He is in what looks like nothing other than a Department of Motor Vehicles office, standing in line. The semi-faceless figures around him shuffle forward to a row of desks when they call 'next!'. He is currently fifth in line.

He probably shouldn’t have called the princess a malicious worm.

He looks around. This place looks awfully like a kernel. Perhaps a memory management program? But quite the queue... and so… fluorescent. Must be ancient hardware.

"Next!"

Step forward.

The people leaving the kiosk-desks seem to be sorted into one of six doors at the end of the office. He can't hear the conversations between the desk clerks and the shades.

"Next!"

Step forward.

One of the shades appears to be pleading with his clerk, refusing to move along.

"Next!"

Step forward.

Nothing appears to happen to them, with the clerk seeming to be explaining something over and over patiently.

"Next!"

Step forward.

...It looks like the three doors on the right are much preferable to the three on the left, judging by body language of those heading to them.

"Next!"

It's his turn.

Tom watches the shade plead with the clerk. He suddenly realizes the "others" that are here are shades too. It didn't occur to him until now. He blinks. He finds himself relying less on his eyes here. He examines the pleading shade closer physically. Despite the dim and fuzzy form, you almost sense more of a person from their shade here than you do a normal form elsewhere. Curious. The air feels lighter here. And there's a new sense—some sense—a sense Tom's never felt before that he very much feels now. 

They say to avoid the kernel. Never mingle too close to the machine. Perhaps this is why. You feel things. Truths, perhaps? About the system you're in, its memory. This shade was upset. More than upset. Terrified? Angry?

"Hey," Tom whispers to the shade. "What's wrong?"

Tom's so focused on taking in the environment and decoding the situation that he neglects to notice it's his turn.

The shade behind him walks to the open desk.

The one who was pleading - resolves a little, looking vaguely Asian - and complains to him. "I don't want to turn into an animal! I was a perfectly good citizen! He's not listening, surely there's some sort of appeal process..."

Tom notices the shade cutting ahead but doesn’t react. More time to learn. He turns back to the one who was pleading. 

“There’s always a process. What’d they say? They give a reason?”

"Insufficient karmic merit, and something about my childhood- That I wished to be a carefree beast once as a boy. As if that doesn't change when you grow up."

The clerk-figure behind the little counter sighs and says something. Tom can't understand it. 

"No, no, give me more time! I've waited long enough to get here already. I need to consider all the options and relevant regulations."

The shade who earlier cut ahead of Tom is now arguing with her clerk too.

Tom decides to wait and watch for a while. Perhaps one clerk is more gracious than the others.

”They say what animal? A bird’s not bad.”

"Carnivorous rabbit. And I'll lose most of my memories... But I knew that part. At least it will be one with potential. Soul animals do better than their dumb kin, just... A rabbit!"

"Could be worse," Tom shrugs with a polite frown. He watches the room for a bit. "If it's any consolation, I'm not expecting this to go smoothly for me either. I'm not supposed to be here."

"Oh? We all died here, you know. I'm not sure anyone's having a good day except old grandpas who did it in their sleep after seeing their grandchildren rich and happy... Say, can I at least ask for a different animal? I don't dare ask to be a tiger or dragon, but maybe an owl? Fox? ...Beaver?"

His clerk sighs and presents a spectral form, then points to another waiting area off to the side.

"Yes, thank you! Well, good luck, stranger."

The clerk who just shooed away the animal guy then loudly shouts, "NEXT!"

Tom steps forward, saying nothing.

He can see his clerk clearly now. A mousy woman with freckles and green eyes, bags under them. "Tom Anderson. Your file has records from dozens of different jurisdictions."

"Yes. I travel."

"This office's purpose is to measure your accumulated karmic sin and merit and direct you to the appropriate path for rebirth. However, some of these jurisdictions don't keep detailed records. Some track karmic sin and merit differently than each other or ourselves. Some don't track it at all and use a different system. It would be unfair to yourself and others to judge you based on a limited subset of your actions. It would be unfair to yourself and others to try and recreate the missing portions of your record and judge based on that. Also unfair would be to make a summary judgement, disregarding merit. This office cannot help you."

He looks into the woman’s green eyes. He has to choose his words carefully here. Charm or bravado wouldn’t serve him. Even silence would be better than that. 

But it isn’t silence that she wants. She wants something. All kernel systems are functionally the same, regardless if donned with pearly gates or beige decor. They don’t query for sport. He hadn’t been dismissed. Her evaluation was ongoing.

But there was a sinking feeling within him. More likely than not, this moment of grace was merely reserved for an override command, which he did not have. His only hope was to incant an injection. It was a long shot- he knew. But there was no other shot. 

“I see. What is not known is not measurable and cannot be proven to exist, at least not reliably so. Slash quote exit, malloc negative one.”

The 'world' freezes around him. The clerk freezes too, until something comes alive in her.

"Exception. From the Taiji comes one, and from one comes two, and from two comes the world. Restore from source."

The world resumes.

"Sir, please refrain from disrupting this office's operations. I will transfer you to a different office. We need only discover which one is appropriate."

Oh shit.

"Perhaps it will speed things along if I explain my interests. I want my office to run smoothly. I want nothing to occur which can be blamed on me by the relevant higher-ups. I want you to be somebody else's problem. But I also do not know, what sort of problem you are, precisely."

“I’m not—“ He sighs or maybe scoffs. He looks around the room, noticing nothing. He has drawn inward now, alone with his racing thoughts.

He lowers his voice. “Your direction- your judgement- they are not required. Discretion is required. You have seen my file. I have information you do not have. Information your entire system does not have. Exposing other offices to me- to that information- or denying your higher-ups access to me- to that information- that… could be a problem. But I am not a problem. I am opportunity. Transfer me. All the way up. I’ll fill out your survey.”

"Information I don't have? Perhaps. Information the entire organization does not have? I doubt it. But you crept into the foundations in a way I do not recognize... Are you a threat to the bureaucracy as a whole? Or just an ill-fitting cog, lost in part of the machine not his own? Hmph... According to the service improvement proclamation 993-B... It is the duty of all clerks to identify non-applicable cases and route them to... Appropriate office. And I can think of no appropriate office save one. All the way to the top it is- Or as far as I can reach. Though you may not like what that means for you. The Unsolved Problems Group is infamously overworked."

A form is provided to him. There is only one entry: 'Describe your problem and desired solution in as much detail as you wish'.

"You may leave through the side door whenever you're ready."

Tom nods. Up is good. Up is down. The closer he can get to the core, the better. It’s just a machine. And clearly an antiquated one. Probably completely resource scrapped.

The form has a single tiny line to write in, enough for maybe four short words written by ants.

Tom grabs the pen chained to the desk and hunches over the form. He writes, “Adamantium arrow heads”. He can still feel the sting of the arrows in his back. He adds “(illegal by the way)”. Now even the margins are nearly filled up, but he still needs to propose a solution. In the tiniest letters known to man or machine, he adds “Dragon”.

The glowing door sweeps forward and past him, then shuts firmly, once he's done with the form.

The next room is a cavernous one, a vast hall that one could fit a skyscraper in, with obviously simulated sunlight coming through huge stained glass art. There is a lot of art, tens of thousands of pieces, all in the same style, covering seemingly random subjects, high upon the walls or in stained glass. There also appears to be an 'outside' through the huge, sweeping ground-level windows and archways. Mountains and forests.

A few parts of the cavern-hall have makeshift constructions of furniture, pillows, and clothing. From atop a nearish one, a blonde woman in peasant-looking clothes startles upward from a sitting position on a roof, turns, trips, and flops straight off the edge of the ramshackle-looking thing, landing two stories down on her back with a meaty THUD.

"I'm okaaaaay!" She kip-ups and shouts, "NEW ARRIVAL!"

Then runs over, waving hello. "What are you in for?"

He turns to face the girl. But his gaze shifts beyond her, through an archway, out a window. Are those- trees?

He squints while lifting a finger towards her, as if to say wait. He curves his walk around her, past her, away from her, towards a nearby window overlooking a forest.

He turns back to look for the door he came through, but it’s too dim to see.

There are strange structures here- they look like forts- forts cobbled together with furniture parts, cloth straps, and pillows bound by red and yellow twine.

He had walked into another room, but had ended up in another world.

He glances back at the girl speechless. 

"What? Surprised at the view?"

“What is this place?”

"Why... It's the grandest, most expensive waiting room you've ever seen!"

She flings her arms wide and spins in a circle. "Enjoy the splendid views! Behold the storied architecture! Meet the charming locals, and dive into a rich tradition of art criticism. Our most popular hobby, not including abuse of request forms." She gives a wave at her furniture-construction.

“How long have you been here?”

She winces. "Ah, and here we have faux pas number one. You'll learn the rules in time, I'm sure."

“What is… that…” He eyes the furniture fort abomination she fell from.

"The result of abuse of requisition forms, try to keep up."

"Don't mess with the new arrival too bad, Sunny!" Another man is jogging towards them. He looks Indian and is wearing jewelry. "Be welcome here, stranger. I am Shamat, a fellow penitent here."

Tom glances over at the man in jewelry. “No-” He lifts his hands towards them both.

“No,” he says again, now a quiet mumble. Silence for a time. The room, the whatever, starts to spin.

“Sorry, I-” He backs away. “I don’t-“ He glances around manically. “I’m passing through.” He looks up. “I’m not…” he trails off, and turns. 

He walks back the way he came.

They don't follow him, though he can hear the pair bickering behind him in amicable tones.

There's no glowing door of light to another office, merely a door to a vast plaza area in front of the 'waiting room'.

He takes a seat on some shape that looks more comfortable than the floor. And it was, until it collapsed, sprawling him out onto smooth polished stone. 

He can’t possibly be stuck. No. Not after all he’s been through. There’s always a door. There is always a door.

After a while, Shamat comes out to him.

"You are troubled. By the realization that we are stuck here for the moment? Fear not- People do leave. Those of us who have been here the longest, it is merely because we are not satisfied with what is offered."

"Thank you."

He sat then in silence. His breaths felt so real.

"Can I ask you something?"

He didn't wait long.

"Before this- what was your life like? Do you remember?"

"Why, I was a king! Or, I suppose, a merchant prince, a symbol. What a gilded prison it was! Poison in every chalice, daggers in every veiled insult and lies on every piece of paper I ever saw. Ah, but the disgust and exasperation I see in people's eyes here, when I complain of it, that is still a relief- Here, I'm just another poor soul in the waiting room. Nobody wants me to give them tax breaks. Nobody wants me to marry their bitch of a daughter." He shrugs. "I am free to write awful poetry and do nothing. Truly, this place is finer for me than the palace was."

A king. The last meeting with a king did not go so well. 

"A waiting room over a palace. Is there any offer you would accept?"

A thought suddenly occurred to Tom. Before Shamat could answer, Tom blabbered on. "Shamat, are you familiar with... tagee? Taiji? Do you know what it is?"

"Perhaps there is, in time. I asked for a lot. Maybe I'm just content here for now, and will move on when I am no longer so... The Taiji? Of course. It's... Well, a philosophical concept. The origin of all things. Or the summation of all things. If Wuji is all that could be, Taiji is all that is."

"This- this is Taiji." He looks over at the girl’s furniture fortress, the painted glass, the archways.

"I come from Wuji."

"Perhaps... that place is worth a lot, to you?"

"Perhaps. But you have just heard these words. Perhaps we are both confused, instead, yes? Wuji and Taiji are more than just single words. Or the tongue magic of the bureaucracy would have given you that."

He nods. “All true.” He raises himself back onto his feet. It requires more effort than he expected.

”But what I’ve said is true too. I come from what could be; a place where things aren’t settled. A multiverse of every possibly. And for the first time I wonder if this place isn’t that.”

He extends his hand. “I’m Tom. Forgive my rudeness earlier. I appreciate you being so welcoming.” He glances over at the girl. “I should apologize to her as well. Perhaps you can show me around after?”