directive into his ledger before they could change their minds.
As the team walked back toward the Grand High Office, the Architect looked at Ne Job with newfound respect. "That was... brilliant, Commissioner. You've successfully quarantined the 'Main Character Syndrome' in the breakroom."
"It's not a quarantine, Ao Bing," Ne Job said, rubbing his eyes. "It's a delegation. I've realized that the best way to manage chaos isn't to file it away—it's to give it a job title."
The Ghost in the Ink
Back at his desk, Ne Job sat down to write his summary. But as he dipped his pen into the inkwell, the liquid didn't stay black. It turned a shimmering, translucent silver.
LOG: CHAPTER 19 SUMMARY.
STATUS: Breakroom insurrection resolved via Spin-Off.
NOTE: The 'Agency of Protagonist Prerogative' is now a subsidiary of the Bureau.
THREAT: Low, as long as the coffee holds out.
OBSERVATION: The ink is acting strange. It feels... lighter.
Suddenly, a voice whispered from the very pages of his ledger. It wasn't the voice of the Eraser or the Saboteur. It was a thin, 7.5% familiar voice.
"You're doing... a good job... Ne Job..."
Ne Job froze. He looked at the silver ink. It was the Clerk Ghost—the former Wraith of Purity. He had disappeared during the Full-System Format.
"Ghost?" Ne Job whispered. "Are you in the stationery?"
"I'm in... the margins..." the voice replied, sounding happy. "I'm the... white space... between the words... I'll keep... the edges clean... for you..."
Ne Job smiled. The Bureau was full. The margins were guarded. And the sequel was just beginning.