Chapter 24: The Muse of Manuals
If Ne Job-Prime had been a cold splash of lemon-scented water, the arrival of the Parallel Muse was a suffocating blanket of beige wool.
It happened while Ne Job was still scraping neon-blue paint off the ceiling. The air in the Grand High Office didn't dim or sparkle; it became intensely, aggressively neutral. The "Infinite Addendum" sign over the door flickered and was replaced by a matte-plastic placard that read: DEPARTMENT OF STANDARDIZED EXPRESSION.
Standing in the center of the room was a woman who looked exactly like The Muse, but her vibrant, rainbow-streaked hair had been pulled back into a bun so tight it looked painful. She wasn't wearing her signature suspenders and newsboy cap; she was wearing a tan pantsuit with a lanyard that held three different types of ID badges.
"Greetings," she said, her voice a flat, rehearsed monotone. "I am The Muse-B. I have observed that your creative output is currently 7.5% spontaneous. This is a waste of metabolic energy. I am here to transition your 'Sparks' into 'Measurable Deliverables'."
The Death of the Whimsy
The original Muse, who had been busy teaching a paper dragon how to blow bubbles, dropped her bubble wand in horror. "Who... what are you? Why are you wearing... khaki?"
"Khaki is the color of peak administrative focus," Muse-B replied, pulling a laser pointer from her sleeve and shining it on a blank wall. A pie chart appeared. "This is your current 'Spark' efficiency. As you can see, 92% of your creativity is spent on 'Confetti' and 'Vague Whimsy.' Under my leadership, we will replace this with the Mandatory Instructional Video Initiative (MIVI)."
She clicked a button on her lanyard. A holographic screen filled the room, showing a video of a gray circle slowly moving across a white background. A voice-over began: "Module 1: How to Properly Authorize a 7.5% Irregularity Using Form 8-B... Please ensure your ink is at 20 degrees Celsius..."
"It's... it's beautiful," the Architect whispered, though he looked like he wanted to cry. "It's so organized it hurts."
The Creative Audit
Ne Job stepped forward, clutching his silver stapler. "We don't do 'Modules' here, Muse-B. Our creativity isn't a deliverable. It's a... it's a mess. And we like it that way."
"Likes are subjective," Muse-B countered, her eyes scanning the room like a supermarket price-checker. "I have audited your staff. The Map-Coat Man's backstories are currently being converted into 'Linear Geographic Training Manuals.' The Storm-Hair Woman is being redirected to power the Bureau's new 'Automated Punctuation Engine.' And you, Commissioner..."
She stepped closer, her lanyard jingling with a sound like dull bells. "You have too much sub-text. I am here to simplify you. We'll start by removing the gold braid from your hat. It provides zero functional value."
The original Muse lunged forward, but Muse-B simply held up a hand. "Unauthorized movement. Please consult the 'Inter-Personal Interaction Guidelines' before attempting a hug or a physical confrontation."
The Spark of Resistance
Ne Job realized that Muse-B was a different kind of threat than Ne Job-Prime. Prime was about order; Muse-B was about the documentation of order. She didn't want to erase the story—she wanted to make it so boring that no one would want to read it.
"Muse!" Ne Job shouted to his original partner. "She's a narrative dampener! We need to overwhelm her sensors with something that can't be put into a pie chart!"
"I'm on it!" The Muse yelled. She reached into her bucket, but instead of confetti, she pulled out a handful of Absolute Absurdity. It was a collection of things that had no names: sounds that tasted like purple, and colors that felt like a Tuesday in July.
She threw them at Muse-B.
Muse-B paused. Her laser pointer flickered. "Error. Unidentified input. Attempting to categorize... Is it a 7.5% glitch? Is it a 100% error?"
"It's a metaphor!" Ne Job bellowed. He grabbed his silver stapler and began stapling the instructional videos to the floor, literally pinning the boring holograms down so they couldn't spread.
The Breakdown of the Pantsuit
The Architect joined in, using his monocle to project structural flaws into Muse-B's logic. "Your pie chart has no crust!" he shouted. "The math is sound, but the spirit is hollow!"
Princess Ling and Assistant Yue arrived, bringing with them a group of Forbidden Protagonists who were currently engaged in a high-stakes interpretive dance about the futility of staplers.
Muse-B began to spin in place. "Too... much... sub-plot. The instructional videos are being... remixed. The gray circle is now... a disco ball. Help... I am losing... my... synergy..."
With a sound like a heavy filing cabinet being pushed off a cliff, Muse-B's pantsuit turned back into a cloud of beige dust. The beige dust was immediately sucked up by the vacuum-seal device Ne Job had kept from the previous chapter.
The Return of the Sparkle
The office snapped back to its chaotic, ink-stained glory. The original Muse took a deep breath, her rainbow hair regaining its luster.
"Note to self," she panted, "never, ever, ever wear khaki. It's a soul-killer."
Ne Job sat at his desk, which was now covered in the remains of the instructional videos. He opened his ledger.
LOG: CHAPTER 24 SUMMARY.
STATUS: Serious Muse successfully vacuumed. Synergy levels zero.
NOTE: I have officially added 'Khaki' to the list of banned substances, alongside lemon-polish and 100% efficiency.
OBSERVATION: If you try to turn a spark into a manual, you just get a very dry fire.
P.S.: The disco-ball module was actually quite catchy. I might keep it for the holiday party.
The Muse leaned over his shoulder, her eyes bright. "So, Commissioner... we've survived the double of you and the double of me. Who's left in the mirror?"
Ne Job looked at the silver ink on his desk. He thought about the Architect, the Princess, and the Oracle.
"I think," Ne Job said, "the 'And' isn't done with us. But next time, I'm bringing a bigger vacuum."