Reginald Penhaligon considered spreadsheets the pinnacle of excitement. His Tuesday was unfolding precisely as expected: a lukewarm Earl Grey, the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of keyboards in the Paperclip Division, and the soul-crushing monotony of auditing gross profit margins on various sizes of fasteners. He hummed a tuneless melody, the kind that gets stuck in your head for days and makes you question all your life choices.
Suddenly, a sharp pop echoed from the corner cubicle of Brenda, the office's resident connoisseur of cat memes and questionable microwave lunches. A plume of acrid, blue-tinged smoke billowed upwards. Brenda shrieked, a sound usually reserved for spider sightings or discovering the last of the breakroom biscuits had vanished.
"My stapler!" she wailed, pointing a trembling finger at the now-smoldering office supply. "It... it just exploded!"
Reginald, ever the pragmatist, peered over his cubicle wall. Indeed, Brenda's heavy-duty Swingline lay in smoking ruins. Before he could offer a suitably bland comment about electrical faults or the inherent dangers of excessive stapling, the air around the combusted contraption began to shimmer. Colors swirled, a vortex of iridescent light expanding rapidly.
Panic erupted in the Paperclip Division. Gary from stationery supplies tripped over a box of rubber bands. Mildred from HR fainted dramatically onto a pile of unused sticky notes. Reginald, however, found himself strangely mesmerized. It was… unusual. Definitely not in the employee handbook.
Before he could formulate a coherent thought beyond "Well, that's not ideal," a powerful suction gripped him. He flailed, his meticulously organized briefcase flying open, scattering invoices and tax forms into the swirling abyss. His spectacles, perched precariously on his nose, threatened to abandon ship.
The last thing Reginald saw of his former life was Brenda pointing at him with a mixture of horror and morbid fascination, her face illuminated by the otherworldly glow. Then, with a disconcerting WHOOSH, the fluorescent lights of the office vanished, replaced by an overwhelming sensation of being squeezed through a cosmic tube of toothpaste.
He landed with a soft thump, the air knocked from his lungs. For a moment, all he could register was a strange, sweet scent and the feeling of something vaguely squishy beneath his cheek. He pushed himself up, blinking owlishly, his spectacles askew.
The world that greeted him was… preposterous. Towering stalks of candy-striped flora swayed gently in a breeze that smelled faintly of cotton candy. Trees with bark that resembled spun sugar stretched towards a sky the color of overripe plums. And the ground… the ground was a carpet of what could only be described as sentient moss, which jiggled slightly with each of his movements.
"Good heavens," Reginald muttered, adjusting his glasses. "Where in the company newsletter did they mention this?"
A high-pitched voice chirped, "Greetings, noble champion!"
Reginald whirled around, nearly tripping over a particularly enthusiastic patch of moss. Standing before him was a creature that defied logical categorization. It was roughly the size of a terrier, with the fluffy body of a chinchilla, the iridescent wings of a dragonfly, and a pair of surprisingly intelligent, golden eyes. It also wore a tiny, perfectly tailored waistcoat.
"Champion?" Reginald repeated, pointing a hesitant finger at his own chest. "Are you… talking to me?"
The fluffy creature puffed out its chest, causing its waistcoat buttons to strain. "Indeed! The prophecy foretold your arrival! You are Reginald the… Reginald the… oh dear, I seem to have misplaced the exact epithet. Something grand, involving spreadsheets and the vanquishing of… paperwork?"
Reginald sighed. This was going to be a long day.