The City of Shadows had exactly seventeen different ways to wake up its residents on a Monday morning. There was the traditional alarm clock, the magical rooster that crowed in three languages, the enchanted bells that played personal theme songs, and fourteen other methods that ranged from "mildly inconvenient" to "existentially disturbing."
Alex Lin woke up to number eighteen: his mask gently humming show tunes.
"Gramps," he mumbled, sitting up in the small apartment he'd rented above Temporal Threads, a shop that sold clothes that fit perfectly no matter what day of the week it was. "Why is my mask singing?"
"Because," Gramps said cheerfully, "today is the day you officially become a problem for the city government."
Alex blinked, his golden eyes adjusting to the morning light filtering through windows that showed three different weather patterns simultaneously. "What do you mean?"
"Check your mail."
Alex looked around his sparse apartment—a bed, a table, two chairs, and a kitchen that came with a coffee maker that brewed liquid confidence. On the table was a single envelope, sealed with red wax and stamped with an official-looking seal.
He opened it carefully. Inside was a letter written in the kind of formal language that made simple things sound impossibly complicated:
NOTICE OF SUPERNATURAL ACTIVITY REGISTRATION
To: Mr. Alex Lin, aka "The Fool"
From: The Department of Impossible Things
RE: Unlicensed Reality Manipulation
Dear Mr. Lin,
It has come to our attention that you have been engaging in unauthorized supernatural activities within city limits. These activities include, but are not limited to: causing spontaneous happiness, manipulating probability, making hot dog carts float, and solving impossible crimes through the use of paradoxical logic.
Please report to the Department of Impossible Things, Room 247½, City Hall, by 9:00 AM this morning to complete the necessary paperwork for supernatural activity registration.
Failure to comply will result in a fine of 500 gold coins and/or transformation into a small decorative plant.
Sincerely,
Ms. Beatrice Paperworth
Director of Supernatural Compliance
P.S. - Please bring three forms of identification, a sample of your aura, and exact change.
Alex stared at the letter. "They want to register me?"
"Kid, you've been walking around the city for a week making things float and solving impossible crimes. Did you think the government wouldn't notice?"
"I was hoping they'd be too busy with other things."
"Like what?"
"Like... I don't know. Normal government stuff. Potholes. Taxes. Arguing about parking meters."
"Alex, this is the City of Shadows. Our parking meters are sentient and they file their own tax returns. The government's main job is dealing with people like you."
The Department of Impossible Things
City Hall was a building that looked like someone had taken a perfectly normal government building and taught it to juggle. The original structure was solid stone and sensible angles, but over the years, various magical additions had been grafted on. There was a tower that spiraled upward in a way that hurt to look at, a wing that was somehow bigger on the inside than the outside, and a parking garage that existed in a pocket dimension to save space.
Alex found Room 247½ on the second-and-three-quarters floor, wedged between the Department of Existential Paperwork and the Bureau of Things That Shouldn't Exist But Do Anyway.
The door was painted a cheerful yellow and had a sign that read: DEPARTMENT OF IMPOSSIBLE THINGS - Please Take a Number and Wait for Reality to Catch Up.
Inside, the waiting room looked like someone had decorated it with the specific goal of making people uncomfortable. The chairs were all slightly different heights, the magazines were written in languages that changed while you read them, and the muzak was playing a song that sounded familiar but wasn't quite any song that had ever been written.
Behind a counter that seemed to be carved from a single piece of crystallized bureaucracy sat a woman who looked like she'd been born to work in government offices. She had gray hair pulled back in a bun so tight it could have been used as a weapon, glasses that reflected paperwork instead of light, and the kind of smile that suggested she genuinely enjoyed making people fill out forms.
"Mr. Lin," she said, looking up from a stack of papers that seemed to be writing themselves. "I'm Ms. Paperworth. Thank you for coming in."
"Do I have a choice?"
"Everyone has a choice. The question is whether you like the alternatives."
Alex approached the counter, his aura glowing softly. The papers on Ms. Paperworth's desk began to flutter gently, as if touched by a breeze that existed only for them.
"Interesting," she said, making a note in a ledger. "Category 3 reality distortion field with traces of conceptual manipulation. When did you first notice these abilities?"
"About a week ago. I woke up in an alley wearing this suit and mask, and things have been getting weird ever since."
"Weird is our specialty. Please have a seat, and I'll get your paperwork started."
She handed him a clipboard with a form that was labeled: APPLICATION FOR SUPERNATURAL ACTIVITY REGISTRATION (FORM 23-B, REVISED).
Alex looked at the form. It was seventeen pages long and asked questions like "Date of last existential crisis" and "List all reality-altering events you've been involved in (use additional sheets if necessary)."
"This is going to take forever," he said.
"Not necessarily. We have an express lane for people with unusual circumstances."
"What qualifies as unusual circumstances?"
"Being friends with someone who works here."
"I don't know anyone who works here."
"You do now." Ms. Paperworth smiled. "I've been watching your case with great interest. It's not often we get someone who solves problems by refusing to choose between options."
"You know about that?"
"Mr. Lin, we know about everything. It's our job. The question is what we do with that knowledge."
She pulled out a much shorter form—only three pages—and handed it to him. "This is Form 23-C, the 'Exceptional Circumstances' registration. Much simpler, but it requires a demonstration of your abilities."
"What kind of demonstration?"
"Nothing too complicated. Just show me something impossible."
Alex looked around the waiting room. It was full of perfectly ordinary impossible things—floating pens, self-filing papers, a clock that told time in colors instead of numbers. What could he do that would be impressive in a place like this?
Then he had an idea.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. "Ms. Paperworth, what's the most annoying part of your job?"
"People who complain about the paperwork."
"What if the paperwork filled itself out?"
"That would be... actually, that would be wonderful."
Alex flipped the coin into the air. As it spun, his aura flared, and suddenly every piece of paper in the office began writing on itself. Forms completed themselves with perfect accuracy, filing cabinets opened their own drawers and sorted their contents, and the rubber stamps started stamping documents without anyone touching them.
"Remarkable," Ms. Paperworth said, watching her entire day's work complete itself in thirty seconds. "You've just improved government efficiency by approximately 400%. I'm not sure whether to give you a medal or have you arrested."
"Is there a third option?"
"Actually, yes. We'd like to offer you a job."
The Offer
"A job?" Alex blinked. "What kind of job?"
"Consultant. The Department of Impossible Things handles all the supernatural cases the regular police can't solve. We're always looking for people with unique abilities."
"I already have a job. Sort of. I help people with their problems."
"That's exactly what we do. We just do it with better benefits and dental insurance."
"What would I have to do?"
"Same thing you've been doing. Solve impossible cases, help people, make the world a little bit better. The only difference is you'd be doing it officially."
Alex thought about this. The idea of having an official job was appealing—it would mean he belonged somewhere, had a purpose, could help people on a larger scale.
"What's the catch?"
"No catch. Well, one small catch. You'd have to work with a partner."
"I already work with partners. Sam and Mina."
"Those are freelance partnerships. This would be an official government partnership. With someone who's been specially trained to work with supernatural consultants."
"What kind of training?"
"Oh, the usual. Patience, flexibility, the ability to suspend disbelief, basic first aid, and advanced paperwork management."
"That doesn't sound too bad."
"Your partner would also be responsible for keeping you out of trouble and making sure you don't accidentally destroy the city."
"I wouldn't destroy the city."
"Not on purpose. But you do have a tendency to... escalate situations."
"I prefer to think of it as 'making things interesting.'"
"Exactly. Which is why you need a partner who can make things boring when necessary."
Alex was about to respond when the office door opened and Sam Wu walked in, looking like he hadn't slept in three days.
"Alex," Sam said, relief evident in his voice. "Thank God you're here. We've got a problem."
"What kind of problem?"
"The kind that involves seven missing persons, a rogue street mime, and a conspiracy that goes all the way to the top of the ice cream vendors' union."
Alex looked at Ms. Paperworth, who was smiling like someone who'd just won a bet.
"Is this a coincidence?" he asked.
"In the City of Shadows?" she replied. "Nothing is ever a coincidence. Everything is either fate or paperwork."
"What's the difference?"
"Fate is more fun, but paperwork is more reliable."
The Case of the Missing Persons
Sam spread a map of the city on Ms. Paperworth's desk, weighing it down with coffee cups and stress balls shaped like tiny government buildings.
"Seven people," he said, pointing to red X's marked on the map. "All disappeared in the last three days. No connection between them that we can find—different ages, different jobs, different neighborhoods. But they all have one thing in common."
"What's that?"
"They all bought ice cream from the same vendor on the day they disappeared."
"Which vendor?"
"Giuseppe's Gelato Cart. He's been working the same route for fifteen years, never had any problems before. But now people are disappearing after eating his ice cream."
Alex studied the map. The disappearances formed a rough circle around the city center, with Giuseppe's cart at the middle.
"Have you talked to Giuseppe?"
"That's the problem. He's missing too. Disappeared two days ago, right after the fifth person went missing."
"What about the cart?"
"Still there. Still selling ice cream. But now it's being run by a mime."
"A mime?"
"A mime. He doesn't talk, obviously, but he makes really good ice cream. The weird part is, people who buy ice cream from him don't disappear. They just... act strange."
"Strange how?"
"They become really, really happy. Like, unnaturally happy. They walk around grinning all the time, humming songs that don't exist, and being nice to everyone they meet."
Alex felt his aura stir with interest. "That sounds familiar."
"It should. It's the same effect you have on people, but stronger. More artificial. Like someone's trying to copy your power but doesn't quite understand how it works."
Ms. Paperworth had been listening with the focused attention of someone who dealt with impossible cases every day. "Mr. Lin," she said, "this sounds like exactly the kind of case our department handles. Are you interested in making it your first official assignment?"
"What about my partners?"
"Mr. Wu would be your official partner. Ms. Q would be... freelance consultant. We have a category for that."
"What category?"
"Mysterious woman with questionable motives but generally helpful intentions. It's surprisingly common."
Alex looked at Sam, who was nodding encouragingly. "What do you think?"
"I think," Sam said, "that we're going to need all the help we can get. This case is weird even by our standards."
"How weird?"
"The mime has been spotted in seventeen different locations at the same time. The ice cream never melts, even on hot days. And yesterday, someone reported that their shadow bought ice cream and then walked away without them."
"Their shadow bought ice cream?"
"Paid for it with shadow money and everything."
Alex grinned behind his mask. "Okay, I'm in. But I have one condition."
"What's that?" Ms. Paperworth asked.
"I don't want to be bound by too many rules. I work best when I can be... creative."
"We can work with creative. Can you work with 'please try not to cause any international incidents'?"
"I can try."
"That's all we ask."
The Ice Cream Conspiracy
An hour later, Alex was officially registered as a supernatural consultant with the Department of Impossible Things. He had a badge (which was made of something that looked like crystallized authority), a partner (Sam, who seemed both excited and terrified), and his first official case.
They stood at the corner of Fifth and Main, watching the mime serve ice cream to a line of customers who all looked slightly too happy to be entirely human.
"So," Sam said, consulting his notebook, "what's the plan?"
"We buy ice cream," Alex said.
"That's the plan?"
"That's the first part of the plan. The second part is we see what happens."
"What if what happens is we disappear?"
"Then we'll disappear together. That's what partners do."
"I don't think that's what partners do."
"It's what good partners do."
They joined the line behind a woman who was humming a song that made Alex's ears tingle and a man who was juggling invisible balls. The mime behind the cart was dressed in traditional black and white, with a face painted in exaggerated surprise that never changed expression.
When they reached the front of the line, the mime gestured elaborately at the ice cream flavors. The signs were written in languages that shifted and changed as Alex read them, but somehow he understood them all:
Vanilla Dreams (May cause excessive optimism)
Chocolate Memories (Side effects include nostalgia and spontaneous poetry)
Strawberry Secrets (Not recommended for people with trust issues)
Mint Madness (Refreshing! May cause temporary telepathy)
Cookies and Chaos (Our most popular flavor!)
"I'll take Cookies and Chaos," Alex said.
The mime nodded and began scooping ice cream that seemed to glow with its own inner light. As he worked, Alex noticed something odd about the mime's movements—they were too precise, too perfect. Like someone had programmed him to be the ideal ice cream vendor.
"Sam," Alex said quietly, "look at his eyes."
Sam looked, and his enhanced ability to see through illusions revealed the truth. The mime's eyes weren't human. They were mirrors, reflecting not the customers' faces but their deepest desires.
"He's not human," Sam whispered.
"No," Alex said, "but he's not entirely artificial either. There's something familiar about him."
The mime handed Alex his ice cream and then gestured toward Sam. Sam ordered vanilla dreams, and as the mime prepared it, Alex caught a glimpse of something that made his aura flare with recognition.
On the mime's wrist, barely visible beneath his white gloves, was a small tattoo. It looked like a clock face, but instead of numbers, it had symbols that Alex had seen before—in Mrs. Park's bakery, on the walls of the Temporal Treats shop.
"Time magic," Alex breathed.
"What?"
"He's using time magic. That's how he can be in seventeen places at once. He's not duplicating himself—he's stretching his personal timeline across multiple moments."
"Is that possible?"
"Apparently."
They walked away from the cart, ice cream in hand. Alex took a careful bite of his Cookies and Chaos, and immediately felt a surge of... something. Not happiness exactly, but a kind of intense satisfaction, like he'd just solved a puzzle he didn't know he was working on.
"How's yours?" Sam asked, licking his vanilla dreams.
"Interesting. It tastes like... like potential. Like all the things I could do if I wasn't holding back."
"Mine tastes like childhood summers and the feeling you get when you help someone."
"Emotional manipulation through frozen dairy products," Alex said thoughtfully. "That's... actually kind of brilliant."
"Brilliant but evil."
"Maybe. Or maybe just misguided."
They found a bench in the small park across from the ice cream cart and settled down to observe. The mime continued serving customers, each one leaving with a slightly glazed expression and a spring in their step.
"So what's the connection?" Sam asked. "The mime, the missing people, Giuseppe, the time magic—how does it all fit together?"
Alex took another bite of his ice cream and felt his enhanced perception kick in. Suddenly, he could see the threads of connection that Mina had taught him to recognize—not just between people, but between events, between choices, between possibilities.
"It's not about the ice cream," he said suddenly. "It's about the happiness."
"What do you mean?"
"Think about it. Seven people disappear after eating Giuseppe's ice cream. But they don't disappear randomly—they disappear in a pattern. A circle around the city center."
"So?"
"So someone's collecting happy people. But not just any happy people—people who've been made happy artificially. People whose happiness can be... harvested."
"Harvested for what?"
"For the same thing happiness is always harvested for. To make someone else happy. Someone who can't be happy naturally."
Sam stopped eating his ice cream. "You think someone is stealing happiness?"
"I think someone is trying to create artificial happiness by concentrating real happiness. Like... like making a happiness smoothie out of other people's emotions."
"That's horrible."
"That's human. People have been trying to steal happiness since the beginning of time. Usually they just call it something else—success, power, love. But this is more direct."
"So what do we do?"
"We follow the pattern. The disappearances form a circle, right? So there should be a center. A place where all the stolen happiness is being collected."
"And then?"
"Then we do what we always do. We walk in, make everything more complicated, and hope it works out."
"That's our official strategy?"
"That's our official strategy."
Sam looked at his badge, then at Alex's glowing aura, then at the mime who was serving ice cream to a line of people who looked like they'd forgotten how to be anything but happy.
"You know what?" he said. "I think I'm starting to like this job."
The Center of the Circle
The center of the circle was the Perpetual Happiness Foundation, a building that looked like it had been designed by someone who'd never experienced a negative emotion. Everything was painted in cheerful pastels, the windows were shaped like smiles, and the front door was decorated with a rainbow that moved and changed colors as they approached.
"Well," Alex said, "that's not suspicious at all."
"The most suspicious thing about it," Sam said, checking his notebook, "is that it's completely legitimate. Non-profit organization, registered charity, excellent reputation. They've been helping people with depression and anxiety for twenty years."
"What kind of help?"
"Therapy, support groups, community outreach. They're actually really good at what they do."
"Then why do I feel like we're about to walk into a trap?"
"Because," said a familiar voice behind them, "you're getting better at recognizing patterns."
They turned to find Mina approaching, her red scarf fluttering in a breeze that seemed to exist only around her. She looked pleased to see them, but there was worry in her eyes.
"Mina," Alex said, "what are you doing here?"
"Following the same threads you are. The missing people, the artificial happiness, the time magic—it all leads here."
"What do you know about the Foundation?"
"I know it was started by someone who lost the ability to feel natural happiness. Someone who's been trying to recreate it artificially for decades."
"Someone like who?"
"Someone like you, Alex. Someone who was offered a choice and chose wrong."
Alex felt his aura flicker with unease. "What do you mean?"
"The Gate of Midnight wasn't the first time someone was offered a choice between safety and adventure. It happens every generation, to people with the potential to change the world. Most people choose one or the other."
"But some people choose both."
"And some people choose neither. They reject the choice entirely and try to create a third option that doesn't exist."
"Like artificial happiness."
"Like artificial happiness."
Sam was writing furiously in his notebook. "So you're saying the founder of the Perpetual Happiness Foundation is someone who was offered the same choice Alex was, but made a different decision?"
"I'm saying," Mina said, "that we're about to meet someone who chose to steal happiness instead of creating it."
"Great," Alex said. "Another morally complicated situation where the villain has understandable motivations."
"Those are the best kind," Sam said. "The boring ones are just criminals. The interesting ones are people who started with good intentions and went wrong somewhere."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"It's supposed to make you think harder about your choices."
Alex looked at the cheerful building, then at his partners, then at his own reflection in the smiling windows.
"You know what?" he said. "Let's go steal some happiness back."
"Is that legal?"
"We'll worry about that later. Right now, we have people to save and a conspiracy to unravel."
"And ice cream to finish," Sam added, taking another bite of his vanilla dreams.
"And ice cream to finish," Alex agreed.
They walked toward the Perpetual Happiness Foundation, three friends armed with nothing but determination, supernatural powers, and dessert.
It was, Alex thought, exactly the kind of ridiculous situation that made life worth living.