It's Not My Fault

For fuck's sake it's not my fault is it that the underworld's border patrol is lax?

"How many time do I have to tell you that you need to get all the souls back in the underworld before boss chews me up and spits me out out of this fucking job?" My boss yelled at me for like the fiftieth time today just because border patrol doesn't do their work properly.

"Sorry, boss it's just that some of these souls have some stupid ass backers like some have old gramps, gods or for fuck's sake some shit known as a 'System'." I replied to the only man kind enough to employ me after my time in the tax office.

"Simon, you just need to and get the fucking souls, the big boss is going to take care of those 'backers'."

"Fine, I will do that however if, if I die you need to keep the respawning system ready with the memories."

"I will do that. Now please will you kindly go and catch those souls will you."

After saying those words he disappeared and went back to his office. I groaned and slumped back in my chair the only comfy thing in this damned (pun intended) place.

'How many times will I have to collect those souls again. I mean I get it that I am a soul collector and a high-ranking one at that but still how many times will I have to do it.'

I shook of all of my thoughts and picked my coat up from the work desk.

If you still haven't understood I was a soul collector, a worker for the illustrious Underworld Soul Operatives and this is my journal. The Underworld Soul Operatives is a civil government office whose work is to collect the souls of the deceased and transporting them to the different memory cleaning centers around the underworld. My job was nothing special all I had to do was to collect the souls of the freshly deceased and send them over to the office.

I was a worker who did just that and thus finally had the chance to be promoted to soul keeper but, in the past few months many souls had escaped the office through some unknown means and the chance had started to look slim as many executives had started to blame the collectors and not the border patrol.

Thus, the only way to still get the promotion was to catch the escaped souls but it was easier said than done as many souls had some backers like some gods who wanted to make our life hell or some parasitic little shits know as Power Systems who gave its user another chance at life and some power but gave us intense headaches as everything these gods or systems did was making our lives very hellish.

I grew very tired as even catching a few souls turned out to be utter hell, even a single soul led to intense bureaucracy and negotiation which left us as weary as fuck.

This time I had to target a big fish a soul which escaped for 50 years and had the support of a chief god.

'This is going to be tiring as fuck.' I groaned and stepped into the portal behind my cubicle.