Chapter 39: The Department of Lost Sleep
The Bureau had finally mastered the art of the pause, but as Ne Job discovered at 0300 Cycles, the universe does not stop just because the staff is taking a nap.
He was awakened not by his alarm, but by the sensation of standing in a field of giant, glowing marshmallows while a choir of penguins sang opera in a language that sounded like bubbling soup.
"This is 100% not my dream," Ne Job muttered, adjusting his nightcap. "I usually dream about alphabetical filing systems and the perfect tension of a heavy-duty staple."
The Great Dream Drift
He sat up—not in his bed, but on his desk in the Grand High Office. The room was flooded with a soft, neon-blue mist. Floating through the air were translucent orbs, each containing a fragment of a human's subconscious.
"Commissioner!" Assistant Yue whispered, her holographic form appearing in a Victorian nightgown. "We have a massive spill in the Department of Human Trajectories, Section S-Rem. The 'Dream-to-User' linkages have snapped. It's a 7.5% catastrophic misfiling!"
Ne Job looked out the window. Usually, the "Night-Cycle" of the universe was a steady stream of orderly pulses. Now, it looked like a kaleidoscope had exploded.
"I just woke up in a dream where I was a high-speed chase through a city made of cheese!" The Muse cried, bursting into the room wearing a helmet made of a hollowed-out watermelon. "And the Architect is currently trapped in a dream belonging to a five-year-old who is terrified of sentient broccoli!"
The Nightmare of Logistics
The problem was profound. If a person wakes up in the wrong dream, their trajectory for the following day is 100% skewed. A heart surgeon might wake up with the confidence of a professional cat-groomer; a world leader might wake up convinced they are a very small, very lost tugboat.
"Pip! Where is the Intern?" Ne Job shouted, dodging a floating orb that contained a very loud rock concert.
"I'm here!" Pip's voice came from the ceiling. They were using their very small wrench to tighten the valves on a massive, glowing pipe labeled SUBCONSCIOUS PIPELINE. "The pressure is too high, Commissioner! Everyone in the universe is dreaming at once, and the 'And' energy is making them overlap!"
The 7.5% Lucid Solution
"We can't refile them one by one," Architect Ao Bing gasped, appearing in the office while still being chased by a translucent, angry floret of broccoli. "There are billions of them! We need a Narrative Anchor!"
Ne Job looked at the Semicolon. It was pulsing with a rhythmic, soothing violet light—the "beat" they had established in the last chapter.
"The Semicolon is a bridge between states," Ne Job realized. "It's the transition between waking and sleeping. We need to use it as a tuning fork!"
Ne Job grabbed his silver stapler and a roll of Pip's rainbow duct tape. He didn't staple the dreams; he stapled a "Return to Sender" tag to the Semicolon's velvet cushion and then struck the Semicolon with the handle of his stapler.
CHIME.
The sound wasn't a noise; it was a vibration that traveled through the "Dream-Mist."
The Sorting of the Sleepers
"Again!" Ne Job commanded.
CHIME.
With every strike, the mist began to swirl. The glowing orbs, reacting to the frequency of the Semicolon, began to align. The heart surgeon's dream drifted back toward the hospital; the five-year-old's broccoli nightmare retreated to a compost bin in the suburbs.
"It's working!" The Muse shouted, her watermelon helmet dissolving as she regained her own creative subconscious. "The dreams are finding their owners! The 7.5% drift is being corrected!"
Pip twisted their wrench one last time, sealing the Subconscious Pipeline with a flourish of rainbow tape. The neon-blue mist began to drain out of the hallways, leaving the Bureau smelling faintly of lavender and warm milk.
The Waking World
As the suns of the Feline Realm began to rise on the horizon, the last of the orbs vanished. The Bureau returned to its usual, sturdy gloom.
Ne Job sat in his chair, feeling 100% exhausted and 7.5% confused about the penguins. He opened his ledger.
LOG: CHAPTER 39 SUMMARY.
STATUS: Dream spill contained. Universe successfully returned to its own pillows.
NOTE: I've instructed the Architect to install 'Sleep-Walk Guardrails' in Section S-Rem.
OBSERVATION: Most people's dreams are incredibly disorganized. I should consider sending out a 'Dream-Filing Best Practices' memo.
P.S.: I'm still keeping the watermelon helmet. It's surprisingly comfortable.
The Muse leaned over his shoulder, rubbing her eyes. "Hey, Ne Job? What do you think the Author dreams about?"
Ne Job looked at the silver ink on his desk, then up at the vellum sky. "I think he dreams about us, Muse. And I think he's finally starting to like the plot."
Pip bounced in, holding a single, tiny, glowing orb. "Hey! I found one more! It says: NE JOB'S PERFECT DAY."
Ne Job reached for it, but the orb popped, leaving behind nothing but a small, silver staple and the faint sound of a filing cabinet closing perfectly.
He smiled. "To be continued."