Episode 3 - A Fantastical Vacation
"When does the next test start?"
At my question, Geoda Bianchi alternated between checking her watch and clipboard. "According to the schedule, it should start right away, but it's getting late..."
After about ten seconds with a furrow creasing her brow, she suddenly spat it out. "It's not some important test that takes forever, so let's take a short break and head out."
"Sounds good."
The Advanced Military Magic Research Institute wasn't just some simple research facility. It was a massive, imposing complex befitting its reputation as the nation's largest research park. The lab developed core tech and magic for every piece of gear the military used—a full-blown research compound. It reminded me of how superpower rivals like the US and Soviets built entire little cities around their missile and nuke labs during the Cold War. Sure, you couldn't leave out the Brits, French, or Chinese—they ran similar setups too. Most got shuttered right after the Cold War ended, leaving just a handful, but those survivors were still churning out nuclear materials and all sorts of biochemical weapons like factories. Ironic that the permanent Security Council members, the ones responsible for global peace and security, were all nuclear powers. But hey, that's international politics for you.
Anyway, the Advanced Military Magic Research Institute was the epitome of that Cold War secret-lab vibe. They'd carved out a mountain range and jammed the building in, so compared to a nuke test site, it was downright cozy—underground hundreds of meters deep notwithstanding. It had everything else you could want.
"Whoa, they even have one of these down here?"
"First time seeing a movie theater?"
"You ever gonna see a movie theater under a mountain in your life?"
"Fair point."
Of course, the actual floor space wasn't that huge. They didn't have the tech to build a whole village under a mountain range here either. But thanks to magic that let them double or triple the usable space, those minor issues were easily solved.
"This is the cultural wing."
"This is made with that subspace magic...?"
"Yes, exactly."
We rode the tram to the cultural wing of the Advanced Military Magic Research Institute. As the name suggested, it was a space built to provide cultural activities and leisure for the staff. Small-scale, but it had a movie theater, gym, auditorium, restaurants, even a park—every cultural amenity you could think of. And that was all thanks to layering on expensive magic everywhere.
"They say even the tram paths are magic-made spaces. In reality, it's barely wide enough for one person."
"Whoa... How do you know that, Major?"
I'd seen the blueprints—but saying that would get me pegged as a spy for sure. So I just mumbled something about picking it up somewhere.
Former Earth muggle girl turned imported magical girl Camilla Lowell was oohing and aahing nonstop at the pinnacle of modern magical engineering.
"Is this tech commercialized yet?"
"It is... but."
Unfortunately, magic in this world wasn't as advanced as in webnovels or movies. The Magic Tower's war with the Church was less than a century ago, so it made sense. Religion held massive sway here. No one knew if God actually existed, but with priests wielding divine power, it created an environment ripe for faith. They called it religion, and those religious groups wielded big and small influence everywhere in society. Things weren't as bad as before, but zealots still threw around "blasphemy" to meddle in policies and research. Like banning airplanes because "the skies are God's domain, and humans flying defies the natural order." Or prohibiting genetic modification as "defying God by tampering with His creations." And so on.
Subspace magic had been banned too, back when the Tower and Church were at each other's throats, over fears it'd be abused for crime. Now it was half-tolerated for convenience, but indiscriminate development could get you labeled heretical anytime, so research proceeded cautiously under state control.
It was incomprehensible from a muggle perspective, but after living here, I'd just shrugged and accepted it. Explaining the full backstory to an Earth girl would've been too complicated and headache-inducing anyway. So I brushed it off.
"Too expensive, so development's slow. Research funds don't fall from the sky."
"How expensive are we talking...?"
"No idea on the exact figure, but Finance says it'd be cheaper to shut it down and build on the surface."
"Ah."
Camilla Lowell smacked her forehead. "What a waste of taxes."
Following Geoda Bianchi's lead, we arrived at the snack bar in the cultural wing. The cultural wing sat at the dead center of the circularly designed institute, and the snack bar was right in the heart of that. Just like the Pentagon's central cafeteria.
"......"
I'd heard the game dev was a Russian company, but it felt a bit off. The layout even seemed vaguely similar, down to the grass on the floor and the decorative trees—straight out of America.
"...Hmm."
As I scanned the surroundings with a weird sense of déjà vu nagging at me, Geoda Bianchi turned and looked at us.
"What'll you have?"
"Something sweet."
"That one."
Camilla Lowell rummaged through the menu for something sugary, while I grabbed a random coffee off the board and ordered. As the server went to brew it, I slipped a hand into my pocket and wandered around casually.
"......"
The hallway was wide enough to call it a street, packed with white coats and suits. Researchers grabbing sandwiches post-project for lunch, office workers juggling coffees, folks puffing away in a dim smoking room. All civilians.
"Oh, Section Chief. I'm heading out with coffee now."
"Yeah. Probably no leave till this project's done... What? Extended? Shit."
"Last time I messed up that flight-magic formula and wrecked my leg..."
"I'm on my honeymoon, why the hell am I here...?"
Everyone seemed to be getting by just fine. I strolled the bustling corridor slowly, taking in the daily grind. Underground aside, it wasn't a bad setup.
As I neared a trash can, I pulled my fidgeting hand from my inner pocket and slipped in my earpiece.
"...You hearing me?"
-'Loud and clear.'
The sergeant's voice came through comms. Blended into the crowd, I couldn't spot him anywhere.
Camilla Lowell was glued to the menu, Geoda Bianchi muttering beside her, and I whispered low while side-eyeing passersby.
"Suspect's in the snack bar now."
-'Suspect by the counter. Got eyes on him.'
No one acting shady—at least not to my eyes. Problem was the swarm of civilians.
"Too many civvies here. How come no IDs?"
-'Can't just stop civilians or they'll catch on and blow the op. No orders from you, Team Lead, and it's not the main site anyway.'
Fair enough.
"Surface?"
Camilla Lowell folded her menu and stood; Geoda Bianchi sat, glancing around. I turned away before our eyes met.
-'...Six minutes ago, Captain passed security. Should be linking up by now.'
"Any ETA on descent?"
-'Can't track real-time. Not till they hit security.'
Fantastic. Ops underground were shitty enough without backup comms, sats, or drones. No wonder I skipped Church donations. Filthy zealots.
"Support team?"
-'Left 'em underground with gear recovery on standby.'
Good—backup agents were prepped, the ones slated to join at op start. Looking closer, familiar faces dotted the crowd amid the unfamiliar. Guy at the corner table reading a paper, right-handed by the look. Jacket's left pocket sagged—holstered piece. Woman twenty paces back, sandwich in right hand, against the wall guarding her right—lefty. Smokers, readers, folks by the order counter. At least five counterintel agents crammed in this tight space.
-'Your coffee's up. Time to move.'
"I'll ping if needed."
I cut comms, pocketed the earpiece. Before turning back, I drew my pistol from my waistband, racked the slide.
*Ka-chunk!*
The slide snapped forward, chambering a round. Weapon hot.
Op begins.