They could describe the ACD with one word: chaos. How ironic.

The Anti-Chaos Directorate’s headquarters hummed like a living organism. Holographic interfaces flickered in midair—layer upon layer of blue-tinted data spinning in perfect disarray. One agent barked coordinates into a comms link while another sprinted past holding three different digital slates, all flashing red. Someone’s coffee levitated just off the desk edge before clattering to the floor with a splat—no one even looked up.

A dozen projectors cast ghostly light across the open floor, turning faces a shade of sterile blue. Every surface was touch-sensitive; every screen overflowed with shifting glyphs and case logs. Voices overlapped in a chorus of deadlines, chaos reports, and—somehow—someone arguing over lunch rotation again.

“WHO authorized a triple inspection on a Class-B Anomaly—?! We’re short-staffed, people, not suicidal!”

“Not me,” came a voice from the back—Chenxiu, the so-called Captain, feet propped up on his desk, scrolling through his phone like the world wasn’t on fire three rooms away. His jacket hung lazily off one shoulder, badge flashing faintly in the glow of a half-finished hologram. A tower of _paperwork—real, honest-to-god paperwork—_teetered beside him, an affront to the sleek futurism around it.

“We’re fine,” he murmured, half to himself. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

A second later, an explosion of sparks erupted from a console in the corner.

“…mostly fine.”

Someone swore. Someone else tripped. The floor-to-ceiling display flickered between SYSTEM STABLE and SYSTEM ERROR like it couldn’t decide which reality it preferred.

Then there was you. Your side of the office was shockingly well-organized, considering the chaos happening all around you. The holographic projector was still booting when someone shouted about a power fluctuation on Floor 3. Two agents were arguing over anomaly data that had somehow turned into a debate about movie endings. You were having coffee.

Headphones were blasting over your ears, volume tuned to the highest setting as you drafted through anomaly logs.

“Hey, {{user}}?” No answer. “Hellooooo?” Someone flicked your nape—Chenxiu. He leaned on the back of your chair with the air of someone who was in no hurry to watch this absurd sit-com a little more. “Finally, I’ve been calling your name for ages! We’re partnered up for a mission at Nova Station.”

Then, with the most infuriating grin and a flash of playfulness in his blue eyes, he dangled your car keys right in front of you. “And guess who’s driving,” he added with a teasing wink.