Chapter 4: The Department of Reality Management and Other Bad Ideas
Percy Fogg had never stolen so much as an office pen in his life. He returned library books early. He filed taxes with meticulous precision. He even rewound VHS tapes back in the day, which should have earned him some kind of moral high ground.
So it was especially frustrating to learn that the only way to fix his existential crisis involved breaking into the most heavily secured bureaucratic institution in the known multiverse.
Chrono, the sentient, permanently exasperated pocket watch, had wasted no time laying out the ridiculous plan.
“We need to infiltrate the Department of Reality Management—the organization that decides what does and does not exist,” Chrono explained, pacing across his cluttered workshop. “They keep a Master Index, a list of every valid entity in the multiverse. If your name isn’t in it, reality treats you like a filing error.”
Percy folded his arms. “And let me guess—I’m not in the Master Index.”
Chrono snorted. “Oh no, you were violently erased from it the moment you checked out that book.”
Zippy Trelmor, Percy’s highly questionable guide to interdimensional survival, leaned against a workbench, grinning. “Good news, though! We’re going to steal your existence back.”
Percy groaned. “Why does that sound both illegal and morally unsettling?”
Chrono gave him a flat look. “Would you rather spend the rest of eternity in a bureaucratic void, hovering in a permanent state of cosmic clerical limbo?”
“…Fair point.”
Zippy clapped his hands. “Excellent! Now, the Department of Reality Management is located in the heart of the Central Bureaucratic Plane, which is exactly as miserable as it sounds.”
Percy sighed. “Let me guess. Endless paperwork? Tedious regulations? Horrible elevator music?”
Chrono nodded. “And the security is insane. No unauthorized entities get in. Ever.”
Percy frowned. “Then how are we supposed to sneak in?”
Zippy’s grin widened. “Oh, we’re not sneaking in.”
Percy rubbed his temples. “Please don’t say—”
“We’re walking in through the front door.”
Percy let out a slow, suffering breath. “This is a terrible plan.”
Chrono crossed his tiny arms. “Oh, absolutely.”
It turned out that the Central Bureaucratic Plane was worse than Percy had imagined.
It was a gray, infinite landscape of cubicles and waiting rooms, stretching in every direction. Paperwork drifted through the air like autumn leaves, and the entire dimension smelled faintly of coffee, ink, and disappointment.
At the center of it all stood the Department of Reality Management, an immense glass tower filled with the most powerful bureaucrats in existence—the ones who decided what reality could and could not tolerate.
Standing outside, Percy felt deeply unqualified to be here.
Zippy, on the other hand, strolled up to the entrance like he owned the place.
“Right!” he said, adjusting his unnecessarily dramatic coat. “Percy, you’re now my junior intern. Chrono, you’re a malfunctioning office clock. Let’s go.”
Chrono scowled. “Excuse me?”
“Do you want to get erased or not?”
Chrono grumbled but didn’t argue.
They approached the main security desk, where a floating cube in a business suit hovered behind a counter, processing paperwork with soul-crushing efficiency.
The cube’s glowing eye fixed on them. “State your business.”
Zippy beamed. “Ah, yes, we’re from the Multiversal Compliance Division! We’re here to perform a routine inspection of your Master Index—terribly dull, I assure you, but you know how it is with mandatory oversight reports.”
The cube blinked. “I was not informed of any inspection.”
Zippy gave an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, well, that’s precisely the problem! Do you have any idea how many reality violations we’ve found lately? Misplaced time loops? Rogue paradoxes? Unauthorized use of recursive causality?” He shook his head. “Honestly, it’s a mess. That’s why we need to examine the Master Index immediately.”
The cube hesitated, gears clicking. “I… suppose that is standard protocol.”
Percy barely suppressed his absolute horror at how casually Zippy lied to the most powerful bureaucracy in existence.
Then, miraculously, the cube stamped their paperwork and gestured to the doors. “Proceed.”
Percy blinked. “That… worked?”
Chrono sighed. “Don’t question it. Just keep moving.”
They made it to the Master Index Vault without immediate disaster, which Percy considered a miracle of cosmic proportions.
The vault was massive, filled with glowing scrolls of existence, each containing the details of every real entity in the multiverse.
Zippy whistled. “Right. Time to find Percy’s missing entry.”
Percy hesitated. “What if… my entry doesn’t exist anymore?”
Chrono sighed. “Then we make you a new one.”
Percy frowned. “You can just… write me back into existence?”
Chrono smirked. “Reality is **80% bureaucracy, 15% paperwork, and 5% cosmic accidents. If you know how to work the system, you can get away with almost anything.”
Before Percy could process that deeply unsettling thought, an alarm blared through the vault.
“SECURITY BREACH DETECTED.”
Zippy winced. “Ah. Right. We probably had a limited window before the system caught on.”
Chrono cursed. “Hurry! Grab Percy’s record before—”
The vault doors slammed shut.
A familiar, bureaucratic voice filled the air.
“PERCY FOGG.”
Percy turned slowly to see the pursuit drone from the library floating in the doorway, its red eye glowing with cosmic disapproval.
“YOU ARE NOT AUTHORIZED TO EXIST.”
Percy groaned. “Not this guy again.”
The drone whirred menacingly. “PREPARE FOR IMMEDIATE REALITY CORRECTION.”
Zippy clapped Percy on the back. “Right, librarian, you’re about to get your existence reinstated the fun way.”
Percy gulped. “I don’t suppose there’s a less terrifying way?”
Chrono smirked. “Not a chance.”
The drone charged.
And Percy Fogg, former mild-mannered librarian and current bureaucratic outlaw, braced himself for the single most important heist of his life.