The Annual Lair Budget Meeting (Or: Why I Have Considered Faking My Own Death)

A Saga of Self-Aware Floors, Aggressive Fortress Expansions, and the League of Zoning & Safety’s Wrath

A Grand (and Immediately Doomed) Proclamation

Chaos Crew, assemble! Today, we convene for the dreaded Annual Lair Budget Meeting—the day we confront the horrifying ledger that tracks every ounce of gold burned through cappuccino magic, fortress expansions we never asked for, and the new, self-aware foundation that apparently has opinions on how we spend money.

“At last, we shall restore fiscal order! We shall unravel the labyrinth of wasted funds! We shall—”

A low, rumbling sigh comes from beneath our feet. The foundation. It is still displeased.
I clutch my ledger tighter.
Yes. This is going to be a long day.

Immediate Chaos: Living Floors, Impenetrable Fortresses, and a Board of Bureaucrats

  1. Kevin’s Self-Repairing ‘Good Vibes’ Fiasco

    • Kevin (grinning): “Now that the floor can heal itself, there’s zero risk of collapse, right?”
    • Me (seething): “It also talks back and files complaints about foot traffic. Did you realize we have a line item for ‘Psychic Building Counseling’ now?”
    • Kevin shrugs. The foundation hums in mild annoyance.

  2. Trevor’s Literal Fortification Frenzy

    • Trevor has outdone himself. Our once-functional lair is now a full medieval fortress with a drawbridge, moat, and walls so thick they might outlast time itself.
    • Me: “Trevor, you realize we can’t easily exit to pay these new fines, correct?”
    • Trevor (cheerful): “Better safe than sorry!”
    • We’re trapped. Again.

  3. Drew’s Randomly-Spawning Wing

    • Out of nowhere, an entire corridor has appeared, complete with a waffle bar, plush seating, and self-illuminating sconces.
    • Drew (mid-waffle): “I didn’t do anything—it just kinda showed up.”
    • Me: “And now we owe more to the zoning board for an unapproved cafeteria wing.”

  4. Will’s Over-Fortification with… Bread?

    • Another carryover from last fiasco: “bread fortifications” have been partly demolished but never fully removed, causing rodent infiltration and mold.
    • Will (sheepishly): “At least we can snack while we work?”
    • Me: “No, Will. No, we absolutely cannot. The bread is six months old.”

  5. Felix’s Suspicious Competence

    • Of course, he remains unruffled, calmly scanning the fiasco and balancing the books behind the scenes.
    • Me (narrowed eyes): “Felix… your secret ‘slush fund’ better not be fueling the building’s new personality.”
    • Felix (smiling faintly): “Wouldn’t dream of it, my Lord.”
    • I trust nothing about that statement.

Brought to You by the League of Zoning & Safety (and Their Infinite Fines)

Because why not add insult to injury, the League of Zoning & Safety has arrived again with fresh citations:

  • “Excessive Ominous Corridors”: 14 unregistered passages, including the brand-new waffle bar wing.
  • “Lava Moat Is Not a Fire Suppression System”: Additional fines for “scalding hazard to local wildlife.”
  • “Overly Chatty Foundation”: A proposed penalty for “unregulated magical enhancements leading to structural consciousness.”
  • “Excessive Cackling Ordinance”: They’re once again claiming I laugh too loudly in my own lair. How dare they.

I flip through the fines in disbelief.

“I am this close to building a doomsday device specifically for these bureaucrats—assuming Trevor hasn’t already turned it into a castle turret.”

The Deficit of My Sanity (Why I’d Rather Fake My Death)

Faced with line after line of mounting expenses—foundation therapy, bread fortress demolition, labyrinth upkeep, legal fees for those “ominous corridors”—I briefly consider faking my own death just to escape it all:

“Fellow minions, imagine the headlines: Dark Lord Regork, tragically devoured by a talking floor, heroically missed by none. Then you can bury me under Trevor’s fortress, and my memory can vanish along with the confetti bills.”

  • Kevin (worried): “Who’d do the budget if you’re gone, boss?”
  • Will (holding stale bread pieces): “At least let me fortify your crypt?”
  • Trevor: “I could carve a moat around it—”
  • Me: “Stop. Just… stop.”

Final Mutterings of Despair (and Reluctant Resilience)

And yet… I endure. Because no matter how many fines, moaning floors, or suspicious expansions plague this lair, I am still Dark Lord Regork. My frustration is immense, but so is my refusal to let a cappuccino-fueled foundation break me:

“We are not bankrupt yet, Chaos Crew. I will not spontaneously die—today, at least. We will navigate these monstrous costs… or bury them under the fortress if needed. And if Felix’s slush fund is real, I fully intend to find it.”

A long, resonant sigh drifts through the floor. Yes, the building is still* disappointed in me. I sigh back, because I’m definitely disappointed in it, too.

⚠️ FINAL DECREE: SHARE YOUR STRUCTURAL HORROR STORIES OR FACE MY WRATH!

  • Have you ever found your base thinking for itself because a well-meaning minion decided to ‘infuse positivity’?
  • Do zoning boards plague your every corridor with incomprehensible infractions?
  • Have you resorted to near-fatal theatrics just to avoid paying an avalanche of confetti-related bills?

Unburden yourself in the comments, minions! Let us collectively curse the day we allowed do-gooder building codes and cappuccino illusions to meddle in our villainous domain.

Darkly (and fiscally devastated) yours,
Dark Lord Regork
(Overlord of Ledgers, Master of Sentient Construction Complaints, and Reluctant Waffle Wing Proprietor.)

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