The size was certainly large enough to make even the agents curse without thinking.
Decades ago, the senior agents from the Cold War era loved miniaturization so much that they carried guns disguised as lipsticks or pens. Now, with technology having advanced to a point where they had to drag around equipment the size of a cargo truck while playing the role of ‘agents’?
What were these soldier brats who only cared for big and bulky? Even the thieving bastards from the United States Marine Corps (USMC) might not be fond of it—why, as an agent who had to move stealthily, would anyone want to haul around such nonsense?
The technicians had their excuses too.
They said it was due to the technology not being advanced enough, that the technologies being protected without patents were unavoidable, or that the functions demanded by the higher-ups forced them to make it bigger. On top of that, there was pressure from government officials who had no understanding of what was important, eager to cut prices at all costs, and stories of lobbyists, who would surely be munching with lawyers in hell after they die, taking bribes from those bastard scumbags.
However, from the perspective of agents on the field, these valid excuses certainly didn’t sit well with them.
Especially in a situation like this.
Bang— Bang—
“I’m not fooled! I won’t be fooled, you damn bastards!”
“Get a grip, you—”
In a shabby apartment.
Bullets were flying back and forth from behind the entrance door marked ‘304.’
That door was blocked by an improvised barricade made from piled-up furniture, and bullets constantly erupted from a hole purposely made for aiming. At least it was a consolation that it wasn’t a fully automatic weapon due to strict gun regulations, but even semiautomatic fire was still a threat. Moreover, if the weapon spitting out those bullets was something pretending to be a pistol, with its stock removed, and insisting, “It’s a pistol, I tell you!” in a blindfolded way, the risk would be even higher.
Bang!
Bang!
If the person pulling the trigger of that rifle masquerading as a pistol looked like they had gone insane, the danger multiplied.
Naturally, in order to counter this danger, one would need to protect themselves more actively, and they had to be prepared to turn that damn bastard’s body into a beehive, but…
“Damn it, I just want to shoot him…”
Sadly, that was impossible.
No, it was possible, but it wouldn’t be easy.
Until they checked with the ‘equipment that can detect supernatural beings,’ that lunatic was technically their comrade. Even though they didn’t want to treat him as such, he was nonetheless a ‘comrade’ by the orders from above, regardless of his will.
And that meant, unless it was an absolutely unavoidable scenario, it was impossible to send him away after crying out for divine judgment like the old Crusaders, expecting God to sort it out, or to blow off his limbs.
Sure, they could shoot him in the knee or shoulder or break some bones, but—
Bang!
Bang!
Considering they were shooting from behind the improvised barricade, that too seemed difficult.
Even agents didn’t possess the equipment or capability to peek through such barricades.
Couldn’t they just shoot through or break down the improvised barricade? Sure, they could, but they shouldn’t.
One mustn’t forget that there were ‘agents’ sheltered behind that improvised barricade.
Agents had all sorts of training, including methods to conduct terrorism using everyday items readily available in life.
The age-old methods listed in the Anarchist Cookbook were just the tip of the iceberg—methods using Qi or mana, how to create toxic gas by combining the latest products, how to convert electronic appliances into explosives, and so on…
While large-scale terrorism might be impossible, covering such a small area with traps was entirely feasible.
“Don’t pretend to be my comrade! Stay away! Get lost, right now!”
Plus, that panicking bastard shouting sounded dangerously like an agent pretending to be a supernatural being… if that were the case, there would surely be traps designed to exploit the psyches of agents back there behind that barricade.
Therefore, entering that Room 304 was a no-go…
“I can’t just leave him be. Ugh…”
If it were up to me, I’d want to let him be. Surely he’d calm down after a while, right?
But I couldn’t let him be.
If he were a real agent, leaving him be would be fine.
But what if he was a supernatural being pretending to be an agent?
What if he was caught in some tricks of Skinwalker K-B?
Then it would lead to a major disaster.
“I just need to confirm with the equipment…”
That made the urgency of having a ‘compact device to detect supernatural beings’ stand out.
If it were small enough to hold in hand—
No, even if it could just be carried on a person—
If they could scan and confirm quickly, things would be way simpler.
If, after confirmation, everything was fine, they could just leave him be and move on, and if it confirmed that it was a supernatural being or something under supernatural influence, they could lob a grenade or blow off his head with a sniper rifle.
Then things would have proceeded efficiently and quickly…
Sigh.
Maybe it’s less about being crazy and more that agents have instincts.
Hiding in a hard-to-find corner and fighting back while setting traps because they’re scared of being discovered…
‘It’s tough, it’s tough.’
Being a low-level agent in the field was this hard.
“I can’t do anything until the Experts arrive.”
“Crap! Let go, let go, you bastards! You think you can drag me to the mirror? Let gooo!”
The agents were busy moving around.
And among those agents, those nicknamed ‘Experts’ were moving even more furiously.
“Just grow up already!”
Thud!
Expert.
It means a professional, a skilled individual, a superior.
But among the agents, the term ‘Expert’ was used a bit differently.
The U.S. Army has a qualification test called the Expert Infantry Badge, which is similar to the South Korean Special Forces test. This qualification was able to significantly enhance the quality of the U.S. Army, leading others to adopt similar tests.
The same went for agents.
Agents also had a drawn-out and grandly-named ‘special exam,’ and those who passed were nicknamed ‘Experts.’
This didn’t mean they were respected due to overcoming a challenging exam; rather, because agents couldn’t receive prominent badges or items due to their nature, they ended up with elixirs or benefits.
As they perceived the rewards as meager in relation to their efforts, they sought respect from their peers.
The ‘incentive for reward-seeking’ was accompanied by the force used to make them pass that tough exam, and those powerful agents, having tasted that force, respectfully called them ‘Experts.’
Thus, ‘Expert’ became a term denoting capable agents who possessed significant power among agents.
But doesn’t great power come with great responsibility?
Those possessing excellent power had to shoulder numerous responsibilities.
And this instance was no exception.
“Why does everyone keep talking about mirrors?”
Thus, whether it was a physically capable warrior, a wizard who primarily learned spells agents would use while adorned with artifacts, or a gunslinger suspiciously reminiscent of the Old West, they were forced to struggle without respite.
Well… what could they do?
Without the freedom to kill the enemy with ease, they couldn’t actively deploy soldiers; and they couldn’t capably subdue them like regular criminals either. The higher-ups insisted that there shouldn’t be lasting repercussions…
So what else could they do?
As capable agents who could read their fellow agents’ psyches, only the ‘Expert’ agents could step up.
Click.
The ‘capable agent’ who subdued the rampaging agent pulled out handcuffs from his coat and attached them to his wrists. Of course, the training process for agents included how to remove these cuffs, so he made sure to restrain him from behind, giving a twist, dislocating a few joints, and tying his fingers.
Then he stuck what looked like pushpins into his blood and took him to a truck parked outside the alley.
Utilizing the massive equipment stored in the cargo compartment, he scanned him.
With the gun aimed, ready to blow off his head if the result showed he was a supernatural being.
[ Scan complete. ]
[ Result: No anomalies. ]
The result was clear.
The Expert agent nodded slightly, then stuffed the unconscious agent into a body bag meant for corpses. It was ridiculous to assume someone could fit snugly into a bag meant for bodies, but that was just an extra.
Thus, one task was completed.
But as everyone knew, when one job ends, another begins.
“Inform Expert 3 and declare we’ve completed recovery at LQ point. What’s the next request?”
[ Notify Expert 3. Request support for Gummy 23. ]
“Let them know I’ll load the ordered items onto the truck.”
Being a capable agent is exhausting.
Throughout the city, agents who were half-mad were being recovered.
They were afraid of their fellow agents and showed hostile behaviors.
They were all human.
Yet, despite that, these humans had no reflection in the mirror.
…Where in the world did their shadows go?
