Intern’s Log: Now I’m Hearing from Leaders Across the Universe—Because Zil Gave Them My Number. Also, One of Them is Threatening Me with the Mother of All Anal Probes.

  Date: [Reality is Collapsing, and So is My Patience]

  Intern ID: Reynolds, J. (I am about to commit war crimes against an entire galactic bureaucracy.)

  So.

  The world is in chaos.

  ? The Forgotten have returned.

  ? Earth has duplicate world leaders.

  ? The Vatican now has two Popes arguing in Latin.

  ? The Architects have lost control of reality itself.

  ? Zil-Vatek is drunk again.

  And now?

  Now I am getting intergalactic complaints.

  Because Zil gave my number to the Galactic Council.

  And now I am personally responsible for explaining why the hell Earth is breaking the multiverse.

  And, oh yeah—

  One of them just threatened me with the mother of all anal probes.

  Phase One: My Phone Will Not Stop Ringing

  I was already dealing with world leaders losing their minds.

  And then—

  Then my second secure line buzzed.

  Not the Earth line.

  The other one.

  The one that connects to extraterrestrial channels.

  The one that should not be ringing unless it was the absolute worst-case scenario.

  I answered.

  "Reynolds speaking."

  And then, in a voice so cold and bureaucratic I could feel my soul die,

  "Human Reynolds. This is the Galactic Stability Council. You are a Problem."

  Oh.

  Oh no.

  Phase Two: The List of Galactic Complaints Against Me

  ? Reality distortions detected on an interstellar scale.

  ? Lost civilizations reappearing in Council-protected zones.

  ? Temporal anomalies screwing up hyperspace navigation.

  ? Entire species remembering they used to exist and now demanding reparations.

  ? The Architects themselves filing a formal protest with the Council.

  And, the worst one:

  ? Multiple intergalactic empires now claiming that Earth is an existential threat.

  So, naturally, I did the only logical thing.

  I blamed Bandit.

  "Listen, guys, this wasn’t me."

  "Zil-Vatek says otherwise."

  "ZIL-VATEK IS DRUNK!"

  "Irrelevant."

  And then—

  Then the threat came.

  Phase Three: The Threat of the Mother of All Anal Probes

  A new voice joined the call.

  One that was deep, ominous, and way too enthusiastic.

  "This is High Commander Grak’Vul of the Order of Rectal Justice. You will cease your interference in the natural order of reality, or we will extract your consciousness through the longest and most invasive means possible."

  I froze.

  "The—what?"

  "Do not play coy, Human Reynolds. You have heard of us."

  "I really haven’t."

  "The Order of Rectal Justice has maintained galactic stability for over ten thousand years. We are legendary for our efficiency in discomfort-based compliance."

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  I looked at Bandit.

  Who was now crying laughing.

  "Grak’Vul, buddy, let’s just—slow down, okay? I didn’t mean to disrupt reality."

  "Then fix it. Or we will fix you. From the inside."

  I dragged a hand down my face.

  "You’re seriously threatening me with an anal probe?"

  "Not an anal probe, Human Reynolds. The Mother of All Anal Probes."

  "I hate everything about this conversation."

  "Then comply."

  Phase Four: Zil-Vatek is No Help At All

  While I was arguing for the sanctity of my own bodily autonomy,

  Zil finally showed up.

  Drunk.

  Again.

  "Reynoooooolds!"

  "ZIL, WHAT THE FUCK, YOU GAVE THEM MY NUMBER?!"

  "They wanted answers! And I didn’t want to deal with it! You’re the Earth expert!"

  "I AM NOT AN EXPERT ON FIXING BROKEN REALITY, ZIL!"

  "Well, you broke it, soooooo…."

  And then Grak’Vul cut in.

  "Silence, Observer. The Order of Rectal Justice will see to this matter if it is not resolved."

  Zil wheezed laughing.

  "Oh my god, they called those guys?!"

  "WHO ARE THESE GUYS?!"

  "Reynolds, buddy, you do not wanna know."

  "I THINK I VERY MUCH DO, ZIL!"

  "Let’s just say they’ve never lost an interrogation. Ever."

  I stared into the abyss.

  And the abyss stared back.

  And it whispered about long, metal instruments and zero lubricant.

  Phase Five: Negotiating My Own Survival

  I took a deep breath.

  "Okay. Grak’Vul. Listen. We are trying to fix reality. But we can’t do that if you’re sending a galactic bounty hunter proctologist after me."

  "Then fix it faster."

  "We’re working on it!"

  "Not fast enough."

  I turned to Bandit.

  "Bandit, help me out here."

  Bandit grinned.

  "Nah, I think you should take the probe, buddy."

  "I SWEAR TO GOD, BANDIT—"

  "Yes?" Pope John Paul II said over my other phone line.

  I nearly threw up.

  Phase Six: The Unbelievable Conclusion

  ? The Galactic Council is now aware that Earth is a reality-warping disaster.

  ? At least one galactic faction wants me arrested via extreme probing.

  ? **Zil-Vatek is officially useless. **

  ? Bandit is laughing too hard to be of any help.

  ? Pope John Paul II is still on hold.

  And me?

  I am just trying to survive.

  So I did the only thing I could think of.

  I lied.

  "We will fix this. Immediately. It’s under control. I swear."

  Grak’Vul paused.

  "See that you do, Human Reynolds. You may yet escape judgment."

  And then the call ended.

  Leaving me in absolute silence.

  Except for Bandit.

  Who was still cackling.

  "Oh, buddy, you are so fucked."

  "Bandit, if I survive this, I will kill you."

  "Yeah, yeah. Just make sure you sit down very carefully for the next few days."

  Final Thoughts (I Am Now Wanted by the Galactic Bureaucracy and I Hate Everything)

  ? Earth is officially a cosmic problem.

  ? The Galactic Council is breathing down my neck.

  ? I am now on the watchlist of the worst interrogation unit in the universe.

  ? Bandit has ruined my life. Again.

  ? Pope John Paul II is still on hold.

  I don’t know how much worse this can get.

  But I do know this—

  If I don’t fix reality, my next log might be written from a very, very uncomfortable position.

  End Log.