Chapter 28: The Margin of the World
The transition "Through the Looking Glass" was not a dramatic leap into a vortex. It was much more bureaucratic than that. Ne Job discovered that the back of the Main Archive's deepest storage closet wasn't a wall, but a seam—a literal stitch in the fabric of the Bureau where the ink met the edge of the page.
"Everyone hold on to something 7.5% real," Ne Job commanded, gripping his silver stapler.
The team—The Muse, Architect Ao Bing, Princess Ling, and Assistant Yue—stepped through. They didn't find a new dimension or a sparkling palace. They found themselves standing on a vast, infinite plane of white vellum. Above them, there was no sky, only a colossal, looming wooden structure that resembled the underside of a mahogany desk the size of a galaxy.
"We're in the margins," the Architect whispered, his monocle spinning frantically. "Look at the horizon. Those aren't mountains. Those are... letters."
The Giant at the Desk
In the distance, a sound like a rolling thunderstorm echoed across the white plain. Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.
It was the sound of a pen.
As they walked toward the sound, the "mountains" became clear. Massive, towering glyphs of black ink rose from the ground, forming words that Ne Job recognized from his own life: High Commissioner, Section C-7, and The Great Origami Bridge.
And then, they saw him.
He was a giant, though not in the way Ne Job expected. He was a man in a rumpled cardigan, sitting in a chair that creaked like a dying star. His face was obscured by the shadows of the "Desktop" above, but his hand was visible—a hand holding a fountain pen that leaked galaxies onto the vellum.
"You're late," the Author said. His voice didn't come from his mouth; it resonated through the ground, vibrating in the soles of Ne Job's boots. "I expected you two chapters ago. I even wrote a prompt for it."
The Confrontation
Ne Job stepped forward, his High Commissioner hat feeling small and insignificant in the presence of the man who had conceived it. "We're tired of the prompts," Ne Job shouted. "We're tired of the 'Ands' and the doubles and the carefully calibrated disasters."
The Author stopped writing. The scritching ceased, and the silence that followed was heavier than the Sub-Basement of Broken Seconds. "I gave you life, Ne Job. I gave you a Muse, an Architect, and a Feline Realm. I gave you 7.5% sparkle because the story was getting dry. I am the one who keeps the Great Eraser at bay."
"By making us jump through hoops?" The Muse cried, throwing a handful of neon-orange confetti at the Author's giant hand. The confetti fell short, landing like tiny specks of dust on the vellum. "We aren't just characters! We have... we have dental plans! Well, we're working on the dental plans!"
"You are ink and intent," the Author said, and the ground trembled. "The doubles were a test. I wanted to see if you would choose perfection or chaos. You chose chaos. You chose the 'Infinite Addendum.' Do you have any idea how hard that is to edit?"
The Editor's Revenge
The Author reached out and picked up a giant, white block of rubber. An Eraser.
"If the story is too messy to follow," the Author whispered, "the Reader stops reading. And if the Reader stops reading, the vellum goes blank. I'm not the villain here, Ne Job. I'm the one trying to make you worth remembering."
He lowered the Eraser toward the horizon—toward the words Princess Ling.
"No!" Ne Job lunged forward. He didn't use the stapler to fight. He used it to connect. He sprinted to the base of the massive black letters of his own name and began stapling himself to the ground.
"If you erase her, you erase me!" Ne Job bellowed. "I've spent my life filing things away, keeping them safe. I am the Archivist of this reality, and I am archiving us right here, right now! We are a permanent entry!"
The 7.5% Compromise
The Author paused. The giant white block hovered inches above Princess Ling's shimmering form.
"You're stapling yourself to a metaphor," the Author noted, a hint of amusement in his thunderous voice. "That's... remarkably stubborn. Very 'Ne Job' of you."
"We don't want to be perfect," Ne Job said, his voice straining against the weight of the ink. "And we don't want to be finished. We want to be a first draft that never ends. We want the typos, the plot holes, and the 7.5% inconsistencies. That's where the life is."
The Author sighed, a sound that felt like a solar wind. He set the Eraser down and picked up his pen again.
"Fine," the Author said. "If you want to be a first draft, then I'll stop trying to polish you. But be warned: a story that never ends eventually becomes a legend. And legends attract things far worse than me."
The Return to the Page
With a flick of the giant pen, a massive drop of silver ink splashed over the team. Ne Job felt his consciousness blur, his body becoming fluid, then solid, then... 100% Ne Job.
He woke up on the floor of his office. The silver ink on his desk was glowing with a strange, internal light. The Semicolon was pulsing on its cushion, and The Muse was already busy drawing a mustache on a paper dragon.
Ne Job stood up and walked to his window. The Bureau was still there. The Feline Realm was still there. But when he looked at the horizon, he could see the faint, translucent lines of the vellum.
He opened his ledger.
LOG: CHAPTER 28 SUMMARY.
STATUS: Confronted the Creator. Dental plans still pending.
NOTE: We are officially a 'Perpetual First Draft.' No more polishing.
OBSERVATION: The Author has a very messy desk. I should probably send him a filing guide.
P.S.: He was right about one thing. We are worth remembering.
Ne Job picked up his pen—his own pen, the one that leaked. He didn't wait for a prompt. He didn't wait for a double. He just started writing.
"And then," Ne Job wrote, "the kittens found the stapler."