Chapter 44: The Audit of the Absolute
The Bureau had finally achieved a sense of "Lived-in Texture" thanks to the Department of Atmosphere, but as Ne Job knew all too well, a busy office eventually attracts a Reality Inspector.
At exactly 09:00 Cycles, the air in the Grand Lobby didn't just vibrate—it flattened. A man stepped out of a portal that looked like a giant, glowing spreadsheet. He wore a suit of such high-resolution gray that it made Ne Job's trench coat look like a charcoal sketch. He carried a clipboard made of solid "Fact," and his eyes were two ticking metronomes.
"I am Inspector Prime from the Ministry of Literal Truth," the man announced, his voice sounding like a gavel hitting a block of ice. "I am here for the decennial Audit of the Absolute. I am here to determine if this Bureau is actually aligning the cosmos, or if you are simply doodling in the margins of existence."
The Precision of the Pen
Inspector Prime did not walk; he measured his way across the floor. He stopped at Ne Job's desk and squinted at the silver ink.
"Silver ink?" Prime tutted, marking something on his clipboard. "Inefficient. It allows for 7.5% metaphoric leakage. Standard black ink provides 100% certainty. Why is your ledger glowing?"
"It's the glow of progress," Ne Job countered, gripping his silver stapler. "We align trajectories through a mix of administrative precision and... well, narrative flair."
"Narrative flair is another word for 'lying to the universe'," Prime said coldly. "Show me your Alignment Metrics. Show me the proof that a single human life has been improved by your 'Celestial Clockwork'."
The Evidence of Chaos
The Inspector's presence was a 100% buzzkill. Under his gaze, the 7.5% sparkle didn't just fade—it apologized for existing.
He inspected the Great Mainspring and frowned at its syncopated beat. "This clock is procrastinating. It is missing 0.004 seconds every hour. Over an eon, that is an entire weekend of missing reality. Explain yourself, Architect."
Ao Bing stammered, his monocle fogging up. "It's... it's for the soul of the machine! It needs to breathe!"
"Machines do not breathe," Prime noted. "They execute. This Bureau is 92.5% fluff. I am recommending a Total Narrative Reset. We shall delete the Muse, the Intern, and the silver ink, and replace them with a series of very efficient automated sorting algorithms."
The Defense of the Inexplicable
The Muse stood by the coffee machine, her neon hair turning a dull, sensible brown. "He's right, Ne Job," she whispered. "If you look at the math... we don't make sense. We're just a series of happy accidents stapled together."
Ne Job looked at his staff. They were losing heart. Even Pip had stopped using their wrench and was staring at the floor.
"Wait," Ne Job said, stepping in front of Inspector Prime. "You want metrics? You want proof of alignment? Look at the Section C-7 Records for the last hour."
Ne Job pulled out a file. It was a report on a baker in a small town on a minor planet.
"According to the 'Ministry of Literal Truth', this baker should have been perfectly efficient," Ne Job said. "But because our Mainspring skipped a beat, he arrived at his shop three seconds late. Because he was late, he saw a stray cat. Because he saw the cat, he felt a 7.5% increase in whimsy. He gave the cat a scrap of bread. That cat, feeling satisfied, didn't trip a passerby who was carrying a very important letter."
The 7.5% Margin of Error
Inspector Prime looked at the file. "And? The letter arrived. Efficiency was maintained."
"No," Ne Job smiled. "The letter arrived, but the baker was happy. Your algorithms can align the stars, Prime, but they can't align a smile. We don't just manage the trajectories; we manage the texture of the journey. And texture requires a margin of error."
Ne Job grabbed his silver stapler and, in a fit of administrative rebellion, stapled a "Certificate of Unverifiable Excellence" directly onto the Inspector's high-resolution clipboard.
The Audit Result
The Inspector stared at the silver staple. For a moment, the metronomes in his eyes slowed down. He looked at the Beaver-Architect, the 1980s Assistant Yue, and the glowing Semicolon.
"It is... highly irregular," Prime muttered. "It is statistically impossible to justify your existence. However..."
He checked his clipboard one last time.
"I find that a universe with 100% efficiency is 100% prone to catastrophic boredom. Your '7.5% Sparkle' acts as a lubricant for the gears of fate. I shall pass your audit... provided you promise to file a report on that cat."
The Aftermath of Truth
Inspector Prime vanished into his spreadsheet portal, leaving the Bureau in a state of stunned relief. The neon returned to the Muse's hair; the gold returned to the Mainspring.
Ne Job sat at his desk and opened his ledger.
LOG: CHAPTER 44 SUMMARY.
STATUS: Audit passed. Existence justified (mostly).
NOTE: I need to find that cat and give it a promotion to 'Narrative Consultant.'
OBSERVATION: The truth is important, but a good story is what makes the truth worth hearing.
P.S.: I've hidden the silver stapler. Prime looked like he wanted to confiscate it for 'further study.'
The Muse leaned over his shoulder, her hair sparking with twice the usual energy. "So, Ne Job. We're officially 'Necessary Fluff' now. What's the next move for the Bureau of Sparkles and Files?"
Ne Job looked at the Semicolon. It was pulsing with a victorious, violet light.
"I think," Ne Job said, "it's time we visited the Department of Forgotten Promises. I have a feeling there's a 7.5% chance we owe someone an apology."