Chapter 3: The Audit and the Alias
A pall hung over the office, a different kind of dread than the usual Monday morning blues. The air, already thick with the scent of stale coffee and industrial carpet cleaner, was now permeated with something Adam had come to associate with pure, unadulterated menace: expensive cologne and crisp, new clothes. Two corporate auditors, their suits too sharp, their faces too impassive, stood by Michael's desk. Their very presence was a quiet, unsettling storm, a cold front that had moved in to disrupt the Scranton branch's chaotic but predictable ecosystem. The low hum of the computers seemed to drop in a single, unified breath, as if the whole room were holding its breath. Adam's senses prickled, his mind immediately recognizing the threat. His internal HUD, a silent sentinel, lit up with a new, urgent warning.
[SYSTEM: LEGAL RISK ALERT—CORPORATE AUDITORS DETECTED][SYSTEM: Threat Level: HIGH]
This was no prank. This was a direct threat to his carefully constructed life of fake productivity, a strike at the very foundation of his game. He straightened his tie, the silk feeling like a noose, and forced himself to breathe evenly. The lead auditor, a man with a gaze of cold steel and a perfectly coiffed haircut, introduced himself. "My name is Victor Crane," he said, his voice flat and devoid of warmth, like a winter wind cutting through a drafty room. "And we are here to conduct a comprehensive review of the Scranton branch's operations, with a particular focus on… anomalies."
He didn't have to say it. His cold, clinical eyes locked on Adam's desk, on the glowing screen of his computer. "Your productivity scores, Mr. Stiels, are… unusually high."
A cold dread washed over Adam, but he kept his face impassive. He leaned back in his chair, a silent challenge in his posture. Crane's gaze felt like a physical weight, boring into him, as if he could see the System's HUD, the digital chaos within. Their exchange was a battle of subtext. Crane's words were calm, but his tone was menacing, a silent threat. Adam's responses were a perfect blend of fake humility and guarded defiance. "I simply believe in efficiency, Mr. Crane," Adam said, his voice as smooth and corporate as he could make it, a polished veneer over a core of steel. "My work is a testament to the power of a streamlined workflow. It's a passion of mine, really."
He gestured to a neatly stacked pile of binders, all filled with meaningless but aesthetically pleasing graphs and charts, a testament to his digital charade. Crane's eyes lingered on the binders for a moment before flicking back to Adam. The man was a human lie detector, a corporate shark smelling blood in the water. "We've been instructed to get to the bottom of this," Crane said, his gaze unwavering.
The auditors began their work, a quiet, menacing presence in the open-plan office. They moved with the silent, efficient grace of predators, their eyes missing nothing as they scrutinized every file, every spreadsheet, and every employee with an unnerving intensity. They were the dark reflections of Adam's own meticulous nature. Michael, desperate to impress, tried to lead them on a tour, offering them donuts and lame jokes. "We're a real fun group! We have a real good time here. It's like... a family. A really dysfunctional, fun family. Right, guys?" Michael's voice was bright and hopeful, but it fell on deaf ears.
He was politely but firmly rebuffed, his attempt at levity dismissed with a frigid stare from Victor Crane. Adam, ever watchful, noticed Elsbeth's subtle distress. Her hands were clenched in her lap, her eyes darting between the auditors and him. He made a quick, coded gesture—a subtle tap of his fingers on his chin, their shared signal for "meet me, now." She nodded almost imperceptibly, a barely-there flicker of understanding in her sharp eyes.
They met in the break room, the air thick with the smell of burnt popcorn and old coffee. The fluorescent lights hummed a harsh, buzzing tune, but their whispers cut through the noise, a low, urgent hum of their own. "We need a phantom project," Elsbeth said, her voice a low, urgent whisper, her mind already racing through legal precedents and corporate loopholes. "Something so complex and ridiculous it sounds real."
They invented an entire non-existent project on the fly, a digital fabrication of stunning complexity. "The Bi-directional Paper Flow Synergy Protocol," Adam said, his mind a flurry of rapid-fire corporate jargon. He was a master of bullshit, and he was about to create his magnum opus. "And it has to be so ridiculously technical that they won't even try to verify it."
[SYSTEM: BONUS BP—CREATIVE DECEPTION][SYSTEM: 500 BP Awarded]
The HUD chimed in, a darkly comedic reward for their frantic lying. Their dialogue was a rapid-fire improv session, a high-stakes comedy show. "And we need a code name for it," Adam said, his mind racing, a devilish grin spreading across his face. "Something that sounds official but is completely nonsensical. How about… 'Operation: Paper Tiger'?"
Elsbeth's lips twitched, a momentary break in her professional facade. She looked at him, and for a second, he saw the real her—the mischievous, chaotic soul hidden beneath the layers of legal speak. "Perfect," she breathed. "I'll get started on the legal boilerplate and the financial projections. We'll give it a launch date of... last week."
Their whispers were a symphony of deception, a beautiful, high-tech ballet of lies. They were a perfect team, two brilliant minds, one from the future and one from a past of corporate betrayal, working in perfect, unspoken sync.
Dwight, ever the loyal sycophant, was called in to "assist" the auditors. He proudly brought them his meticulously organized but utterly irrelevant binders of "Schrute Facts," filled with meticulously researched but entirely useless data points about his ancestry and the historical significance of beets. He was a perfect, bizarre distraction, a walking, talking anomaly that even the auditors couldn't process. "The Schrute beet is a symbol of my family's industriousness, a testament to the superiority of our bloodline!" Dwight declared, holding up a beautifully drawn diagram of a beet's root system.
Victor Crane's cold, calculating demeanor cracked just for a moment, a flash of pure, unadulterated contempt in his eyes. He quickly masked it, but the moment was a small victory for Adam. The sheer, unadulterated absurdity of it all was a momentary respite from the tension, a brief flicker of light in the gathering darkness.
At the end of the day, after the office cleared out and the fluorescent lights hummed a lonely tune, Victor Crane approached Adam's desk. He dismissed the "audit" as a mere formality and leaned in close, his voice a low, menacing whisper, a stark contrast to the quiet hum of the lights. "The Experiment is not a game, Stiels. Don't think you're the only one who can play."
He then nodded, a ghost of a smile on his lips, and walked away, his perfectly tailored suit disappearing into the shadows. Adam stood there, a chill running down his spine. The System, his silent, sarcastic companion, displayed one final, chilling message.
[SYSTEM: ALERT—EXPERIMENTER DETECTED][SYSTEM: Threat Level: CRITICAL]
Adam wasn't just a transmigrator with a glitch. He was a pawn in a game he didn't even know he was playing, and his opponent was far more dangerous than he had anticipated. The real game had just begun.
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