The Department of Impossible Things had upgraded their meeting room since Alex Lin and his team had officially joined the ranks of supernatural civil servants. Where once there had been a simple conference table and chairs that occasionally forgot which way was up, there was now a holographic display system that projected case files directly into the air, complete with witness statements that spoke themselves and evidence that rearranged itself for optimal viewing.
Ms. Beatrice Paperworth stood at the head of the table, looking remarkably pleased with herself as she gestured to the floating documents surrounding them.
"Good morning, team," she said, her voice carrying the particular satisfaction of someone who had successfully organized chaos into neat, manageable categories. "I trust you've all had your coffee?"
"Define coffee," Sam Wu said, staring suspiciously at his mug, which contained a liquid that was definitely hot and caffeinated but kept changing color. "Because I'm not sure what this is."
"Temporal blend," Ms. Paperworth explained. "It's coffee from three different time periods, mixed together for maximum efficiency. The morning rush, the afternoon slump, and the midnight crisis all in one cup."
"That explains why I feel like I've been awake for seventeen hours," Marcus Grey said, looking both exhausted and oddly energized.
"I like it," Logan said, taking another sip. "It's logically efficient while being completely impossible. It's the perfect beverage for our line of work."
Alex adjusted his mask and looked around the table at his team. In the three weeks since Logan had joined them, they'd solved fourteen impossible cases, prevented two reality-ending catastrophes, and somehow managed to improve the city's overall happiness index by 23%. Not bad for a group of people who technically shouldn't exist.
"So," Alex said, "which case are we tackling today?"
"The duck," Ms. Paperworth said, and the holographic display shifted to show a photograph of a perfectly ordinary-looking mallard wearing a tiny mayoral sash. "Mayor Quackers of Pondville."
"That's really his name?" Mina Q asked, her red scarf shimmering with amusement.
"It's the name he chose when he filed his campaign papers," Ms. Paperworth said. "Apparently, he felt 'Duck' was too informal for political office."
"How does a duck file campaign papers?" Sam asked, his detective instincts kicking in.
"That's the first mystery. The second is how he managed to win the election by a landslide despite the fact that his entire platform consisted of the word 'quack' repeated at various volumes and frequencies."
"Maybe he's a really good communicator," Logan suggested. "I've been studying the relationship between logic and intuition, and sometimes the simplest messages are the most effective."
"Or maybe," Alex said, his aura beginning to glow with interest, "there's something special about this duck."
The Journey to Pondville
Pondville was a small town about an hour outside the City of Shadows, nestled in a valley that looked like it had been designed by someone who'd read about the concept of "quaint" in a book but had never actually seen it in person. The houses were all slightly too cute, the trees were all perfectly spaced, and the pond in the center of town was exactly the right size to be picturesque without being overwhelming.
"It's like a postcard," Sam said as they walked down the main street, which was lined with shops selling things like "Homemade Impossibilities" and "Artisanal Paradoxes."
"It's like a postcard that's trying too hard," Alex corrected. "Look at that bakery. The sign says 'Freshly Baked Normalcy.' Who needs to advertise normalcy?"
"People who don't have any," Mina said, her enhanced ability to see connections revealing something troubling. "The threads here are all wrong. Everyone's connected to everyone else, but the connections are... artificial."
"Artificial how?" Marcus asked.
"Like they've been created instead of grown. Like someone decided what relationships people should have and then made it happen."
"That's not necessarily bad," Logan said. "Maybe someone just wanted to create a perfect community."
"Logan," Alex said gently, "what did we learn about trying to create perfect things?"
"That perfection is overrated and usually involves removing everything interesting," Logan said. "Right. So this probably isn't as idyllic as it looks."
"Probably not."
They found the town hall, which was a building that looked like it had been designed by someone who'd seen exactly one government building in their entire life and had decided to make it as government-y as possible. It had columns that served no structural purpose, windows that were perfectly symmetrical, and a front door that was exactly twice as wide as it needed to be.
Inside, they found Mayor Quackers holding court in his office, which had been modified to include a small pond, several heat lamps, and a desk that was exactly the right height for a duck to sit on.
"Mayor Quackers," Alex said, approaching carefully. "I'm Alex Lin, from the Department of Impossible Things. We're here to investigate some... unusual circumstances surrounding your election."
The duck looked up from a stack of papers he'd been examining and said, "Quack."
"Could you be more specific?" Sam asked, pulling out his notebook.
"Quack quack."
"I see. And what about the municipal budget?"
"Quack quack quack?"
"Interesting perspective."
Alex stared at Sam. "Are you having an actual conversation with him?"
"I think so," Sam said. "It's like... his quacks have different meanings depending on the tone and context. This one means 'The budget is balanced, but we need to invest more in pond maintenance.'"
"Since when can you speak duck?"
"Since we got here. I think it's part of whatever's affecting this town."
Logan was examining the papers on the mayor's desk. "These are genuine municipal documents. Budget reports, zoning permits, building codes. All properly filled out and signed with... tiny duck footprints."
"So he's actually doing the job?" Marcus asked.
"Apparently. And according to these records, he's doing it well. Crime is down, happiness is up, and the town's finances are in better shape than they've been in decades."
"Quack," Mayor Quackers said, and somehow they all understood that he was saying "Thank you."
"This is getting weird," Alex said. "And that's saying something."
The Citizens of Pondville
They decided to interview some of the townspeople to get a better understanding of the situation. The first person they spoke to was Mrs. Henderson, who ran the local flower shop and looked like she'd been designed by someone who'd never met a grandmother but had heard them described as "sweet and harmless."
"Oh, Mayor Quackers is wonderful," she said, arranging flowers that all seemed to be exactly the same shade of pleasant. "He's so much better than our old mayor."
"What was wrong with the old mayor?" Alex asked.
"He was human," Mrs. Henderson said, as if this explained everything.
"Is that... bad?"
"Humans are so complicated. Always wanting things, having opinions, making decisions based on emotions. Mayor Quackers is much simpler. He wants breadcrumbs and a clean pond. It's refreshing."
"But how do you know what he wants for the town?"
"Oh, we just know. It's like... he radiates calm contentment, and we all feel it. So we do whatever will make him happy, and that makes us happy too."
Alex and his team exchanged glances. This was starting to sound familiar.
"Mrs. Henderson," Mina asked, "do you remember wanting anything specific before Mayor Quackers was elected?"
Mrs. Henderson looked confused. "Wanting things? Why would I want things? I have everything I need."
"But surely you had dreams, goals, ambitions?"
"I had the flower shop. What more could I want?"
"What about travel? Adventure? Romance? Art? Music?"
"Those things sound exhausting," Mrs. Henderson said. "I'm much happier just tending my flowers and making sure Mayor Quackers has enough breadcrumbs."
As they left the flower shop, Sam was writing furiously in his notebook. "This is like the happiness theft case all over again, but in reverse."
"What do you mean?" Logan asked.
"Instead of stealing happiness, someone's distributing artificial contentment. Making people happy with less, instead of wanting more."
"That's not necessarily bad," Marcus said. "Maybe they're just simplifying their lives."
"Marcus," Alex said, "what's the difference between simplifying your life and having your life simplified for you?"
"Choice," Marcus said immediately. "If you choose to simplify, you're still yourself. If someone else simplifies you, you become... less."
"Exactly. And I think we need to find out who's doing the simplifying."
The Previous Mayor
They found the previous mayor, Harold Bumblethwaite, living in a small cottage on the outskirts of town. He was a round man with kind eyes and the sort of mustache that suggested he'd been considering running for mayor his entire life.
"Mr. Bumblethwaite," Alex said, "we're investigating the circumstances of your replacement by... Mayor Quackers."
"Ah yes, the duck," Harold said, inviting them into his cottage, which was cluttered with books, papers, and the general debris of someone who'd been deeply involved in local politics. "Wonderful fellow. Much better at the job than I ever was."
"How did he end up running for mayor?" Sam asked.
"Well, that's the interesting part. One day he just... showed up. Started attending town meetings, sitting in the back, listening. At first, people thought it was cute. Then he started participating."
"Participating how?"
"He'd quack at specific moments. During debates, discussions, votes. And somehow, people started understanding what he meant. His quacks became more and more eloquent, until people were saying things like 'The duck makes a good point' and 'I agree with Mayor Quackers.'"
"And then he decided to run for office?"
"More like the office decided to run to him. People started talking about how much more sense he made than the human candidates. How his simple, direct approach was exactly what the town needed."
"And you didn't find this suspicious?"
Harold looked thoughtful. "You know, at the time, it seemed perfectly reasonable. It was only after I moved out here, away from the town center, that I started to realize how strange it all was."
"Away from the town center?"
"Away from the pond. I think that's important somehow."
Alex felt his aura stir with understanding. "The pond. He's not just living in the town hall. He's living in the pond at the center of town."
"And ponds are connected to underground water systems," Sam said. "Water that goes to every house, every business, every person in town."
"You think he's dosing the water supply?" Marcus asked.
"I think he's doing something to the water supply," Alex said. "Something that makes people content with less, happy with simplicity, satisfied with being told what to do by a duck."
"But why?" Logan asked. "What's the point of controlling a small town?"
"Maybe it's not about control," Mina said. "Maybe it's about protection."
"Protection from what?"
"From the chaos of the outside world. From the complications of human desires. From the pain of wanting things you can't have."
"That sounds familiar," Marcus said quietly.
"It should," Alex said. "It's the same impulse that made you steal happiness, that made Logan try to remove all the impossible things. The desire to save people from the messiness of being human."
"So what do we do?" Sam asked.
"We have a conversation with a duck," Alex said. "And we find out what he's really trying to accomplish."
The Confrontation
They returned to the town hall as the sun was setting, painting the perfectly quaint buildings in shades of gold and orange. Mayor Quackers was in his office, apparently working late on municipal business, which mostly seemed to involve rearranging his desk accessories with his beak.
"Mayor Quackers," Alex said, "we need to talk."
The duck looked up and said, "Quack."
"Don't," Alex said. "I know you can do better than that."
There was a long pause. Then, in a voice that was somehow both distinctly duck-like and perfectly articulate, Mayor Quackers said, "I wondered when you'd figure it out."
"So you can talk," Sam said.
"I can do many things. The question is whether I should."
"Why don't you start by telling us what you're really doing here?" Alex said.
Mayor Quackers waddled to the window and looked out at the town, where people were going about their evening routines with the peaceful efficiency of a well-wound clock.
"I'm giving them what they want," he said. "Peace. Contentment. Freedom from the endless struggle of human ambition."
"By drugging their water supply?"
"By offering them a choice. Stay and be happy, or leave and be complicated. Most choose to stay."
"But it's not really a choice if you're altering their brain chemistry," Logan said.
"Isn't it? They could leave at any time. Harold did. Others have too. But most prefer this life."
"Because you're making them prefer it," Marcus said.
"I'm removing the obstacles to their happiness. The doubt, the fear, the constant wanting of things they don't have."
"Those aren't obstacles," Alex said. "Those are what make us human."
"And look how well that's working out for humanity," Mayor Quackers said, his voice tinged with sadness. "War, poverty, depression, anxiety. People destroying themselves and each other in pursuit of things that will never make them truly happy."
"So you decided to fix them?"
"I decided to offer them an alternative."
"What are you?" Mina asked. "You're not really a duck."
Mayor Quackers was quiet for a long moment. "I'm what's left of someone who tried to save the world by making it simpler. Someone who learned that the only way to help people is to help them want less."
"Someone like us," Alex said. "Someone who was offered a choice and chose... what?"
"I chose to become something that couldn't be disappointed. Something that couldn't want what it couldn't have. Something that could be happy with breadcrumbs and a clean pond."
"And now you're sharing that gift with others?"
"I'm sharing that peace with others."
"But they're not you," Sam said. "They're human. Taking away their ability to want things doesn't make them happy. It makes them... less."
"Does it? They seem happy enough."
"They seem content," Alex said. "But contentment isn't the same as happiness. Happiness comes from growth, from change, from the possibility of something better. You've given them the peace of giving up."
"Maybe giving up is underrated."
"Maybe," Alex said. "But it should be their choice to make."
The Offer
"So what do you propose?" Mayor Quackers asked. "That I stop? That I let them return to their complicated, difficult, painful human lives?"
"I propose," Alex said, "that you give them the choice. Real choice. Not the choice between staying drugged or leaving town, but the choice between different kinds of happiness."
"I don't understand."
"You learned to find peace by becoming something simpler. But what if there was a way to find peace while staying complex? What if there was a way to be happy with what you have while still being able to want more?"
"That sounds impossible."
"Good. We specialize in impossible."
Alex reached into his pocket and pulled out the box of infinite possibilities. "This can help us create a solution that works for everyone. A way for people to choose their own level of complexity, their own balance between contentment and ambition."
"And if they choose to leave?"
"Then they leave. And if they choose to stay, they do it with full knowledge of what they're choosing."
Mayor Quackers looked at the box, then at the town outside his window, then at the five people who'd come to challenge his carefully constructed peace.
"And what about me?" he asked. "What happens to the duck who wanted to save everyone?"
"You become part of the solution instead of the whole solution," Alex said. "You help us help them make informed choices. You use your abilities to create options instead of removing them."
"I don't know if I can do that."
"You won't be doing it alone," Marcus said. "I know what it's like to think you're helping people by taking away their problems. But real help means giving people the tools to solve their own problems."
"And we're really good at being tools," Sam added.
"That came out wrong," Logan said.
"But you know what I mean," Sam said.
Mayor Quackers was quiet for a long time. Then he said, "What would you need me to do?"
"Help us create a system where people can choose their own level of enhancement," Alex said. "Some people might want to keep the peace you've given them. Others might want to return to full complexity. Most will probably want something in between."
"A sliding scale of contentment?"
"A menu of possibilities."
"That does sound more interesting than just 'be happy with breadcrumbs.'"
"Much more interesting."
The Solution
They worked through the night, Alex using the box of infinite possibilities to create a system that would give the townspeople real choices. Not just the choice between staying or leaving, but the choice between different ways of being human.
The system they created was elegant in its complexity. A series of small devices that could be placed around the town, each one offering a different level of enhancement. Some would provide the deep contentment that Mayor Quackers had been offering. Others would restore full human complexity. Most would offer something in between—the ability to be satisfied with what you had while still being able to dream of more.
"It's like a buffet," Logan said, examining one of the devices. "People can choose exactly how much of each emotional experience they want."
"And they can change their minds," Marcus added. "If they want more complexity, they can increase it. If they want more peace, they can dial it back."
"But the important thing," Alex said, "is that it's their choice. Not yours, not ours, not the city government's. Theirs."
Mayor Quackers nodded slowly. "I can live with that. Literally, I suppose. I'll need to find a new form of existence."
"What do you mean?"
"I became a duck to escape the complexity of human existence. But if I'm going to help people navigate that complexity, I should probably be willing to experience it myself."
"You don't have to," Mina said. "You can stay as you are and still help."
"No," Mayor Quackers said. "I think it's time I stopped running from what I was afraid of."
He closed his eyes and concentrated. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, his feathers began to fade. His bill shortened. His wings became arms.
When the transformation was complete, a man stood before them. Tall, thin, with kind eyes and the sort of face that suggested he'd spent a long time thinking about the nature of happiness.
"My name is Oliver," he said. "I was a therapist, before. I spent my life trying to help people find peace, and I became convinced that the only way to be truly at peace was to want nothing."
"And now?" Alex asked.
"Now I think maybe the secret isn't to want nothing, but to want the right things. And to be okay with not getting all of them."
"That sounds very wise," Sam said.
"It sounds very human," Oliver corrected. "Which is what I'm trying to be again."
The New Normal
By morning, the devices were installed throughout Pondville. The townspeople woke to find themselves with choices they'd never had before. Some chose to maintain the peaceful contentment they'd grown accustomed to. Others chose to return to full human complexity. Most chose something in between.
Mrs. Henderson, the flower shop owner, chose to keep the peace but regain her curiosity. She spent the day experimenting with new flower arrangements, humming songs she'd forgotten she knew.
Harold Bumblethwaite chose to run for mayor again, but this time with the serene confidence of someone who knew that losing wouldn't be the end of the world.
A few people chose to leave town, ready to face the full complexity of life in the outside world. Others chose to stay and help make Pondville a place where people could come to find their own balance between peace and passion.
"It's working," Oliver said, watching the town adapt to its new reality. "People are making choices, real choices, about how they want to live."
"And they're happy with their choices?" Alex asked.
"Some are. Some aren't. Some are changing their minds. But they're all choosing."
"That's the important part," Marcus said. "The choosing."
"I have a question," Logan said. "What happens to the Department of Impossible Things case? Are we successful if we've created a town where people can choose to be impossible?"
"Logan," Alex said, "we're always successful when we give people more choices instead of fewer."
"Even if they choose badly?"
"Especially if they choose badly. Bad choices are how we learn to make better ones."
"And if they choose to be impossible?"
"Then we'll be here to help them figure out how to be impossible responsibly."
The Return Journey
As they prepared to leave Pondville, Oliver approached them with a proposal.
"I'd like to come with you," he said. "If you'll have me. I think I could be useful, and I'd like to learn more about helping people without trying to fix them."
"You want to join the Department of Impossible Things?" Sam asked.
"I want to join a team that helps people find their own solutions instead of imposing solutions on them."
"That's exactly what we do," Alex said. "Welcome to the team."
"How many people are we going to add?" Logan asked. "At this rate, we're going to need a bigger office."
"We'll figure it out," Alex said. "We always do."
"Usually by making the problem more complicated until it becomes interesting," Sam added.
"That's our specialty," Mina said.
As they walked back toward the City of Shadows, Alex felt the familiar satisfaction of a job well done. They'd solved an impossible case, gained a new team member, and made the world a little bit more wonderful.
"So," he said, "what's next?"
"According to our case files," Sam said, consulting his notebook, "we have a woman whose reflection has quit and gone to work for someone else."
"That sounds interesting," Oliver said.
"Everything we do is interesting," Alex said. "That's the point."
"I think I'm going to like this job," Oliver said.
"Everyone says that," Logan said. "Until they realize how much paperwork is involved."
"There's paperwork?"
"So much paperwork," Marcus said. "But it's impossible paperwork, so it's fun."
"I'm not sure that makes it better," Oliver said.
"You'll get used to it," Alex said. "We all did."
"Eventually," Sam added.
"Maybe," Logan said.
"Probably," Marcus said.
"Definitely," Mina said.
As they crested the hill that led back to the City of Shadows, Alex looked back at Pondville one last time. The town was still perfectly quaint, but now it was quaint by choice rather than by design. People were making decisions, taking risks, choosing their own levels of complexity and contentment.
It was, Alex thought, exactly what the world needed more of: places where people could choose to be exactly who they wanted to be, with all the complications and contradictions that entailed.
"You know," he said to his team, "I think we're getting good at this."
"At what?" Gramps asked in his head.
"At helping people be impossible."
"Kid, you've been good at that since day one."
"I'm getting better at it."
"Yes, you are. And you're getting better at it with friends."
Alex looked around at his team—Sam with his logical approach to illogical problems, Mina with her timeless wisdom and mysterious connections, Marcus with his hard-won understanding of redemption, Logan with his newfound appreciation for beautiful chaos, and Oliver with his gentle wisdom about the nature of choice.
"Yeah," he said. "With friends."
And as they walked back toward the City of Shadows, where seventeen more impossible cases waited for their attention, Alex felt the deep satisfaction of knowing that whatever came next, they'd face it together.
After all, that's what friends did.