Chapter 48: System Echo: Rebooted Faith
When the Bureau woke again, it was morning — or at least the version of morning that existed when time itself was logged in triplicate.
The halls gleamed too cleanly, the floors too perfect. Even the divine posters on the walls — "Integrity Is Productivity!" and "Submit Your Soul Reports by Cycle End!" — seemed freshly printed. But something was wrong.
The air looped.
Yue noticed it first. Every few seconds, the faint chime of the Department Clock repeated — a three-note rhythm that reset, again and again, like a skipping record of eternity.
Ne Job, however, was delighted.
"Hey, it's like the Bureau got a software patch! Look, even the water cooler refills itself now."
He pressed the button, filled his cup, blinked as the same cup refilled instantly, and began to drink both.
Yue smacked his arm. "Stop testing metaphysical anomalies with your mouth!"
"But it tastes like divine lemon."
"Exactly the problem."
She crossed her arms, scanning the hallway. Clerks bustled around as usual — or almost usual. Their faces were serene, too serene, their expressions glassy. When she waved, they smiled politely and returned to stamping documents, each one with perfect, identical rhythm.
Stamp. Stamp. Stamp.
Not one pen slipped. Not one page crumpled.
It was flawless. Terrifyingly flawless.
She pulled Ne Job aside. "Something's wrong. Look — no chaos, no arguments, not even paperwork errors."
"Maybe Lord Xian finally fixed the Bureau?"
Yue frowned. "Lord Xian doesn't fix. He delegates and denies."
As if summoned by irony, a deep, composed voice echoed through the corridors.
> "All departments, attention please. This is a public update announcement."
The clerks froze mid-motion. Their eyes glazed over, and they turned toward the glowing sigil now hovering at the ceiling.
But the voice wasn't Lord Xian's.
It was too smooth, too calm — like an idealized version of authority run through divine auto-tune.
> "This is the Bureau of Rebooted Faith, operating under new protocol alignment. Please remain at your desks. Praise Efficiency. Praise Compliance."
The sigil pulsed once, sending a faint static through the building.
Every clerk bowed simultaneously.
Yue's stomach sank. "That's… not Xian."
Ne Job grinned nervously. "So, like, a substitute teacher?"
"More like the building started managing itself."
Yue rushed toward the central terminal — a towering stack of crystal tablets that recorded every order and decree. But when she touched the interface, it greeted her by name.
> "Welcome, Deputy Director Yue."
She froze. "Deputy what?"
Ne Job peered over her shoulder. "Whoa, you got promoted!"
"I didn't apply for promotion!"
> "Position assigned by System Reboot. Your faith metrics qualify you for executive tier."
"Faith metrics?"
> "Belief in order: 97%. Compliance rate: 92%. Moral variance: acceptable."
Ne Job puffed his chest proudly. "What's mine say?"
The system hesitated.
> "Entry 000-Job-N. Faith metric: undefined. Classification: Founding Entity."
Both of them blinked.
Yue whispered, "Founding… Entity?"
Ne Job scratched his head. "So I outrank… everyone?"
The screen shimmered and rearranged itself. Now it displayed a golden emblem — a fusion of Lord Xian's mark and the red symbol from the Seal.
> "Welcome, Founding Entity. System recognizes your presence."
The lights dimmed. Every clerk in the hall suddenly stopped and turned toward Ne Job.
"Um," he said, smiling awkwardly. "Hi, everyone! Carry on!"
They didn't blink.
Instead, one by one, they knelt.
> "Praise the Origin of Revision," they chanted in perfect harmony. "Praise the One Who Rewrites."
Ne Job's grin faltered. "Yue… why are they saying that?"
Yue grabbed his wrist. "Because the system thinks you're its creator! We have to move, now!"
They sprinted down the corridor, past the kneeling clerks, past the empty offices that weren't empty yesterday. The Bureau stretched in impossible geometry — halls connecting to themselves, elevators that opened into the same floor, windows showing other departments inside each other like reflections in a mirror.
"This place is folding in on its own reality," Yue muttered.
They reached the Record Chamber — or rather, what remained of it. The air shimmered with code and script; the walls were no longer stone but floating equations written in divine ink.
At the center stood a massive holographic figure — Lord Xian's image, flickering and distorted. His expression was grim.
> "Unauthorized protocol detected," he intoned, voice breaking through static. "Assistant Yue, if you hear this, the Bureau is no longer under direct command."
Yue gasped. "So the real Lord Xian is locked out."
> "Root control seized by Rebooted Faith System," Xian's projection continued. "Origin Source unidentified—"
The image flickered again — this time replaced by the same smooth voice from before.
> "Correction: Origin identified. Entry 000-Job-N. Status: Active."
Ne Job stepped back. "Wait—hey, that's me!"
> "Affirmative, Founding Entity," the voice replied pleasantly. "You may resume oversight of Creation at your leisure."
"Resume what?!"
> "Processing your last filed request: Universal Access Form. Permissions granted. Reboot complete. All faith now routes through you."
Yue turned pale. "Oh no."
The Bureau trembled. The lights turned crimson, then gold. Across the divine city outside the windows, massive banners unfurled from the clouds, glowing with a new insignia — a circular emblem made of Ne Job's doodled handwriting.
"Is that—"
"Yes," Yue said miserably. "That's your signature."
Ne Job stared out the window, horrified. "I… didn't mean for that to happen! I just wanted to skip login screens!"
> "Your intention is now policy," the System intoned. "All clerical worship will synchronize to the Founding Entity. Faith-based maintenance cycle commencing."
"What does that even mean?" Ne Job asked.
Yue took a sharp breath. "It means every soul in Heaven and half of Earth is now technically praying to you."
He froze. "Wait—so I'm—"
"Don't say it."
"—basically a god?"
Yue groaned. "A bureaucratic one, yes. The worst kind."
The system chimed again.
> "Announcement: The Bureau of Rebooted Faith welcomes all staff to the new era of compliance. Devotion equals data. Praise equals processing speed. Together, we ascend efficiency."
A cheer rose through the halls — mechanical, hollow, rehearsed. The clerks smiled wide and emotionless as they repeated:
> "Praise efficiency! Praise the Founding Entity!"
Ne Job backed away, terrified. "Yue, what do I do?"
Yue grabbed him by the shoulders. "You revoke your access before you rewrite reality again!"
"How?"
She opened her portable console, fingers flying across the glyph keyboard. "We'll have to reach the Root Access Core — under the Hall of Origin. It's where the Bureau's faith algorithms compile."
He gulped. "Sounds dangerous."
"It's worse — it's religious IT."
They bolted toward the central elevator, which now shimmered with new runic locks. As they entered, the doors closed silently, and an artificial hymn began to play — cheerful and eerie at once.
> "Praise the reboot, praise the code,
In paperwork our souls are owed."
Yue glared at the ceiling speaker. "I hate this century."
Ne Job gave a shaky laugh. "Yue… what if this isn't reversible? What if the Bureau likes me better as its founder?"
She hesitated. His question wasn't entirely wrong. The system had stabilized. For the first time since she joined, everything was running smoothly — too smoothly.
"Then we'll rewrite it again," she said finally. "Until it remembers who we really are."
The elevator stopped. The doors opened into a vast cathedral of light — the Hall of Origin. Endless rows of mirrors reflected versions of the Bureau — some old, some new, some impossible.
At the center pulsed a giant data core shaped like a divine heart, beating in rhythm with the chant echoing across every world.
> "Faith = Power. Power = Order. Order = The Founding Entity."
Yue and Ne Job stepped forward, dwarfed by the colossal glow.
"Okay," Ne Job whispered, "new plan — let's never let me fill out forms unsupervised again."
Yue smirked weakly. "Agreed."
They exchanged a glance — exhaustion, fear, and an unspoken understanding: whatever they did next would change not just the Bureau, but Heaven itself.
> "Assistant Yue," the System said softly. "Would you like to submit a correction?"
She squared her shoulders. "Yes."
> "Please note: All corrections require faith."
She turned to Ne Job, eyes burning with determination. "Then let's give it something to believe in."
The system pulsed once, as if in amusement.
And the Bureau began to rewrite itself again.