Arthur sat in the observation lounge of the *Last Stand*, sipping a lukewarm cup of synthetic coffee. He was the sole administrator of the final human outpost, a job that mostly consisted of filling out forms and making sure the air scrubbers didn't clog with dust.

The universe had ended three weeks ago.

At least, that's what the news-feed said. The "Great Flattening" had swept through the solar system, turning Earth, Mars, and every single human being into a series of highly detailed, two-dimensional posters. Arthur had survived only because he was in a deep-space research station that happened to be shielded by a freak gravitational anomaly.

He was the last man in existence. And he was incredibly bored.

For three weeks, Arthur had been trying to contact the "Higher Authorities"—the entities who had launched the dimension strike. He didn't want to beg for mercy; he just wanted to know *why*. Why the humans? Why now? What was the grand, cosmic reason for the erasure of a billion years of evolution?

Finally, his terminal beeped. A message had arrived.

It wasn't a manifesto. It wasn't a judgment. It was a memo.

*FROM: Department of Spatial Maintenance, Sub-Sector 4* *TO: All Regional Terminals* *SUBJECT: Correction of Filing Error - Sector 7-G*

*Dear Administrator,*

*It has come to our attention that during the quarterly "Clutter Clearance" operation, a clerical error occurred in the filing of Sector 7-G. Due to a typo in the coordinates (Entry 409 was mistaken for 408), the 'Flattening' command was accidentally applied to a populated star system instead of the intended empty void.*

*We apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused. Please be advised that the process is irreversible as per Standard Operating Procedure 12-B.*

*To compensate for this error, we have credited your sector's account with 500 units of 'Void-Credits'. These can be redeemed for a slightly higher grade of synthetic coffee in the next eon.*

*Best regards,* *Krell, Junior Maintenance Officer*

Arthur stared at the screen. He looked at the empty coffee cup in his hand. Then he looked out the window at the flat, silent remains of his home world.

A billion lives. A trillion dreams. The entirety of human art, music, and love. All gone.

Because a guy named Krell had made a typo.

Arthur didn't scream. He didn't cry. He just felt a profound, hollow sense of amusement. He realized that the universe wasn't a dark forest, and it wasn't a grand stage for a cosmic drama.

It was just a very large, very poorly managed office.

He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and wondered if the Void-Credits would actually work on the coffee machine.

--- OTMES_v2_Code: [T9-02 | M3:9.0 | N2:0.9 | K2:0.4 | I:1.0 | R:0.0 | θ:225°]