Ne Job: The Intern from Hell — Chapter 111: "Gravework Protocol"
The descent was endless.
Wind roared through layers of forgotten prayers, carrying the scent of incense and decay. Below them, the Cemetery Nexus unfolded — a sprawling labyrinth of gravestones, ledgers, and spectral filing cabinets stretching across a horizon of broken light.
When Ne Job, Yue, and Dreivery Spirit Bao materialized on the platform, the first thing they saw was the sky. It wasn't black — it was stained. Each cloud shimmered with trapped memories, fragments of names, last thoughts, and unresolved paperwork.
Bao squinted. "Great. The dead sky's leaking again."
Ne Job brushed dust off his coat. "At least it's not raining complaint forms this time."
"It might," Yue warned. She was already scanning the spectral terrain with her Bureau-issued scribe tablet. Glyphs danced across her screen — chaotic, glitching. "The data's unstable. Something's rewriting the records in real time."
Ne Job looked out over the sea of tombstones. Each one pulsed faintly, as if breathing. "Gravework Protocol," he muttered. "Last-ditch safety net when the backlog becomes self-aware."
Bao blinked. "Wait, wait — self-aware? You mean the paperwork's thinking now?"
"Thinking, biting, and possibly unionizing," Ne Job said grimly.
From the distance came a rustling sound — thousands of parchment sheets dragging themselves across the ground. The air shimmered with ink mist. Out of the haze emerged a figure — tall, wrapped in chains of scrolls, its face a blank, bleeding form where words constantly rewrote themselves.
> "INCOMPLETE RECORD DETECTED," it boomed.
"ALL UNFILED SOULS MUST SUBMIT TO THE ARCHIVE."
Yue stepped forward, voice steady despite the tremor in her fingers. "Identify yourself! This area is under Bureau mandate—"
> "MANDATE OBSOLETE," the thing replied. "THE ARCHIVE IS ALL THAT REMAINS."
Ne Job cracked his knuckles. "So it's a rogue automation spirit. Great. Yue, you handle the data lock. Bao, start soul indexing before it eats the paperwork."
"Wait, what about you?" Bao shouted.
Ne Job was already striding toward the entity. "I'm going to file a complaint directly into its face."
The entity's chains lashed forward, scrawling glyphs that burned the air. Ne Job ducked under one, flicked open his Bureau badge, and slammed it against the nearest rune. The badge flared — divine ink spilling across his arm like molten script.
"By the power vested in me by the Overworked Department of Reincarnation—" he shouted, "—I hereby reject your audit!"
The ground erupted. Pages flew like shrapnel. Yue's scribe tablet overloaded, projecting a firewall of glowing kanji that surrounded them. Bao dove behind a tombstone, yelping.
But Ne Job stood firm, every motion fluid — chaotic, ridiculous, and absolutely Bureau-standard. Each punch he threw left a glowing seal in the air, stamping the rogue entity's form.
> [DENIED]
[REVOKED]
[RETURN TO SENDER]
The being staggered back, its face unraveling into pure script.
Yue shouted over the roar, "Ne Job! It's trying to merge with the cemetery records! If it does, it'll rewrite every soul's ledger!"
"Then stop it!"
"I'm trying! The protocol's locking me out!"
"Override it!"
"I am! It's using your name as the root password!"
Ne Job froze mid-punch. "...what."
Yue's voice cracked. "It says: 'Primary User — Ne Zha, Division of Mortal Error Correction.' That's you!"
The rogue entity's laughter was a chorus of whispers.
> "YOU WERE WRITTEN INTO THE SYSTEM LONG BEFORE YOU KNEW."
For the first time, Ne Job's grin faltered. His badge flickered. The seals on his arm pulsed erratically.
"Yue… back up."
"Ne Job—"
"I said back up!"
The ink on his arm exploded outward, forming a circle of burning glyphs around him. His voice lowered — not divine, not mortal — something between.
> "Protocol acknowledged."
"Gravework Override… initiated."
Every gravestone in the Nexus lit up at once. The rogue entity screamed as the seals constricted around it, dragging it back into the ground. The light flared—then collapsed, leaving only drifting ash and silence.
Yue ran forward, coughing through the smoke. "Ne Job! Are you—"
He stood in the center of the crater, his Bureau badge cracked, his left arm still glowing faintly with unhealed ink burns. He smiled weakly. "Add that to my overtime sheet."
Yue glared at him, then exhaled. "You idiot."
Bao peeked from behind a gravestone, donut miraculously intact. "So… we're alive?"
"For now," Ne Job said. He looked up at the strange, bruised sky. "But something tells me this isn't over. That thing knew my name — my real one."
Yue nodded, gaze darkening. "Then the Bureau's hiding something again."
A gust of cold air swept through the cemetery, carrying the faint echo of a whisper — ancient, mocking.
> "File incomplete."