Extraordinary Seas

Extraordinary Seas In the courtyard of the Crisis Management Office, the dogwood trees begin to bud in late March. These trees, as the emblematic flowers of the office, bloom like a golden river stretching on and on when in full bloom. Legend has it that taking photos with them can bring good fortune, which is why they are favored by the financially struggling workers in the unit. Thomas's desk is right next to the window, with a row of dogwoods about to blossom just outside. However, at this moment, he is oblivious to the beautiful view. His desk is in disarray, with an overturned ink bottle staining the papers and stationery, and several unfamiliar stones soaking in the soon-to-expire Hero ink. Thomas tries to lift the papers from the desk, but the ink has glued them firmly in place. With no other choice, he tears them off one by one. [Protest against the unjust marriage system!] Thomas, expressionless, throws the first paper into the trash can. [We want to get married!] The second paper is torn to shreds and also discarded. [Love and marriage are basic human rights!] Thomas struggles to peel the paper off the desk. Gary passes by and looks at him sympathetically, "Did the subterranean people* do all this?" "Yeah." Thomas responds briefly. "Did you offend them?" Gary looks at the words on the paper, "Their marriage applications?" "Yep." Thomas answers again. "Are subterranean people the most unreasonable type of special humans?" Gary continues to ask, "That's what I read in the gossip news online." This time, Thomas doesn't respond. In a world where ordinary people coexist with special humans, the Crisis Management Office plays a crucial role in maintaining order. Officially known as the Office for Emergency Events and Crisis Management, it is responsible for managing all affairs related to special humans, making it a vital department. However, due to its location in an old courtyard surrounded by commercial districts, residential areas, and snack streets, coupled with a lack of funds and poor management, there have been several incidents this year of subterranean or semi-zombie humans* causing trouble. At this moment, a huge hole is open in the center of the service hall, where the subterranean people have burrowed in, leaving the hall in disarray overnight. The head of the Crisis Management Office, Dean, and the head of security are engaged in a heated argument. Although the head of security's voice is not as loud as Dean's, he jumps onto a chair and waves his arms, "I told you there was something wrong with the underground of the Crisis Management Office. If you had allocated funds to fill the hole last year, we wouldn't be in this situation! Dean, did you embezzle the money for your own benefit?" Dean's forehead veins bulge with anger as he retorts, "Nonsense!" The corner where Thomas is seated is unusually quiet, with the words "Marriage Consultation/Partner Application" scrolling in red on the electronic panel above his head. "I've never seen a real subterranean person," Gary says, "Are they all very stubborn?" "Yep." Thomas starts wiping the desk with a tissue. Gary waits for a moment, seeing that Thomas doesn't continue, and asks again, "Are you shaking because you're angry with the subterranean people?" "No." Thomas glances up at him and succinctly says, "You're annoying me." Gary awkwardly laughs and runs away with the broom. Thomas's eyes are quite distinctive, with deep brown irises and neatly black pupils. When he is silent, his gaze carries a piercing coldness. Although he has a mild temper, he always gives off an impression of being hard to approach. Those who know him well understand that he is introverted, with few friends and limited hobbies, spending his days buried in the piles of old documents in the Crisis Management Office's archives. Rather than saying Thomas is hard to get along with, it's more accurate to say that many people simply don't know how to interact with him. After tidying up his desk, he noticed that the head of security had posted a notice outside the door announcing a day off from work. Unexpectedly, he had gained a day off, free from dealing with any visitors. Although it wasn't easily noticeable, Thomas was in an unusually good mood. He even smiled briefly at the sight of the dogwood trees outside the window, their buds about to burst open. Today marked his last day on rotation in the Crisis Management Office's service hall; tomorrow, he would return to the archives, where he could continue his beloved work. For Thomas, poring over the historical records of special humans was his greatest joy. After chromosomal mutations or special virus infections, ordinary people could become "special humans": subterranean beings, semi-zombified humans, sentinels, guides, snowmen, tea grannies, sea children, werewolves, and more. Among them, sentinels and guides, formed by chromosomal mutations, made up the largest proportion. Sentinels and guides, these special humans with psychic power, have the unique ability to materialize their spiritual world into an animal form, known as their spiritual entity. It is said that a powerful sentinel or guide would deeply love and proudly display their spiritual entity. However, Thomas was not one of them. As a guide, he was extremely reluctant to release his spiritual entity. The little creature was so timid that it would be scared to tears by the sound of frying dough sticks. Thomas had once doubted that his own mind was playing tricks on him, for having such a spirit with the courage of an amoeba. The walls were plastered with large-character posters targeting Thomas, which he tore down one by one. Then, he noticed several commendation lists on the bulletin board, each prominently featuring the same name: Joan. Thomas couldn't help but smirk. The lists were followed by a string of honors: Outstanding Sentinel of the Year for the Western Regional Office of the Crisis Management Office, Individual Merit, Second-Class Merit twice, Third-Class Merit collectively four times, and so on. Joan, a sentinel from the first echelon of the West, had frequently appeared in commendation notices over the past two or three years, drawing attention. It was said that he had been stationed at the foot of a snowy mountain upon joining the Crisis Management Office, and had remained there for several years. Thomas was curious about this sentinel, but even in the archives, he couldn't find a photo of John. It was common for first-echelon sentinels and guides, who often carried out the most dangerous and secretive missions, to have no photos. Thomas's curiosity, like his emotional fluctuations, came and went quickly. After tearing down the posters, Thomas saw Gary, who had finished sweeping, running towards him with a broom. "Director Dean wants to see you," she said, "go to his office right now." Thomas was taken aback, his eyelids starting to twitch involuntarily. Dean, the head of the Crisis Management Office, was well-known for his round head, large ears, and ever-present smile. However, when confronted with the head of security, his usually hidden temper would flare up. It was rumored that the head of security had once been Dean's romantic rival, and despite being married for over thirty years, Dean still seemed to harbor resentment over the past. Nevertheless, everyone in the Crisis Management Office knew that Dean was a shrewd and capable leader, with every detail of his demeanor exuding wisdom. Thomas entered the office and was met with Dean's sympathetic gaze. "Thomas, don't take the subterranean people's actions to heart," Dean said gently. Thomas nodded slightly, responding, "I'm not bothered by it." Dean continued, "They've scrawled quite a few insults on the outer walls." Thomas's curiosity piqued, "What exactly did they say?" Dean waved his hand with a smile, "They're not pleasant words, so don't dwell on them." Thomas thought to himself, if they're not pleasant, why mention them at all? His interest waned instantly, "Forget it, I'll just clean it off." Subterranean beings, once infected with the petrification virus, become carriers of the virus and are therefore prohibited from marrying ordinary humans. Thomas had been on rotation for a month in the marriage registration and partner application post, repeatedly rejecting requests from subterranean beings, knowing full well that he had incurred much resentment as a result. "I trust you completely, and this incident is not your fault. However, in the future, you should be more tactful at work and not too rigid. After all, the ears of the masses are soft. As long as you speak appropriately, they will be willing to listen." As Dean spoke, he pushed a cup of tea towards Thomas, then abruptly changed the subject, "Thomas, you are strong and steady, and among your peers at the Crisis Management Office, talents like you are truly rare." The tea had a golden hue, clear and transparent, with a golden halo forming between the tea and the cup's rim. Thomas felt a pang in his heart: this was the premium tea that Dean cherished, something he wouldn't even taste all year round. Thomas's eyelids seemed to have springs installed, beginning to twitch restlessly. "The organization has always valued young talents. Talent should be utilized to its fullest in the most suitable positions, not wasting youth and time." Dean said, while playing with his hair, skillfully covering the bald spot on his head. Thomas listened quietly until, after about ten minutes, Dean revealed the true purpose. "Mental Adjustment Department?" Thomas thought he had heard wrong, "Do we have such a department in our unit?" "There wasn't one before, but there will be starting next month." Dean stood up, returned to his desk, and started flipping through files, "After much thought, only you are the most suitable. Although there are many guides in the Crisis Management Office, none have your special abilities." From an ordinary clerk in the archives to the head of the Mental Adjustment Department, Thomas couldn't help but press his eyes lightly: his eyelids were twitching so violently that it gave him a headache. "What exactly does this newly established department do?" Thomas asked. Dean held a document and sat back down in front of Thomas, tapping his temple, "Our task is to solve problems in the 'seas'." He explained, "Although there is no war now, inexplicable events are happening more and more frequently. Not to mention the Bell Association from decades ago, there are still many anti-sentinel and guide organizations operating in secret. As an emergency department, we absolutely cannot allow any issues with our sentinels and guides; we must ensure that everyone's 'seas' are pure and flawless." Thomas pondered for a moment, then asked, "Is this the reason you insisted on having me join?" "That's right." Dean smiled, with a hint of pride in his tone, "A mental adjuster like you is too rare to let go. The Crisis Management Office didn't have a suitable position for you to showcase your talents before, but now, this is a great opportunity, and the higher-ups are also very concerned about it." Thomas took the document and flipped it open, surprised to find that it was not an appointment letter, but a doctor's personal account. The top right corner of the document was boldly marked with the word "Top Secret," as red as blood. In the report, the doctor detailed the hallucinations and auditory hallucinations he had experienced over the past month. He repeatedly emphasized that the walls of the operating room were covered in blood, and figures were moving through them, which kept him from sleeping at night, and he would involuntarily vomit as soon as he picked up a scalpel. Thomas put down the report, and for the first time, a trace of distress appeared on his usually calm face. He murmured to himself, "What does this have to do with the 'seas'? Isn't this just a mental illness?"