"No, KB (Administrative), I'll tell you if I need help with the paperwork. Stop hovering, it's creeping me out!"

Before that moment, Brock hadn't known murdermachines could sulkily stalk out of a room.

"I regret ever assigning your designation to a permanent memory bank, meatbag. I hope you get twelve papercuts between your fingers."

Brock looked down at his hands.

"...there's only four gaps on each... you're a jerk, KB (Administrative)!" he shouted, but the arachnid monstrosity had already scuttled somewhere other than the general Cataclysm Squad bullpen. "Wishing multiple papercuts on the same stretch of skin, who even does that," he grumbled, returning to the (digital) paperwork currently displayed on the magiphone display hovering above his shag desk. "Okay, let's see, form thirteen-B has to be filed with appendix five-H, along with codicil kappa-5-squeegee in database wingding, then extemporize from stanza AE91... dafuq?"

Brock looked despondently at the golden screen littered with various entry fields that were intuitively designed to be as confusing as possible and buried his face in his palms.

"I have some regrets."

"Paperwork giving you trouble, rookie?"

Brock looked up from his internal despair at the mocking voice. Perched on the side of his cubicle was a familiar blonde-framed face with pointed ears, green leaves sprouting in a crown around her forehead. They looked fuller than the previous times Brock had seen her in person.

"Oh, hey, uhhh, Verdant. Your bush looks much better today."

An eternity filled the second between Brock's normal expression and the moment when every cell in his face flushed bright red, his mind finally catching up with his mouth. As he waited for the earth to open and swallow him forever, an absolutely filthy grin spread across Verdant's statuesque features.

"...ahahehehe. Okay, that one was good. Didn't think you had it in you."

She circled to the entrance to his cubicle and sauntered in, black business suit swishing slightly. Brock tried to shrink between the fibers of his ridiculous shag recliner, cheeks still burning.

"So what's the problem?" she asked.

"...trying to fill out this after-action report."

Verdant laughed.

"Good old form Twenty Three-C." She leaned over his chair and pointed at the screen. "So, there's two ways you can do this. The hard way, you look at it like it's a tree. Each request's initially a branch coming out of that main trunk, aka 'what happened?', but they tend to fracture out when you get into the details." Rootlets briefly flashed out of her fingers at each panel, collapsing it to a wider database before bringing the original back up. "Just keep in mind they all link up eventually, so if you're confused on what detail it's requesting, just go back a layer."

"...you said there's another way?"

"There is, but," Verdant's voice dropped to a whisper, "I'm not sure if I should tell you. It's the Cat Squad's secret weapon to get out of paperwork."

Brock looked at the screen still filled with waiting paradoxical fields, then over at Verdant's face next to his own.

"...I will literally do anything you want if you tell me."

Stolen novel; please report.

She smiled, and tiny pale pink flowers momentarily blossomed through her hair.

"I was hoping you'd say that. Here's what you do, and it's super easy." She turned slightly to focus on him. "You ready?"

Brock nodded.

"Input 'help' into every field. It'll bring up the voice prompt, and that'll guide you through everything."

"Thank you so much," Brock breathed out, fingers flying over his screen. Behind him, Verdant retreated to her previous elbow-crossed perch on the outer wall of his cubicle. "I owe you big time. I didn't expect you to be this-"

His voice trailed off as he entered the final 'help' input, and a jubilant choir sounded from his magiphone. A vortex of unnatural light swirled around the top of the black rectangle, gathering like a tornado eyeing an orphanage, and in utter horror, Brock stared over at Verdant.

"-helpful..."

An anthropomorphic binder clip laughing like the devil himself cohered above the desk.

"Brock! I never thought you'd ask! It's time for me to help you! LET'S LEARN ABOUT FORM TWENTY THREE-C, AND MAKE YOU THE BEST YOU YOU CAN BE!"

A pair of hands scrabbled at the impenetrable barrier that suddenly enveloped the entire cubicle.

"ERROR: Spatial evacuation cannot be accessed while help module is active. Please return your attention to help module."

Verdant giggled, then strolled away.

"Teach you to talk about my bush. Our 'secret weapon?' Knowing how to do the paperwork so efficiently it leaves us the majority of our time to do our actual job." She turned briefly to look at the flashing lights blazing from Brock's space and sniffed. "Rookie. You'll learn."

----------------------------------

Two hours later, Brock emerged from his cubicle, eyes sunken and cheeks hollow, a gleeful black tablet doing loops around his head.

"Brock! I told you! We're a great team! Now you know how to fill out Form Twenty Three-C! We can solve so many problems! High five!"

The magiphone swooped in, then dodged at the last second as Brock tried to spike it into the floor.

"Let's check in with the Director before we leave for the day! Make sure he got our report! Take a right here!"

Brock trudged listlessly past the unbroken stretch of wall to his right and made his way down the corridors to an elevator ant.

That's what's going to drive me over the edge, he thought dully, placing his hand on the biosig panel, hoping it would take him home. The elevator churned into motion. Having to deal with Bindy on a daily basis. I'm going to murder everything that allowed that thing to exist, then find a way to go back in time and murder them again.

After about a minute of motion through the Yggdrasil's interior roots, the elevator ant came to a halt. As Brock stepped back out into wood-lined halls he realized he was where he had started, Bindy doing cartwheels by the wall.

"Fine," he said sourly, "I'll go see the Director. Glad you got your exercise," he added spitefully to the elevator ant, who didn't show any visible signs of caring.

A coruscating gray portal swirled into shape, occluding the wood panels, and Brock stepped through. After a moment of discontinuity, he found himself in the Director's office for the fourth time that day.

"Good afternoon, Brock," the Director said, looking away from a series of occluded screens hovering above his desk, deep-hued rays of blazing orange and red from the setting sun backlighting his throne-chair. "Or early evening, if you prefer. Thank you for stopping by."

"Did I have a choice?"

"You always have a choice, Brock," the Director replied mildly. "That's what it means to be human."

"Look," Brock sighed, taking a seat in front of the desk, "spare me the life lessons. I just want to pass out on something resembling a bed to dreams of burning Bindys. Why am I here? Did I not fill out form Twenty Three-C correctly?"

"No, your paperwork was quite satisfactory. I have a simple request. After you leave for today, I would like you to ask Ms. Softheart to check on your mental status."

"...is this me being bait again?"

"It is for your health, Operator Manly. Unlike other Sekkies, you don't seem to have an inherent protection against mental manipulation due to excessive narcissism, nor do you possess an overwhelming regard for your own well-being. I want to ensure your mind remains your own."

"...because it feels like it's me being bait."

"This is not some convoluted scheme to put you in danger, Operator," the Director replied in growing exasperation. "We can't Appraise you, and Aphrodite is the best mental manipulationist we know of that can be reasonably trusted." The orc placed his hand over his eyes. "We've had this conversation before, St-"

The figure on the throne sucked in a quick breath, deafeningly loud in the sudden silence.

"-excuse me, Brock. The days have been long, and I haven't slept much. Please make sure you get in touch with Ms. Softheart via your magiphone."

"...okay."

Brock walked slowly away from the desk, the setting sun casting his shadow far before him.

Looks like my day isn't over yet. Great.