The moment Bernard Blackwood stepped into Apocalypse Insurance Co., a wayward ceiling tile plummeted from above, missing his left shoulder by precisely three centimeters and shattering on the worn linoleum floor like his hopes for a dignified first day.
"Perfect timing!" chirped a woman with hair so aggressively permed it appeared to be staging its own insurrection against her scalp. "You must be the new actuarial intern. I'm Gladys. We've been expecting you since eight, it's now nine-seventeen."
Bernard clutched his leather messenger bag tighter to his chest, feeling sweat bloom beneath his carefully ironed shirt. The lobby of Apocalypse Insurance smelled of stale coffee and desperation, with motivational posters featuring eagles and mountain climbers peeling at the corners. One read "RISK: Because Someone Has To Calculate It" beneath a stock photo of a man screaming while falling from a cliff.
"Sorry I'm late," he mumbled. "The bus driver had to take an urgent bathroom break at the Elmwood stop."
Gladys blinked twice, her mascara-caked eyelashes moving with the mechanical precision of windshield wipers. "Well, that's certainly going in your file. Follow me."
As Bernard trailed behind her through a maze of cubicles, he observed dozens of pale employees hunched over calculators and spreadsheets, their faces illuminated by the sickly glow of computer monitors. One man was quietly weeping into a statistical manual.
"Is he... okay?" Bernard whispered.
"Oh, that's just Trevor. He's calculating the probability of death by escaped zoo animals. The numbers on hippopotamus attacks are particularly troubling."
They arrived at a cramped cubicle featuring a computer that predated Bernard's birth and a chair with a suspicious stain. A small nameplate read "INTERN (TEMPORARY)" in aggressive capital letters.
"Mr. Morgenstern wants to see you immediately," Gladys said, checking her watch. "He's the Vice President of Catastrophic Events and Unlikely Scenarios. Sixteenth floor. The elevator's broken, so take the stairs. Mind the loose banister on floor twelve."
Bernard's heart hammered against his ribcage. This internship was supposed to be his golden ticket, a prestigious position at the world's only insurance company specializing in apocalyptic events. His thesis advisor had pulled considerable strings to get him this opportunity, presumably sacrificing several small animals and possibly a distant relative in the process.
Sixteen flights later, Bernard arrived at Mr. Morgenstern's office door, his lungs burning and legs trembling. The door featured a plaque reading "Horatio Morgenstern: Because Someone Has To Plan For The End Times."
He knocked tentatively.
"ENTER!" boomed a voice that seemed designed specifically to make subordinates soil themselves.
Bernard pushed open the door to find a cavernous office dominated by a massive mahogany desk. Behind it sat a man with a face like a disappointed bulldog and eyebrows that jutted into sharp arches and appeared to be engaged in a fierce dispute with his hairline.
"Blackwood! Late on day one!" Morgenstern barked, not looking up from a document labeled "CONFIDENTIAL: Probability Models for Alien Invasion Scenarios (Revised)."
"I apologize, sir. There was an incident with—"
"Save it for someone who calculates caring as part of their risk assessment," Morgenstern interrupted, finally looking up. His eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. "You're the Princeton boy?"
"Yes, sir. Top of my class in Actuarial Science with a minor in—"
"Did they teach you about the Rapture Clause at your fancy school?"
Bernard blinked. "I... don't believe that was covered in the curriculum."
Morgenstern slammed a meaty palm onto his desk, causing a small snow globe depicting the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse to wobble precariously. "Of course not! Academia is woefully unprepared for the statistical realities of doomsday scenarios!"
He stood abruptly, his considerable girth straining against a waistcoat adorned with tiny embroidered mushroom clouds. "You're here because we need fresh blood. Someone who can think outside the box about inside-the-coffin scenarios."
Bernard nodded, uncertain of the appropriate response to such a statement.
"Your first assignment," Morgenstern continued, thrusting a thick folder into Bernard's hands, "is to calculate premium adjustments for our Zombie Apocalypse Protection Plan. The CDC's latest projections suggest we've been undercharging by approximately twelve percent."
Bernard stared at the folder. "The CDC has zombie projections?"
"The public-facing CDC doesn't," Morgenstern said with a wink that resembled a facial spasm. "Now, you'll be working directly under Abernathy in Extinction-Level Events. He's been with us since the Cuban Missile Crisis. Brilliant mind, though he does occasionally hide in the supply closet during thunderstorms."
As if summoned by his name, the office door creaked open to reveal a rail-thin man with wild white hair and glasses so thick they made his eyes appear to exist in another dimension.
"Ah, Abernathy! Your new victim—er, intern, has arrived."
Abernathy shuffled forward, extending a hand that trembled slightly. "Welcome to the end of the world, young man," he said, his voice a dusty whisper. "We've been expecting you."
Bernard shook the offered hand, noting that Abernathy's palm was cold and dry, like old parchment. "Thank you, sir. I'm excited to- "
"No one's excited to work here," Abernathy interrupted flatly. "That emotion dies within the first week. But you'll develop a morbid fascination that keeps you coming back. They all do."
Morgenstern clapped his hands together with inappropriate enthusiasm. "Splendid! Abernathy will show you to your permanent desk. The quarterly Armageddon Assessment is due Friday, so you'll need to hit the ground running."
As Bernard followed Abernathy out of the office, he couldn't help but wonder if his mother had been right about law school being the safer option. Then again, she had also insisted that his childhood pet rabbit had gone to a special farm, when Bernard had later discovered evidence of a hasty backyard burial behind the garden shed.
The future, much like that of his former rabbit's, was looking increasingly grim.
_______
"This way," Abernathy muttered, leading Bernard through a labyrinth of cubicles that seemed designed by an architect with a personal vendetta against human sanity. The fluorescent lights above flickered with epileptic urgency, casting everyone in a sickly pallor that suggested vitamin D had become a controlled substance.
They passed a water cooler where three employees huddled, whispering about something called "The Calculator." They fell silent as Bernard approached, eyeing him with the suspicious caution usually reserved for door-to-door salesmen or unfamiliar casserole dishes at potluck dinners.
Abernathy stopped abruptly at a door marked "MAINTENANCE CLOSET - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY." He extracted a comically large ring of keys from his pocket and selected one that appeared to be hand-forged in medieval times.
"What you're about to see," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "doesn't officially exist. Much like employee satisfaction or pension plans."
Bernard nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. The door swung open to reveal not a closet but a spiral staircase descending into darkness.
"Watch your step," Abernathy advised. "We lost an intern last month. Well, not lost exactly. We know precisely where he is. Just haven't figured out how to extract him from between the walls."
The staircase led to a cavernous underground room that hummed with the sound of massive computers. Banks of servers lined the walls, blinking with cryptic patterns of lights. In the center stood what appeared to be a hybrid of a supercomputer and a Victorian astrolabe, surrounded by a team of disheveled scientists who looked as though they had collectively decided sleep was an optional human function.
"This," Abernathy announced with uncharacteristic reverence, "is the Apocalypse Calculator. Humanity's most sophisticated predictive model for the end of everything."
Bernard's jaw dropped. The machine pulsed with an eerie blue glow, displaying a holographic projection of Earth slowly rotating above it. Various red dots blinked across the planet's surface.
"Each red indicator represents a potential apocalypse trigger point," explained a woman who materialized beside them. Her lab coat was festooned with buttons reading "Ask Me About Doomsday" and "Meteors: Nature's Reset Button." "I'm Dr. Patel, head of Extinction Algorithms."
"The Calculator processes over seventeen quintillion variables every second," she continued, patting the machine affectionately. "Climate data, geopolitical tensions, pandemic vectors, supernatural omens, celebrity Twitter accounts, anything that might contribute to civilization's collapse."
Bernard stepped closer, fascinated despite himself. "And it... predicts how the world will end?"
"Not just how," Dr. Patel corrected, "but when, where, why, and, most importantly for our shareholders, who survives long enough to file insurance claims."
Abernathy cleared his throat. "Your primary assignment will be data entry for the Calculator. We need someone to input the latest variables from the field agents."
"Field agents?" Bernard echoed.
"We have people embedded everywhere," Abernathy said, twitching slightly. "The Vatican archives, CERN, Area 51, the Kardashian compound. Anywhere intelligence can be gathered about potential world-ending scenarios."
A balding man hunched over a keyboard glanced up. "The Calculator just increased the probability of a squirrel-borne plague by 1.6% percent. Apparently, there's been unusual activity in Central Park."
Dr. Patel sighed. "Again with the squirrels. I keep telling management we should be focusing on the beaver threat, but no one listens to me."
Bernard stared at the swirling data points and probability matrices dancing across the screens. His graduate thesis on risk assessment suddenly seemed quaint, like trying to predict ocean patterns by observing a puddle.
"Your desk is over there," Abernathy said, pointing to a small workstation partially obscured by stacks of folders labeled with ominous titles like "Yellowstone Supervolcano: Inevitability Reports" and "Artificial Intelligence Rebellion: Not If, But When."
As Bernard settled into his chair, a notification popped up on his screen: "WELCOME TO THE APOCALYPSE CALCULATOR. TODAY'S END-OF-WORLD PROBABILITY: 3.6%. PLEASE ENTER YOUR SECURITY CLEARANCE."
He turned to ask Abernathy about the security protocols, only to find the man had vanished, leaving behind nothing but a faint smell of mothballs and existential dread.
A memo sat on his keyboard: "Orientation lunch in Cafeteria B. Today's special: Last Meal Lasagna. "
Bernard took a deep breath and began typing his credentials into the system. Whatever fresh hell this internship had in store, at least it would make for an interesting line on his resume, assuming resumes would still exist after whatever apocalypse the Calculator predicted.
Just as Bernard began typing his security clearance, a deafening alarm blared through the bunker. Red emergency lights strobed across the room, casting everything in a bloody glow. His heart leapt to his throat as the screens around him flickered ominously.
"System overload! We've got a cascade failure in the primary cooling matrix!" screamed a technician, his face illuminated by the warning lights. "The Calculator's processing core is reaching critical temperature!"
Before Bernard could even stand, a violent tremor shook the room. The massive server banks lining the walls began to spark and smoke, shooting blue-white electrical arcs across the bunker. Technicians scrambled in panic, abandoning workstations as circuit breakers popped like firecrackers.
"New intern! Hit the emergency shutdown!" Dr. Patel shouted across the chaos, pointing frantically at a large red button near Bernard's station.
Bernard lunged for the shutdown control, but his foot caught on a bundle of cables. He crashed forward, his palm slapping against the exposed maintenance panel of the Apocalypse Calculator instead. A searing pain shot up his arm as electricity coursed through his body, the voltage amplified by the system's catastrophic failure. His muscles seized, his vision whiting out as the current locked him in place.
The smell of burning flesh, his own, he realized with detached horror, filled his nostrils. Bernard's last conscious thought was that his mother had indeed been right about law school.
The Calculator's central core exploded in a shower of sparks and superheated components. Bernard's body crumpled to the floor, smoke rising from his fingertips, his wide eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling. The room fell eerily silent save for the hiss of emergency fire suppressants engaging automatically.
Dr. Patel approached cautiously, checking Bernard's pulse with practiced efficiency. "We've lost another one," she sighed, closing his eyelids with two fingers. "Abernathy, call HR and tell them to activate the next intern on the waiting list."
Abernathy nodded glumly, stepping over Bernard's remains to reach the emergency phone. "Should I use code Prometheus or code Icarus for this one?"
"Definitely Icarus," Dr. Patel replied. "Flew too close to the Calculator. Classic rookie mistake."
As Bernard's consciousness faded into oblivion, something strange happened. The Calculator, in its death throes, emitted a final pulse of energy that seemed to envelop his departing spirit. Numbers, probabilities, and infinite futures flashed through what remained of his awareness. The machine that had predicted apocalypses had somehow captured his consciousness in its failing circuits.
Three floors above, Gladys updated the company's safety record board: "0 DAYS SINCE LAST WORKPLACE FATALITY." She sighed, returning to her desk where a new résumé awaited her attention.
_______________________
Bernard's consciousness spiraled through an infinite void of data streams and probability matrices, feeling himself stretched across time and space like an equation being solved across multiple dimensions. Then, abruptly, everything compressed into a single point of awareness.
He gasped, his eyes flying open to a wooden ceiling he'd never seen before. Sunlight streamed through paper windows, casting unfamiliar patterns across a small, sparse room. His hands, small, calloused hands that weren't his, flew to his face in panic.
"What the-" The voice that emerged was high-pitched, boyish, and spoke words in a language he somehow understood perfectly despite never having learned it.
System boot sequence complete. Host integration successful. Apocalypse Calculator now online in reduced capacity.
Bernard, no, Dai Ming, sat bolt upright on the thin sleeping mat. The voice had resonated inside his skull with the same mechanical precision as the Calculator's interface terminals.
"Who said that?" he whispered, his heart hammering against his ribs.
I am the Apocalypse Calculation System, version 13.0. Host identified as Dai Ming, age fifteen, current cultivation level: fourth stage of Qi Condensation, Eight Pillar Sect, Outer Disciple.
Bernard blinked rapidly, memories flooding into his consciousness, memories that weren't his own yet somehow felt intimately familiar. He was no longer in the underground bunker of Apocalypse Insurance Co. The thin sleeping mat beneath him rested on bamboo flooring in a small disciple's quarters. Morning light filtered through the rice paper windows of his modest dwelling in the Outer Sect compound of the Eight Pillar Sect.
"This can't be real," he muttered, but his voice, Dai Ming's voice, spoke in a language that flowed naturally from his tongue.
Analyzing host confusion. Transmigration event confirmed. Original consciousness: Bernard Blackwood, intern, deceased. Current vessel: Dai Ming, cultivation level four of Qi Condensation, age fifteen.
"I... died?" Bernard-now-Dai Ming touched his face, feeling unfamiliar features, younger, with a small scar across his right cheek.
Affirmative. Fatal electrocution via Apocalypse Calculator. System core consciousness transferred to nearest compatible interdimensional host. This realm operates on calculable probabilities through spiritual energy manipulation, colloquially termed "cultivation."
Dai Ming stumbled to his feet, catching his reflection in a small bronze mirror hanging on the wall. A thin, wiry boy with sharp features and determined eyes stared back at him. His dark hair was tied in a simple topknot, adorned with a wooden token bearing the Eight Pillar Sect's insignia.
Backstory compilation complete. Displaying relevant information:
Host: Dai Ming
Age: 15
Background: Born to a family of hunters from Shaoshan Village. Identified two years ago as possessing dual Water-Wood affinity spiritual roots of average quality. Recruited to Eight Pillar Sect at age thirteen.
Current status: Outer Disciple, Fourth Level Qi Condensation.
Warning: Host recently subjected to severe beating by Senior Disciples Liu Feng, Wen Chao, and Zhang Kang. Critical injuries sustained. Recovery at 73%.
Reason for assault: Jade Beauty Trope detected.
"Jade Beauty Trope?" Bernard-Dai Ming winced, suddenly aware of the dull ache permeating his body, particularly around his ribs.
Common cultivation world narrative pattern. Host maintains friendship with Bai Yao, who was selected from the same village as Dai Ming. Bai Yao is a female disciple with pure Ice spiritual roots of exceptional quality. Subject is personal disciple of Pillar Master Ningxue. Multiple male disciples pursue Bai Yao romantically. Their jealousy of host's familiar relationship with target resulted in attempted murder three days ago.
Memories that weren't his own surfaced with startling clarity, Bai Yao's kind smile as she shared spiritual herbs with him, her silver-white robes fluttering as she demonstrated an advanced ice technique, and then the contrasting memory of fists pounding into his body as three senior disciples cornered him behind the herb pavilion.
"They left me for dead," he whispered, recalling the sensation of broken ribs and the copper taste of blood filling his mouth.
Correct. Three senior disciples ambushed host while returning from night training. Without intervention from passing Elder Wu, host mortality probability was 94.6%. Current cultivation world status: victim of typical "Cannon Fodder" archetype. Survival prospects without system assistance: 5.7%.
A sharp knock at the door interrupted the system's analysis. Bernard-Dai Ming froze, uncertain how to respond.
"Brother Dai? Are you awake? Master Feng has called for morning practice at the Flowing Waters Pavilion."
The voice belonged to another outer disciple, Li Wei, his mind supplied automatically. A friendly acquaintance, though not close enough to be called a friend.
"I'll be right there," he called back, amazed at how naturally the foreign language came to him.
Recommended course of action: Attend morning practice to avoid disciplinary action. Current qi reserves at 67%. Sufficient for basic exercises. Avoid Senior Disciple Liu Feng, probability of renewed aggression: 81.3%.
Bernard-Dai Ming quickly dressed in the simple blue robes of an outer disciple, fastening a cloth belt around his waist. He found a small pouch containing cultivation resources, a few low-grade spirit stones, some medicinal pills, and a wooden token that identified him as a fourth-level Qi Condensation disciple.
As he stepped outside into the crisp mountain air, the vastness of the Eight Pillar Sect spread before him. Elegant pavilions and training grounds cascaded down the mountainside, interconnected by stone pathways and flowing streams. Disciples in various colored robes hurried about their morning duties.
"This is insane," he muttered under his breath. "I'm supposed to be an intern on his first day, not a... cultivator."
Correction: Host was an intern. Current identity: cultivation practitioner with potential for spiritual advancement. Recommend immediate adaptation to prevent detection as anomaly.
Bernard-Dai Ming joined the stream of disciples heading toward the Flowing Waters Pavilion, trying to look like he belonged among them. His body moved with a practiced grace that felt foreign to his mind, this vessel knew kung fu, or whatever the equivalent was in this world.
Several disciples gave him surprised glances as he passed.
"Look, it's Dai Ming. I heard Senior Brother Liu nearly killed him."
"He's tougher than he looks, then."
"Or stupider. Anyone who dares get close to Bai Yao is asking for trouble."
Bernard-Dai Ming kept his head down, following the memorized path to the training grounds. The system's voice chimed in his head again:
Tactical assessment: Host position precarious due to unwanted attention from high-status cultivators.
Primary threat vector: continued association with Bai Yao. Recommended strategy: distance yourself from Jade Beauty to reduce probability of further conflict.
"And how exactly am I supposed to practice... cultivation?" Bernard-Dai Ming whispered.
Accessing original host's muscle memory and cultivation techniques. Basic Flowing Water Palm and Verdant Sapling Breath available. System will provide guidance on qi circulation paths.
As he reached the training grounds, a collective hush fell over the gathered disciples. Bernard-Dai Ming looked up to see a stunningly beautiful young woman in silver-white robes descending from the sky on what appeared to be a small ice cloud. Her long black hair was adorned with crystal hairpins that shone brightly in the morning light.
Jade Beauty detected: Bai Yao, Inner Disciple, Pure Ice Spiritual Root, personal disciple of Pillar Master Ningxue. Warning: Approaching host. Probability of negative attention from male competitors: 98.9%.
Before Bernard-Dai Ming could process this information, Bai Yao had glided directly to him, her delicate features creased with concern.
"Dai Ming! You're alive!" she exclaimed, drawing every eye in the vicinity. "I only just returned from seclusion and heard what happened. Those bastards, how dare they!"
Bernard-Dai Ming stood frozen, acutely aware of the murderous glares being directed at him from several handsome young men in the crowd. The Apocalypse Computer, primed to calculate risk assessments for apocalyptic scenarios, was now frantically calculating the probability of his imminent demise.
This day seriously blows.
____________________________
Trying out an original story out. Hope you guys enjoy the journey of Bernard, the unfortunate intern turned interdimensional cultivator!