Chapter 37: The Audit Squad Arrives
(Arc 2: Audit from Heaven – Continuation)
There were three universal certainties in Heaven: paperwork never ends, divine tea is always lukewarm, and the Audit Squad never smiles.
Their arrival was like a solar eclipse — quiet, dark, and making everyone feel slightly judged for existing.
Assistant Yue and Ne Job stood in the central hall of the Bureaucratic Tower as the marble doors opened. A gust of chilled celestial wind swept through, carrying the scent of disinfectant and authority.
Five figures stepped in, all wearing identical obsidian robes embroidered with silver glyphs of balance. Their faces were hidden behind half-masks shaped like quills. The leader's insignia shimmered faintly: Shard Court Auditor – Rank A.
The entire administrative department stopped breathing. Even the enchanted brooms froze mid-sweep.
Lord Bureaucrat Xian's voice echoed across the chamber, formal and resonant. "Audit Squad Alpha, welcome to the Bureau. I trust your journey from the Shard Court was—"
"Lengthy," the leader interrupted flatly. "The Celestial Transit Department misfiled our travel permit. We will be auditing them later."
Xian's eyebrow twitched. "Of course you will."
Yue bowed deeply. "Assistant Yue, liaison for this division."
The leader nodded without looking at her. His gaze locked instead on Ne Job — the one wearing an intern badge slightly crooked and holding a cup of instant noodles.
"This," the auditor said, "is the one responsible for the anomaly?"
Ne Job froze mid-slurp. "…Define 'responsible.'"
Yue sighed. "Yes. That's him."
The leader pulled out a scroll that unfurled by itself, hundreds of lines glowing on its surface. "Ne Job, temporary intern, unregistered mortal reincarnate, divine probation status pending. You activated the REWRITE Protocol — a sealed relic of creation — without authorization."
Ne Job laughed nervously. "Technically, I tapped it. It did the activating part on its own."
The auditor ignored him. "By decree of the Shard Court, we will conduct a full procedural audit of your actions, intentions, and spiritual code integrity. Failure to comply will result in dematerialization into administrative data dust."
"Is that like getting fired?" Ne Job asked.
"It's like being deleted politely," Yue muttered.
The squad dispersed instantly, fanning out with terrifying efficiency. One began scanning the floor for reality residue, another summoned spectral copies of every document Ne Job had ever touched, and two others began interviewing the sentient filing cabinets (who were, frankly, enjoying the attention).
Yue followed behind, trying to mitigate the collateral fear. "Auditor, please note the system has already been partially stabilized. The intern's connection is residual only."
The leader tilted his head. "Residual or not, anomalies spread. I intend to find the source."
---
Meanwhile, Ne Job decided he should "help."
That was mistake number one.
He approached the nearest auditor, who was scribbling on a black tablet covered in runes. "Hi! I can show you where it happened. I even took some notes!"
The auditor didn't look up. "Do not interfere."
But Ne Job was already halfway to the restricted lab, waving cheerfully. "This way! It's, uh, mostly safe now. I think."
Yue turned around just in time to see him open the containment door. "Ne Job, wait—!"
Too late.
The lab was still unstable — reality shimmered faintly, like it was trying to decide between being a room or a paragraph. The golden stylus was gone, sealed by Lord Xian, but faint traces of the REWRITE script still clung to the air.
The auditors followed, recording every fluctuation. Their instruments buzzed in rhythmic, bureaucratic precision — until Ne Job sneezed.
The sneeze alone triggered a ripple through the unfinished code. The air warped. Every auditor's robe changed color to bright pink.
One of them froze mid-step. "…What just happened?"
Ne Job blinked. "Oh! I think the room's still a little… editable."
Yue facepalmed. "He's contaminated with residual authorization. The system still responds to him."
The leader's voice turned icy. "You mean he's still connected?"
"Only partially!" Yue insisted. "The REWRITE mark on his wrist is dormant. It shouldn't—"
A glowing word materialized midair:
> SHOULD.
Then it turned into SHOULD NOT. Then MAYBE. Then PIZZA.
The auditors all drew their quills in unison, a gesture that, in bureaucratic terms, meant imminent smiting.
"Contain him," the leader ordered.
Ne Job panicked. "Wait! I can fix it!"
Mistake number two.
He raised both hands defensively, but the REWRITE mark on his wrist flared to life. Golden text spilled into the air, forming a massive floating form labeled REQUEST FOR STABILIZATION — and auto-approved itself.
The entire lab snapped into perfect order. Papers aligned, shelves straightened, walls gleamed like new.
The auditors paused, uncertain.
Then the floor began humming.
The walls turned into a massive checklist, itemizing everything wrong with the Bureau. Every unfiled report, every delayed petition, every celestial misprint — all glowing in bright red.
Lord Xian's voice roared through the comm-crystal: "What in the nine heavens is happening down there?!"
The Audit Squad leader scowled. "He's triggering a full accountability rewrite! Every division's data is being audited simultaneously!"
Yue grabbed Ne Job by the shoulders. "Cancel it! Now!"
"I don't know how!" he shouted. "It's filing faster than I can panic!"
Everywhere across Heaven, bureaucrats suddenly froze mid-paperwork as their desks began reorganizing themselves. Reports filed themselves in order of "existential importance." One department discovered it had been using the wrong celestial ink for three centuries. The Mortal Rebirth Division's entire database started correcting names to their true karmic versions — causing thousands of souls to remember their past lives at once.
Chaos erupted.
Back in the lab, Yue forced her charm against Ne Job's wrist, trying to suppress the light. "Stop thinking about fixing things! The form reacts to intention!"
"I'm not thinking about fixing things!" he protested. "I'm thinking about not being executed!"
"That's still intent!"
The auditors, their patience officially exhausted, began chanting containment mantras. Sigils of nullification closed around Ne Job like glowing handcuffs.
But the REWRITE mark resisted, absorbing the suppression field and rewriting it into sparkly golden ribbons that spelled out:
> GOOD JOB!
Yue looked ready to faint. "It's complimenting him."
The Audit Squad leader's mask cracked slightly at the edge — possibly from clenching his jaw too hard. "This intern violates the natural laws of competence."
"Tell me about it," Yue muttered.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, the golden glow dimmed. The lab went silent.
The REWRITE form folded itself into a single, sealed document that floated gently into Yue's hands. The title shimmered:
> SYSTEM REPORT: ANOMALY STABILIZED VIA USER INITIATIVE.
RESULT: 83% EFFICIENCY IMPROVEMENT.
The auditors stared. Their data tablets confirmed it — across Heaven, the Bureau's efficiency had just improved.
Lord Xian's voice returned through the comm. "Report."
The leader hesitated. "…The anomaly has… improved administrative performance, my lord."
"Improved?"
"Yes. Significantly."
A long pause.
Then Xian said, in a tone of weary disbelief, "…Of course it did."
Ne Job grinned sheepishly. "So… does that mean I'm not deleted?"
Yue looked at him, utterly drained. "For now."
The leader finally turned to Ne Job. "Intern. Whatever you are, the REWRITE recognizes you. That means you're both the cause and the cure. The Shard Court will want answers."
He leaned closer. "And if you ever activate it again without clearance…"
Ne Job gulped. "…Dematerialization into polite dust?"
"Precisely."
The auditors departed, their robes flickering back from pink to black. As the chamber emptied, Yue slumped against the nearest wall.
"Ne Job," she said tiredly, "do you have any idea what you just did?"
He smiled brightly. "Saved the Bureau from inefficiency?"
She stared at him. "…You made Heaven run smoother by accident."
"Hey," he shrugged, "sometimes chaos is just misunderstood productivity."
Yue covered her face with her clipboard. "I need a transfer."
Outside the Bureau's windows, divine data streams shimmered with new clarity — rewritten and optimized under Ne Job's unintentional command. But deep within those glowing currents, a single line of code pulsed softly:
> REWRITE LOG: CONTINUE PENDING. USER AWAITS NEXT COMMAND.