Alex arrived at Marcus's office to find the acrobatic accountant hanging upside down from an improvised trapeze rig, surrounded by tax forms that were indeed performing what could only be described as synchronized swimming through the air. The forms moved in elegant formations, occasionally spelling out numbers and tax codes before dissolving into graceful spirals.
"This is simultaneously the most beautiful and most terrifying thing I've ever seen," Marcus called down to Alex. "I was working on a new routine that combines aerial arts with rapid tax calculation, and suddenly all the paperwork achieved sentience!"
"How did you even set up a trapeze in your office?" Alex asked, looking around the space that had somehow expanded to accommodate full aerial equipment.
"That's the weird part—I didn't! I was just practicing some moves, and the office... adapted. The ceiling got higher, the walls moved back, and equipment appeared! It's like the room wanted to become a circus!"
Alex felt that familiar warm sensation in his chest and noticed his glow was getting brighter. "I think it might be responding to me. Socrates says reality is getting more flexible around me."
"Well, it's definitely flexible," Marcus agreed, executing a graceful flip while a 1040 form performed a loop-de-loop next to him. "But I need to figure out what the forms are trying to tell me. They keep arranging themselves into patterns that look almost like..."
Marcus trailed off, staring at the swirling paperwork with sudden understanding.
"What is it?" Alex asked.
"I think they're showing me a way to legally reduce tax burdens by categorizing entertainment expenses under a new provision I've never seen before. But that's impossible—I know tax law better than anyone, and this provision doesn't exist."
One of the tax forms detached itself from the aerial ballet and floated down to Alex. It was a standard IRS document, but as Alex looked at it, new text began appearing in the margins—detailed explanations of legitimate tax strategies that seemed to write themselves.
"Marcus," Alex said slowly, "I think the forms are rewriting themselves."
"That's impossible. Tax forms are issued by the federal government. They can't just... change themselves."
Alex held up the form, which was now covered in helpful annotations and creative interpretations of tax law that were somehow both revolutionary and completely legal. "I'm starting to think 'impossible' doesn't really apply to our lives anymore."
Marcus flipped down from his trapeze and took the form from Alex. His eyes widened as he read through the new provisions.
"This is incredible. If this is legitimate—and it looks completely legitimate—I could save my clients an average of thirty percent on their tax bills. Legally. Using provisions that apparently just... appeared."
"Should we be concerned about mysteriously appearing tax law?"
"Probably," Marcus admitted, "but look at this—every single new provision is designed to help small businesses, families, and people who actually need tax relief. It's like someone rewrote the tax code to actually make sense and help people instead of just generating revenue."
The remaining tax forms settled into neat piles around the office, apparently satisfied with their work. The ceiling returned to its normal height, though the trapeze equipment remained, as if the office had decided it preferred the circus aesthetic.
"So what do we do now?" Alex asked.
"Now," Marcus said with a grin that suggested he'd found a new favorite hobby, "we test this. I've got a client coming in an hour—small business owner, struggling with quarterly taxes. If these new provisions work..."
"We accidentally revolutionize tax law?"
"We accidentally revolutionize tax law."
Alex's phone buzzed with a text from Riley: "Where are you? The divorce mediation is in two hours, and the tent is nervous-preening. Also, Socrates wants to know if you need backup. He's volunteered to provide 'wisdom support' if necessary."
"I need to go," Alex told Marcus. "I've got a divorce to accidentally fix."
"Good luck! And Alex? Thanks for... whatever this was. My clients are going to love me."
As Alex left Marcus's transforming office, he couldn't shake the feeling that things were accelerating. First computers gained consciousness, then circus equipment became self-aware, and now tax forms were rewriting federal law. If Socrates was right about reality becoming more flexible around him, he was going to need to be very careful about what he accidentally influenced next.
His phone rang as he reached his car. The caller ID showed a number he didn't recognize.
"Hello?"
"Is this Alex Sterling? The glowing circus man?"
"Uh... yes?"
"This is Dr. Sarah Kim from the Department of Unusual Phenomena at the University. We've been monitoring some... interesting energy readings in your area. Would you be available for a brief consultation? We have some questions about impossible mathematical events and their correlation to beneficial outcomes."
Alex sat in his car, staring at the phone. "The Department of Unusual Phenomena?"
"It's a small department. Very specialized. We study things that shouldn't happen but do. Your recent activities have generated some fascinating data."
"Such as?"
"Well, for instance, yesterday afternoon we recorded a localized disruption in the laws of physics centered on your location. Our instruments suggest you somehow created a perpetual motion machine using standard circus equipment. That's... noteworthy."
Alex thought about Harmony, who was probably still swaying contentedly in his apartment. "Is that bad?"
"Not bad, exactly. Just... unprecedented. We'd very much like to understand how you do it."
"That makes two of us," Alex admitted. "But I really can't talk right now. I've got a divorce to accidentally fix."
"A divorce to accidentally—oh, you're serious. That's... actually that's exactly the kind of thing we'd like to observe. Would you mind if we sent a researcher to document the process? For science?"
Alex considered this. A university researcher watching him stumble through a divorce mediation while glowing and hoping for the best possible outcome seemed like exactly the kind of thing that would make an already surreal situation completely absurd.
"Sure," he said. "Why not?"
"Excellent! Dr. Martinez will meet you at the location. She's our specialist in spontaneous problem resolution. Fair warning: she gets very excited about impossible things, so don't be alarmed if she takes a lot of notes."
As Alex drove toward the divorce mediation that would hopefully become an accidental reconciliation, he reflected on how quickly his life had become the kind of story he would never have believed if someone else had told it to him.
Six months ago, his biggest concern had been whether the office coffee machine would work properly. Now he was heading to accidentally fix a marriage while being studied by the Department of Unusual Phenomena, after helping tax forms rewrite federal law in his friend's spontaneously expanding office.
And somehow, this felt like the most natural progression in the world.
His phone buzzed with one more text, this one from a number he didn't recognize: "Saw your wedding video. My cat has been depressed since my divorce. Can you accidentally help with pet therapy? Willing to pay in either money or homemade cookies. The cat prefers cookies."
Alex grinned as he pulled into the parking lot of the lawyer's office where he would attempt to save a marriage by simply being himself in the vicinity of people who needed hope.
"This is going to be interesting," he said to himself.
Through the windshield, he could see a woman with a clipboard and several pieces of scientific equipment waiting by the building entrance, presumably Dr. Martinez from the Department of Unusual Phenomena.
Alex Sterling, professional catalyst of beneficial chaos, took a deep breath and prepared to see what kind of miracle would accidentally happen next.