Chapter 3: The Coffee Machine That Judged Souls
The break room was not supposed to be sentient.
Yet there it stood—gleaming chrome, humming with divine energy, and blinking a single red light labeled "Judgment Pending." Intern Ne had come for caffeine. He got existential dread.
"Uh… hi?" Ne waved at the machine. It whirred ominously.
A slip of paper spat out:
Soul Integrity: 42%.
Recommendation: Decaf.
Ne blinked. "Forty-two? That's barely passing!"
The machine beeped.
You plagiarized a group project in Year 10.
You also stole a pen from the receptionist yesterday.
Ne looked down at the pen in his pocket. "It was communal!"
The machine printed another slip.
Lying to celestial hardware: -5%.
Final Integrity: 37%.
You may have chamomile.
He sighed and took the sad little cup. It tasted like guilt and lavender.
---
Back at his desk, Ne found a new assignment: "Soul Audit: Department of Forgotten Pets." The folder was thick. The first entry read:
Name: Mr. Wiggles
Species: Hamster
Cause of Death: Overfeeding via birthday cake
Pending Judgment: Vengeful spirit or reincarnation as a motivational speaker
Ne stared. "This is a hamster. Why is he glowing red?"
A voice behind him whispered, "He bit a toddler. Twice."
Ne turned to see his supervisor, Ms. Koi, floating three inches off the ground, sipping espresso from a cup labeled "Supreme Being, Middle Management."
"Ne," she said, "you must decide if Mr. Wiggles deserves karmic promotion or eternal rodent purgatory."
Ne flipped through the file. There was a photo of Mr. Wiggles in a tiny tuxedo. Another showed him gnawing through a Barbie Dreamhouse.
"He's chaotic," Ne muttered.
"Exactly," Ms. Koi said. "We reward chaos. But only if it's meme-worthy."
---
Ne clicked "Pending: Meme Potential Evaluation." A hologram popped up showing Mr. Wiggles reenacting Hamlet with a peanut.
"Okay, that's kind of brilliant."
The system dinged:
Meme Quotient: 87%.
Verdict: Reincarnate as TikTok therapist.
Ne stamped the file. Mr. Wiggles vanished in a puff of glitter.
---
Later, Ne tried to sneak a nap behind the Divine Filing Cabinet. It smelled like old incense and broken promises. Just as he closed his eyes, the cabinet whispered:
"You forgot to file the Soul of the Month."
Ne groaned. "I thought that was optional!"
"Optional like breathing," the cabinet replied.
He crawled out and grabbed the file. It was labeled "Soul #0001: The First Guy Who Ever Said 'Trust Me.'"
Ne opened it. The soul's record was 800 pages long and mostly consisted of failed business pitches and suspicious winks.
"Why is this guy still pending?"
Ms. Koi appeared again, now wearing a blazer made of clouds. "Because every time we try to judge him, he says, 'Trust me, I've changed.' And we fall for it."
Ne stared at the file. "I'm giving him a permanent ban from persuasive speech."
The cabinet cheered. Confetti fell from the ceiling.
---
As Ne clocked out, the coffee machine beeped again.
Soul Integrity: 38%.
You tried to nap during divine hours.
Ne flipped it off. The machine printed a sticker:
"Intern of Mild Rebellion."
He wore it proudly.