Chapter 135: The Janitors of the Absolute
The "Cleaners" did not arrive with a fanfare of trumpets or the terrifying roar of a cosmic engine. Instead, they appeared with the sound of a Squeaky Sponge against a clean window.
Descending from the sterile, bleached sky were hundreds of figures dressed in suits of "Vacuum-Sealed White." They had no faces—only polished, silver visors that reflected the city's perfection back at itself with a 100% glare. Each one carried a staff tipped with a pulsing, translucent cube of Solid Silence.
"The Janitors of the Absolute," The Oracle whispered, her rocking chair slowing to a mournful stop. "They are the 'Editors' who remove the 'Adjectives.' They believe that the universe is only finished when it is empty."
As the first Janitor touched down on the Plaza of Perpetual Symmetry, it didn't attack. It simply tapped its staff against the ground. The "Living Marble," which had been vibrating with the warm violet energy of the Semicolon, immediately turned into a flat, characterless gray. The small patch of "Emotional Moss" growing in a crack—a result of the Oracle's disaster—didn't just die; it was Un-Happened.
"They're erasing the 'Texture'!" Ao Bing screamed, clutching his golden measuring rod so hard it began to spark. "They're turning my masterpiece into a 'Blank Spreadsheet'! I designed those cracks to show the passage of time! You can't just... delete 'Time'!"
The Sanitization Protocol
Assistant Yue stepped forward, her metallic visor displaying a series of "Critical Error" notifications in rapid-fire neon red.
"COMMISSIONER. THE. JANITORS. ARE. EMITTING. A. 'UNIVERSAL. SOLVENT. FREQUENCY'. THEY. ARE. NOT. KILLING. THE. CITIZENS; THEY. ARE. 'RE-CLASSIFYING'. THEM. AS. 'BACKGROUND. NOISE'. ONCE. RE-CLASSIFIED, THE. CITIZENS. WILL. CEASE. TO. HAVE. 'DIALOGUE'. THEY. WILL. BECOME. 'STILL. LIFE'."
Near the fountain, a local poet who had been joyfully reciting nonsense suddenly went rigid. His colorful robes turned a dull beige, and his mouth disappeared. He became a statue—not of stone, but of "Indifference."
"I have seen many conquerors," Princess Ling said, her silver dagger glowing with a cold, protective light. "But none so cowardly as those who fight with 'Boredom.' In my empire, we burned the fields to prevent the enemy from eating. Here, the enemy is the one who wants the fields to be 'Orderly'."
She lunged at the nearest Janitor. Her blade, forged in the fires of "Regal Necessity," struck the silver visor. There was no blood, no spark. Instead, the dagger made a sound like a pen running out of ink. The Janitor didn't even turn. It simply continued its rhythmic "Tapping," erasing the color from the air itself.
The 7.5% Defilement Strategy
Ne Job watched as the "Semicolon Tower" was being forced back into a straight, rigid line. The violet glow at its tip was being choked by the Janitors' "Silence Cubes."
"Logic won't work," Ne Job realized, his mind racing through the Grand Archive of Tactics. "They are logic. They are the 'Final Draft' in its most aggressive form. If we want to stop them, we have to give them something they can't 'Categorize'."
"Muse!" Ne Job shouted. "We need 'Abstract Expressionism'! Now!"
The Muse didn't need to be told twice. Her hair, usually a controlled neon-violet, exploded into a chaotic, multi-colored storm of "Unstructured Thought." She flew toward the Janitors, but she didn't throw sparks. She threw "Grammatical Errors" and "Mixed Metaphors."
"How do you like a 'Blue Sound'?" she yelled, hurls a glob of neon-orange noise at a group of Janitors. "Or a 'Heavy Silence that Tastes like Pickles'?"
The Janitors paused. Their silver visors flickered. A cube of Solid Silence hit the "Heavy Silence that Tastes like Pickles" and... Glitch-ed. The cube turned into a rubber duck for a split second before vanishing.
"It's working!" Ao Bing cried, a mad glint in his eye. "They can't 'Format' a paradox! Architect's Decree: The North is now 'Left-ish'! The walls are now 'Subjective'! And the stairs... the stairs are now 'Suggestions'!"
Ao Bing slammed his rod into a nearby pillar. Instead of reinforcing it, he "De-Stabilized" its aesthetic. The pillar sprouted "Art Deco" wings and began to sing in a low, operatic bass.
Barnaby's Temporal Burp
While the team engaged in a "Battle of the Bizarre," Barnaby the Goat was undergoing a physical transformation. Having eaten the Oracle's "Spare Set of Future Events" in the previous chapter, his stomach was currently processing a 100% concentrated dose of "What Happens Next."
Barnaby's horns weren't just glowing; they were vibrating with a frequency that distorted the air around him.
"BARNABY. IS. EXPERIENCING. A. 'TEMPORAL. REFLUX'," Assistant Yue noted, moving toward the goat. "THE. 'FUTURE. EVENTS'. ARE. ATTEMPTING. TO. OCCUR. ALL. AT. ONCE. WITHIN. HIS. DIGESTIVE. TRACT."
The goat looked at a group of Janitors who were approaching the Oracle's tea table. He let out a bleat that sounded like a "Time-Lapse Video" of a forest growing. And then, he Burped.
A cloud of "Last Tuesday" erupted from Barnaby's mouth.
The cloud hit the Janitors. Instantly, they were no longer "Cleaning" the present. They were stuck in a loop of "Setting Up the Tea Party." They began to un-erase the floor, then erase it again, then put out napkins that didn't exist yet. They were trapped in a Temporal Paradox Puddle.
"Good boy, Barnaby," Ne Job muttered, stepping over a Janitor who was currently trying to "Sanitize" a moment that had already happened.
The Manager of the Absolute
The chaos was holding the line, but the sky was still white. The "Cleaners" were infinite, and the city was losing ground.
"You're making such a mess," a voice boomed. It wasn't the Glitch. It was a voice that sounded like a "Perfectly Balanced Ledger."
Descending from the center of the white sky was a figure much larger than the Janitors. He sat on a throne made of "Graph Paper" and carried a giant, golden Eraser. This was the Lead Editor, the one tasked with finalizing the "Final Draft."
"Archivist," the Lead Editor said, his voice flat and terrifyingly calm. "You are a 'Dangling Modifier' in a universe that requires a 'Full Stop.' Your 'Semicolon' is nothing more than a 'Procrastination Device.' I have come to 'Close the File'."
He raised his Golden Eraser. The light it emitted was a 100% "White-Out" that promised to delete the team, the city, and the very memory of the BCA.
The Logic of the Semicolon
Ne Job didn't flinch. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Semicolon.
"You think a 'Full Stop' is the end of the story," Ne Job said, stepping into the path of the white light. "But every 'Full Stop' is just a 'Semicolon' that lost its 'Potential.' You want to close the file because you're afraid of the 'Revision'."
Ne Job raised the Semicolon. He didn't use it to fight. He used it to Connect.
"Yue! Give me the 'Equation of Continued Probability'!"
Assistant Yue's eyes blazed with violet data.
"The universe isn't a 'Product', Editor!" Ne Job shouted. "It's a 'Work in Progress'!"
He slammed the Semicolon into the Golden Eraser's beam.
The collision didn't create an explosion. It created an "Ink-Spill." The white light of the Eraser was suddenly flooded with the violet ink of the Semicolon. The "Clean" sky began to fill with "Marginalia"—scribbles, notes, doodles, and half-finished thoughts.
The Lead Editor's throne of Graph Paper began to crumble into "Confetti."
"NO!" the Editor roared. "THE. DESIGN. MUST. BE. STABLE!"
"The design is Boring!" The Muse countered, hitting him with a "Neon-Pink Climax."
The "Janitors of the Absolute" began to dissolve, their silver visors cracking as they were forced to see the "Messy Beauty" of the city. The Poet near the fountain regained his mouth and immediately shouted, "FLIBBERTY-GIBBET!"
The Compromised Perfection
The Lead Editor vanished into a cloud of "Typos," leaving the Golden Eraser behind. It hit the ground and shattered into a thousand "Pencils," which immediately began to write themselves into the "Living Marble."
The sky returned to its blue, but it was a different blue. It was a blue that had "Character." The origami cranes started falling again, but now they were accompanied by "Tiny Brass Cogwheels" and "Paper Flowers."
Novus Aethel was no longer perfect. It was 100% "Complicated."
The Archivist's Log
The Oracle sat back in her rocking chair, taking a slow sip of her (now lukewarm) tea.
LOG: CHAPTER 135 SUMMARY.
STATUS: Sanitization halted. Novus Aethel saved (and successfully defiled).
NOTE: If someone tries to erase your story, make sure your "Ink" is permanent.
OBSERVATION: The Bureau's "Whimsy Margin" has officially increased to 15% due to the "Pencil Spill."
P.S.: Barnaby the Goat is currently sleeping off his "Temporal Indigestion." He is dreaming of "Next Thursday," and I have forbidden anyone from waking him up, lest we all get "Flash-Forwarded" to Monday morning.
Ne Job looked at the shattered remains of the Lead Editor's throne. Among the confetti, he saw a single, black business card. It had no name, only a gold-embossed symbol: a Full Stop inside a Circle of Gold.
"They aren't done," Ne Job said, picking up the card. "The 'Lead Editor' was just a 'Middle-Manager.' The 'Author' is still out there."
"Then we'd better find a 'Ghostwriter'," The Muse said, winking.