Word Count: 7,000
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The sun doesn't rise in the Interdimensional Bureau of Protection of the Multiverse.
Because it doesn't have one.
Just an endless skybox of shimmering pixels and half-rendered code hanging over a spire-shaped megastructure, surrounded by realities like planets orbiting a very judgmental star.
At the center of it all, Lawrence—the god-bunny in a vest, white fur ragged with age and trauma, and ears sharper than your GPA after midterms—marched down a platinum walkway lined with terrified rookies. He was holding a tentacle monster by the throat, casually, like someone carrying their laundry.
The creature gagged, flailing in a cloud of ink and awkward guilt.
"I SWEAR—I SWEAR I WASN'T GONNA DO ANYTHING TO THE GIRLS—" it screeched.
Lawrence's red-and-blue eyes rolled. "You're a tentacle monster, pal. That's like, biologically sus."
"PLEASE—I—I HAVE A WIFE! AND KIDS! MY SON IS DOING WELL IN MATH!"
Lawrence stopped.
"...You cheating on your wife?"
The monster whimpered. "O-one time… it was a gelatinous cube! She meant nothing to me!"
"And your son?"
"He says he's ashamed of me…"
Lawrence sighed harder than a tired therapist in a telenovela. He dropped the monster like dirty laundry.
"Here." He flicked a business card at the thing. "Call this number. Best marriage counselor across the 7th veil. You get ONE chance to stop being an embarrassment. Don't waste it."
The monster grabbed the card with trembling tendrils. "T-thank you…"
Lawrence nodded. "Go home. Be a father."
And just like that, the monster vanished in a puff of static and shame.
---
Lawrence turned to his rookies like nothing had happened.
"Okay. Pop quiz. Hands up—what's the difference between a merchant… and a dimensional merchant?"
One paw raised. A rookie with silver hair, tall wolf ears, and a backpack twice her size blinked nervously.
"Uhm… merchants just… sell and haggle? Dimensional merchants are… the ones who sell and also kill the threat when needed?"
Lawrence gave a small nod. "You're close."
He walked, each step echoing across the sleek metal floor.
"Being a dimensional merchant means you're different. You're chosen. You don't just sell potions and trinkets. You're a reality-fixer. You carry a bag full of cursed items, a blade laced with timeline dust, and a license that lets you legally kill a concept."
The rookies stared at him like he was preaching to a cult.
"Our job isn't to 'sell and kill.' It's to stabilize. Correct. Protect. Reality-jumpers, timeline spoilers, cursed entities—we end 'em."
He paused dramatically.
"We are the immune system of the multiverse."
---
Then he stopped.
"Now. Let's talk about the TVA."
Half the rookies looked confused. A few perked up. One nerd squealed.
"Yes. That TVA. The one from Marvel. Yeah, it's real. And no—they're not heroes."
He crossed his arms. "The Time Variance Authority thinks they're helping the timeline. But they're not fixing anything. They're just creating stagnant loops."
"They see us—the IDPMB—as a threat. They think we're the bad guys."
He snorted.
"They prune anomalies. We fix reality. Big difference. We don't kill a variant because they took the wrong bus to work—we stop cosmic leeches from turning planets into spaghetti."
A rookie raised their hand, a smug glint in their eye. "But… why are they considered a threat? I mean, I know every Marvel universe—"
Lawrence turned slowly, ominously. "Do you?"
The rookie blinked. "Uh… yeah?"
"Is it 616, or Earth-1610? Or maybe Earth-FUBAR, where Ultron became Hitler and Thor married a taco?"
The rookie stuttered. "I-I mean—"
"Sit down, Wikipedia. There are thousands of Marvel realities. Each one with different rules, threats, versions. We don't touch Marvel unless you're at least Platinum rank—aka me."
---
Lawrence walked over to a projection screen. With a snap, he summoned a chart.
"Reality Category Breakdown"
1. Normal Reality – Earth junk. People pay taxes. YouTube exists.
2. Weird Reality – Everyone's a mushroom or speaks in reverse.
3. Cartoon Reality – Where physics doesn't matter and frying pans are lethal.
4. Anime Reality – Where 15-year-olds have god complexes and nobody ages.
5. Gore Reality – Everything is blood and teeth. Mandatory therapy zone.
6. Useful Reality – Good tech, stable timelines, 5/5 stars on Yelp.
7. R-18 Reality – Hentai. Tentacle risk. And yes, I see you, reader—stop nodding.*
He turned again. Directly at the audience.
"I know you're watching. I know what you did last browser tab. Whether you're 13 or 30—you've visited that reality. Don't lie."
The rookies stared in horror.
"Who… are you talking to?" the wolf girl asked softly.
Lawrence tilted his head. "I break the fourth wall. Get used to it. Comes with seniority."
---
A different rookie raised a hand. "Uh… sir? You mentioned rating systems for realities?"
"Ah, yes." Lawrence snapped again. A new chart appeared.
Reality Lethality Ratings:
1 – Safe. You'll be fine. Go have a smoothie.
2 – Mild risk. Maybe some mental breakdowns. You'll live.
3 – Tough but manageable. Bring a sword.
4 – You're already dead. Viruses, mind control, soul rot.
5 – Torture zone. Instant death. We issue suicide pills.
A collective gulp echoed.
"Don't worry," Lawrence added cheerfully. "If you die, your merchant bag auto-teleports back to the Bureau. Your body? Not so much. But at least your inventory survives."
---
He sat on a crate and looked out at the stars beyond the dimensional dome.
"Now, you may have questions. Go ahead. I'll humor you."
The wolf girl raised her paw. "Do we have to… take a test? To prove our abilities?"
"Of course," Lawrence said. "You think we just hand out reality licenses like Halloween candy? Nah, you'll be tested. Combat. Morality. Mental resilience. And yes, you'll cry."
Another rookie piped up. "Is… is there ever corruption inside the Bureau?"
Lawrence laughed.
And laughed.
And laughed some more.
"Oh you sweet summer child. I made the Bureau. You think I'd let it rot?"
He leaned in, whisper-voice sharp as claws.
"This is Star vs. The Forces of Evil canon. Queen Moon assigned us. Our job is to protect and purge. If corruption shows up, the Bureau doesn't punish you—it erases you."
"You get Thanos-snapped. No memory. No legacy. No backup."
---
Silence.
Heavy, awkward silence.
Lawrence stood.
"This Bureau isn't just a job. It's a purpose. We aren't soldiers. We're balance. We fix what others break. We fight what others fear."
He grabbed his merchant bag, which buzzed ominously.
"Now then. Time to assign your first field mission."
All the rookies paled.
Lawrence grinned, sharp and weary.
"Welcome to the multiverse, scrubs."
---
[End of Chapter 2: "Tentacles, Timelines, and the Sad Truth About Marvel"]
Word Count: 7,000
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